Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

April 28th

2:50 p.m.

Click

Another empty round.

A slight scratching sounded as the revolver was placed atop the beat up table, sliding towards him. The darkness of the room feeling more suffocating than ever before.

Now it was a 50/50 chance. The person sitting across from him stared blankly, waiting for him to pick up the weapon. Only one of them was going to make it out of this dank, miserable place alive.

“Chance?”

A voice called somewhere in the background, but he was too focused to take notice. He lifted the gun slowly to his head, ready to risk it all and pull the trigger. Almost imagining the feel of the barrel pressed to his temple.

“Chance.”

This time the voice was more commanding, but still not nearly enough to break the immersion. With a final deep breath he clicked a button and-

The gun went off.

“Shit!” Was the first thing that came out of Chance’s mouth as he flopped sideways into the company couch, covering his face with his hands. He let out a loud groan of frustration as his phone and sunglasses fell onto the carpeted floor somewhere nearby.

The weapon actually decided to fire, and that absolutely suuuuckeeeed.

“Are… you okay?” The voice asked hesitantly, as if unsure of what to do in such a situation.

Chance let out a breath and cracked open an eye to finally acknowledge the person trying to gain his attention. Taking a few moments for his sight to adjust back into the real world.

The room consisted of soft beige walls and floor-to-ceiling windows with red accents strewn about. Every part of it felt manicured. Sterile. Boring, just like the job sometimes.

Right… he was back in the empty lounge room of the corporation—or at least previously vacant—before someone apparently decided to pay him a visit.

“What do you want, Kkar?” Chance mumbled, letting his eyes slip shut again. He was so close to finally beating his max win streak of 17 games won in a row… until lady luck turned her back on him for that last shot.

Dusekkar hesitantly stepped closer, taking a glance at the phone on the floor, its screen displaying the finished game. The virtual avatar across the table was as unmoving as ever, but Chance could swear, whenever he lost, its stoic eyes gained a mocking twinkle.

“Were you indulging in a game of… Digital Russian roulette?” The older man asked, almost with curiosity, his eyes flicking from Chance to the device on the ground. The gambler in turn, remained laying on his back, trying to block the world out with his palms over his eyes. He most certainly didn't appreciate the hint of amusement in his co-worker’s voice.

“On the hardest setting too…” Chance muttered back and sighed before making up his mind.

“Well, not much that can be done now.” He announced. No point crying over spilled milk as they say, something he himself knew very well at this point. With a huff and a surge of effort, Chance sat back up, running his fingers across the fabrics he wore, in hopes of smoothening it out. He still had to look somewhat presentable in his black suit after all, especially in the office.

“So, what can I help you with?” The gambler asked again, finally making full eye contact with Dusekkar.

The older gentleman was dressed in his usual navy robe coat, hood pulled over his head. It was interesting, whenever his face was shadowed, his amber eyes almost glowed with a tartrazine like quality. Chance could never decide whether it was creepy or charming.

Dusekkar is one of the members that's been with Builderman Corp for the longest. Two years ago he retired from actual field work, when he hit the ripe age of 48, but still hangs around the office most days, lending a helping hand to whoever needs one.

“Builderman has requested for you. Should you desire it, I can further elaborate on what I know, as we walk.” Dusekkar explained, offering a hand out to Chance, who took it gratefully and hauled himself up to his feet. He quickly picked up his fallen items and placed them on the coffee table nearby.

“Woah, I've got big man calling for me? What's the occasion?” A surprised smirk slowly creeping across the gambler's face. It's not like he never saw the head of the company himself… Chance just had a feeling Builderman wasn't his biggest fan.

And quite frankly? He could see why. When was the last time he'd seen the man without his lips drawn tight and his brows furrowed? As opposed to Chance who almost always sports a grin. They were just two very different people.

“Well, do you perhaps remember that one vile encounter we've had with a certain horrid individual a few years back?” Dusekkar started, as Chance lifted his arms above his head to stretch. The duo made their way out of the room and onto the corridor, the older gentleman leading the way.

“You're going to need to be more specific than that,” Chance replied, racking his memories, “We've had a lot of encounters with questionable people- it's kind of our job, isn't it?”

Builderman Corp was a government funded operation after all. Assisting law enforcement whenever necessary and keeping an eye out on everything without physical interface. The few people outside of the organization that knew of them usually categorized the group as an unofficial division of the FBI.

“Per chance,” Dusekkar agreed and considered his next words as they stopped in front of the elevators, the gentleman pressing the upper option of the buttons. “But the ill-fated event took place not long after you joined the establishment. Do you recall the prolonged feud we once held with Coldwater?”

“Oh, so whatever the big boss wants, it has to do with that, huh.” Chance's eyes widened slightly in astonishment as he processed Dusekkar's sentence, his smirk wavering for a moment. His almost Shakespearean accent was not helping, something about the way the other spoke always reminded Chance of a wizard.

Around five years ago, at the age of 21, he had officially become part of Builderman Corp. Soon after his date of entry, a silent war broke out between them and a certain shady organization they always kept a close eye on. The unofficial nickname of said opposing institution being Coldwater. Why? Chance was yet to ask.

Builderman Corp and Coldwater had always had scuffles here and there, but ultimately they had an agreement where neither meddled in the other's business.

That was until a certain individual came along, played both sides, and pitted them against eachother. A lot of lives and ammunition was lost during the time period, before the mistake was realized. But by then the troublemaker had dissapeared without a trace.

The two organizations were left weakened and vulnerable, it was almost embarrassing that a single person managed to cause that much chaos.

The beep of the elevator pulled Chance front his thoughts as it came to a stop on their target floor.

“Well, whatever the specifics, I'm sure it's salient.” Dusekkar said as they stepped out of the lift and towards Builderman’s office.

The moment the duo approached the door leading to their bosses office, faint unintelligible shouting was heard.

Chance shot Dusekkar a glance who looked equally confused, slowly lifting a hand and knocking three times. The bellowing didn't cease, as if the person causing the ruckus didn't even hear.

With one more look at the older gentleman, Chance shrugged and reached for the handle, twisting it and pushing the door open.

“For the love OF GOD SHEDLETSKY. I never see you staying being long enough TO CLEAN YOUR OWN DAMN MESS-”

The voice which clearly belonged to Builderman cut off at the interruption.

The office itself was fairly expansive. Bookshelves lining the whole back wall, the right fully consisting of window walls, and the left with a few tall cabinets. There were four smaller sofas total, two pressed against the walls on each side, spread with even distance between the front and back of the room.

The boss himself was sitting at his grand desk facing the entrance to the room, while his right-hand man, Shedletsky, was sprawled across one of the couches on the side, a big bucket of fried chicken in his hands.

Both heads snapped to Dusekkar and Chance, who just stared back, unsure of what to do. The four of them looked at each other awkwardly for a hot minute without moving. The tint of red anger on Builderman's face giving way to a deeper shade of embarrassment.

Uhh… whenever Chance tried to understand the reasons for Builderman's and Shedletsky’s scuffles, it made his head hurt. They were always bickering due to the stupidest of reasons. He himself would never.

Shedletsky was finally the first to speak up. “Sup guys, do y'all wanna try some?” He asked, holding out the bucket of chicken with a sheepish grin.

That finally seemed to catch the boss's attention as he turned to shedletsky in a blink of an eye. “Wasn’t I just lecturing you about eating in my office? Are you actually sound of mind?” The man's brows furrowed, barely managing to keep his voice at a more appropriate volume.

“Eh,” was all shedletsky apparently had to say before going back to munching on the piece of chicken wing he held, closing his eyes as if to block out the almost indignant look Builderman now had on his face.

“I wouldn't mind some chicken!” Chance perked up, raising a hand, deciding to take Shedletsky up on his offer—but before he could even take a step, Builderman's gaze turned to him.

“Yes you would. Now sit down, we've got more important business to discuss. Dusekkar, you may leave if you'd like.” Builderman ordered, letting out a huff.

Seems like he'd given up on trying to correct his right-hand man and keep his office clean, but wasn't done with Chance yet.

Dusekkar nodded politely and stepped back outside, letting the door click shut behind him as the gambler let out a small ‘aww man’ and sat across from his boss.

“Well, I'd assume Dusekkar briefed you on why you're here?” Builderman asked, his right brow still twitching at the chewing noises coming from Shedletsky.

“Uhh, yeah, something tying back to the incident five years ago, but that's about all I know,” Chance confirmed, making himself comfortable in the cushioned chair.

Builderman nodded and took a deep breath. “So.. turns out we might've caught a whiff of the culprits whereabouts.”

Chance raised an eyebrow. “Really? After all this time? How'd you manage to do that?” He asked, genuinely surprised.

“I don't see how that's releva—” Builderman started but never got to finish, as Shedletsky decided to speak up again.

“Funny story actually! It all started with my delightful… uhh…” A short pause ensued before the man made up his mind. “Nephew-niece!”

“Your what—” But unfortunately Chance didn't have the privilege of ending his sentence either as Shedletsky barreled on.

“Very chill person, I just get the feeling he doesn't like me very much…” The right-hand man gave a quick shudder before continuing. “Anyways, she lost an extreme bet and was forced to sign up for a dating show of her choice, with the only restrictions being that it needs to be at least semi-popular. What a dimwit that kid can be sometimes…”

Builderman cleared his throat.

“Right, right, I'll get back on track. So anyways, he chose one where the draw for the casting would start soon. Naturally, I did a little research of my own like any good uncle would because the host gave me the creeps.” Shedletsky finished.

Chance sat dumbfounded for a moment before muttering, “I think you forgot to mention the part of how the incident and your… sibling's child correlate…”

This time Builderman spoke up before Shedletsky could start rambling again. “The point is the host may be our guy.” He stated bluntly.

“Hold on… so you're saying that performing maniac ran off to start something actually television worthy?” Chance blinked, double checking whether he hadn't just hallucinated that.

“Seems so!” Shedletsky exclaimed, grabbing another piece of fried chicken from his bucket.

“A lot of information does match up…” Builderman admitted. “The name he goes by now is Lucian apparently. But if he is our man then we can assume there's more to his dating show than meets the eye.”

“Are we not going to talk about how Lucian is a terrible name?” Chance remarked, leaning back. “Like, think about it, you're free to choose any name! And you pick something that could be the pseudonym for a cartoon villain?”

“I totally agree dude. If you're forging a new identity, at least have some class!” Shedletsky exclaimed, making an exaggerated face of disgust at the piece of chicken he was currently holding.

“Oh, you're one to talk, with the mess you leave behind every single time you eat in my office.” Builderman scoffed, throwing his right-hand man an unamused glance.

“Well, I don't have to change my identity, I'm simply perfect just the way I am,” Shedletsky shrugged innocently.

Builderman opened his mouth to respond—before seemingly thinking better of it and instead turning back to Chance. “Anyhow, we've decided to investigate this Lucian figure, and potentially bring him down. After all, so many men lost can't be so easily forgiven. And that's where you come in.”

“Ah, so I'm the only lucky one who gets dispatched to check out this TV show producer?” Chance questioned, his eyes narrowing slightly. That definitely did sound like a risk… the good kind that gave you thrills.

“Ummm… Yeah something like that, but you won't be working alone.” Builderman rubbed his temples as if contemplating his life decisions, when it came to choosing Chance for the job.

“Sick! Where will I start? Do we have some sort of location where the guy might reside? Or perhaps the studio that… he does whatever directors spend time doing?” Chance exclaimed, feeling the slightest rush of adrenaline from the idea of a new mission. Fieldwork was always fun—dangerous? Yes, but a lot more entertaining than being in an office building all day or filing reports.

“No no, nothing like that. You won't have to sneak around or carry weapons, don't worry.” Builderman dismissed that with a wave of his hand, making the gambler deflate a little.

“Oh.. then… how?”

“We signed you up for the dating show,” Builderman deadpanned.

A moment of silence passed before Chance exploded, “WHAT?”

Builderman only blinked while Shedletsky burst out laughing in the background, “I told you the kid wasn't gonna be too thrilled!” He cackled between breaths, grin as wide as ever.

“Can—can you even do that legally without my consent?” Chance asked desperately, completely abandoning any cares he had for composure.

Builderman considered that for a moment, somehow keeping a completely stoic face through everything. “Legally? Probably not, but are you actually going to question the legality of half the stuff we do? We're above the law.”

“Wow… you really pulled that card out huh,” Chance muttered weakly, almost laughing, though the exhale of breath sounded hollow. He ran a hand over his face, thinking fast. “Didn't you say something about a draw though? How do you guys even know I'll get in?”

“My handy work!” Shedletsky announced proudly. “See, this show has had two seasons so far, and anyone can apply. The contestants are always supposedly drawn randomly from a big ball of folded up names. It's one of those contraptions where if you crank the handle it shuffles the papers and drops one down into the receiving area, you know?” The man asked, completely oblivious to the devastation written clearly all over Chance’s face.

“And in both seasons, Lucian apparently drew pretty even numbers of both male and female contestants, there being twelve in total. The first year it was straight down the middle, 6/6 and in the second it was also very close? 5/7 I believe. Statistically speaking, that's almost impossible two years in a row considering the major audience of dating shows.” Shedletsky clarified.

“So naturally I got a little suspicious, and after some digging found that he most likely already had 12 slips of paper placed in the receival area. Think of a gumball machine—right? But if the actual ball holding the gum was blocked off. Quite genius actually, when perfectly positioning the camera. Then he can still make the raffle streamed live yet completely rigged.”

“And so I already have 3 agents in position to rig his rig before the draw. Oh, that's tonight by the way.” Shedletsky finished with a thumbs up, as if it was supposed to comfort Chance in the middle of his mini breakdown.

The gambler felt lightheaded, this was all too sudden. He was just playing Russian roulette on his phone, in the break room not even thirty minutes ago, now he was rigged to participate in a dating show he never even consented to?

“Well… who will I be working with, at least…?” Chance croaked, knowing this could be the last saving grace of the mission.

“I'm still waiting for that actually.” Builderman nodded.

“What do you mean…”

“Well, I called up Coldwater to see whether they'd agree to a joint operation, since in the end it wasn't only us who got severely wounded because of who is supposedly Lucian now. Thought maybe they'd like to help investigate on the off chance that it is the man that wronged us both. So you're getting a partner to work with from there," Builderman elucidated.

All that Chance could muster was a sigh. He knew there were deals formed between the two groups, but did Builderman seriously have the power to just call up a mafia?

“So, that's the rundown of your new assignment.” Builderman concluded. “You're dismissed now, but just be back at 6pm to watch the raffle and extra details on when you're leaving.”

Chance glanced at the watch on his wrist, 3:12 pm.

The gambler wordlessly got up, giving the room one more glance before walking towards the door and pulling it open. It was rare he ever experienced shock, but now sure as hell counted.

“Bye kid!” Shedletsky called as Chance stepped out onto the hallway, but he didn't bother with a reply. His mind was elsewhere anyway. He liked surpises—sure—but not these kinds of surprises? Why did it have to be him?

‘Maybe my dashing looks made me the only worthy candidate.’ He tried to make himself feel better, but it did little to ease his distress.

They say there's no point crying over spilled milk… but this? This was a whole cow murdered, another 10 years of perfectly good produce lost.

Chance let out a sigh.

Well, he had approximately three hours to kill now…

Retrieving the items he left back in the break room, and taking a nap there sounded like a solid plan. Maybe, just maybe he'd wake up, and all of this would be nothing more than a bad dream in the past.

Chapter Text

April 28th

Mafioso sat stiffly in the office, glancing at the clock mounted in the wall.

It read 5:48.

It wasn't like he was nervous exactly—just guarded. After all, it wasn't everyday that you ended up in the headquarters of an enemy organization.

The boss and right-hand man of Builderman Corp sitting across from him, passing a laptop between each other with slightly frustrated faces. It was disgusting how unprofessional their unpreparedness was, in front of a stranger no less.

Such a level of incoordination wouldn't be given a second chance where he came from.

“No no, look. Click here,” Shedletsky muttered under his breath to Builderman, as he dragged his mouse over the table, tapping it a few times.

The latter only grunted in response, letting his assistant take over the laptop once again.

Since the screen was turned away from him, Mafioso couldn't even fathom what was the issue the two kept running into. One thing was clear to him though, if you weren't even competent enough to use a laptop, how can you run a whole institution?

“Oh, there we go!” Shedletsky sighed in relief after a few more clicks, sliding the laptop across the table back to Builderman. The boss nodded, examining the screen himself for a moment before speaking.

“Great, do we have all the files for the task pulled up as well?” He asked, his gaze scouring the display.

“Hmm… seems like—”

But the crank of the doorhandle cut Shedletsky off, both of the higher-ups eyes snapping towards the entrance of the room. Mafioso himself didn't bother turning, it didn't interest him in the slightest who he'd have to work with, he did best solo.

Besides, how disrespectful could one be? Not even bothering to knock before entering a room—your boss's office, no less?

The door slid open, the slight sound of panting audible, “Hey, I'm not late am I? I lost track of—” but the voice cut off abruptly, the air behind him completely stilling.

A moment passed, both Shedletsky's and Builderman's faces taking up undertones of confusion before the former spoke up. “Are you alright, kid?”

“No fucking way…” The voice from the doorway cursed, only further backing Mafioso's opinion on Builderman Corp. The sound of disbelief in the comment finally made him turn around though, shifting his body to catch a glimpse of the person who was at the door.

It was a younger gentleman wearing an ebony suit paired with sunglasses and a fedora, his hair ruffled as if he'd just rolled out of bed. A sense of faint familiarity tugged at Mafioso, until their eyes met through the shades.

Was this…

Yes it was.

What was he doing here of all places?

Mafioso stared at the gambler, cold fury welling behind his eyes. Chance stared back, stunned and gaping as if trying to utter a pathetic excuse out.

Chance finally broke the silence with a desperate plea, “You can't have me work with this guy! Shit, and I thought this couldn't get any worse."

Oh, if only he knew how mutual the feelings were.

“Do you two… know each other?” Shedletsky asked, eyes flicking between them.

“Unfortunately,” Mafioso growled, keeping his eyes locked into Chance's. Now that he examined the agent's face, he understood the initial twinge of recognition. Part of his business was giving loans to individuals who couldn't get them from their local banks for whatever reason... And he's been trying to get his hands on this particular man for quite a while now.

“I uhh-” Chance stammered, scratching the back of his neck. “I might owe this dude some money I never gave back…” he eventually mumbled, breaking eye contact to look anywhere else.

“Wow kid, how much?” Shedletsky's cheerful voice asked from Mafioso's side.

“Like… three hundred bucks or something…” Chance muttered, not moving any closer despite there being an obvious chair for him.

“Ten thousand dollars.” Mafioso corrected, keeping his burning gaze trained on the uncomfortable gambler.

He wanted nothing more than to choke an apology out of the scammer, but he was at a disadvantage if a fight broke out in the room…

“Same difference,” Chance chuckled nervously, running a hand through his gray hair, in hopes of fixing the bedhead.

Hmm, wonder if that statement will hold up. Chance sleeping in his bed versus Chance sleeping with the fish? Same difference.

“You really don't have enough to pay the man back?” Builderman asked skeptically. Which made sense, Mafioso supposed the boss knew his salary.

“I do, but where's the fun in that!” Chance smirked, a bit of his usual bravado returning as he took a tentative step towards his chair, eyeing Mafioso as if he were a deadly animal.

And in that moment, he might as well have been. He couldn't remember the last time a debtor had pissed him off as bad as this guy.

Builderman only shook his head in disappointment while Shedletsky tried, and failed, to hide his giggles.

Yes… just a step closer till the gambler would be within stabbing reach—wait no, that unfortunately wasn't an option in the office of Builderman Corp itself.

Maybe while off on the dating show Chance could… go missing in action? Die an untimely death? Some sort of freak accident?

Mafioso had waited long enough for what he was owed.

“Well it's slightly too late to change the arrangements now, so keep your personal business out of the job.” Builderman announced, looking from them to the computer screen. “The raffle is starting in 5 minutes.”

Chance finally reached his chair, sitting down gingerly and subtly trying to scoot away from Mafioso.

And he was wise to do so, under any other circumstances Mafioso would've strangled the daylight out of the gambler right then and there.

Instead, he turned his head to the laptop as Builderman turned it and slid it to the side of the table, so that everyone seated could see the screen.

Some sort of intro was starting, along with the logo of some classic cable tv company in the top right corner.

“Welcome… Ladies and gentlemen, to another season of Love Undercover!” a static voice filled the room.

Mafioso heard a slam of the table, and when looking back discovered it was Chance, now laying face flat on the smooth wood. “This guy can't be serious with the names…” the gambler groaned, and for once Mafioso could agree with him.

The camera switched to a grinning man on a theater stage, the red curtains drawn, a big clear ball of folded papers next to him. Shedletsky had been right, he did look uncanny. When he messed with the two institutions it was mostly through staged messages and traps, so no one saw his face.

“Get ready for season 3! Another drama filled three weeks where one can find friendship, heartbreak, and true love!” The man who BC claims is Lucian, made over-exaggerated hand gestures at the invisible audience behind the camera.

It was taking all of his willpower not to physically cringe at the host, and judging off the faint sounds behind him, Chance wasn't fairing much better.

“Join me today, in picking the lucky contestants to compete for love!”

Would he really have to see this guy's annoying face every single day for 3 weeks? That might be a fate worse than death. Perhaps he should reconsider suffocating Chance right now.

Lucian cranked the handle, the whirlwind of papers inside spiraling. He reached a hand to retrieve the paper that had supposedly fallen out, though the machine was conveniently turned away from the audience.

He pulled out a slip of paper, his smile never wavering as he opened it, showing the audience first.

“As always, you all get the first looook!” His voice lilted, that shit-eating grin starting to get on Mafioso's nerves.

Because of the slightly pixelated quality of the Livestream, the words were barely legible. The paper read: “Jane Doe / Female / 27.”

“Aww man, looks like I must've missed one…” Shedletsky muttered under his breath.

“Missed one what?” Builderman asked, not taking his eyes off the screen.

“Hmm… you'll see,” Shedletsky let out a small laugh, a mischievous expression creeping onto his facial features.

“Woweee! Off to a strong start with Jane Doe, welcome to the show Jane!” Lucian announced, giving a comical twirl. It made Mafioso want to vomit.

Soon two more slips of paper were drawn, displaying: “007n7 / Male / 28,” and “Noli / Male / 24,” respectively.

The next one, to no one's surprise, read: “Mafioso / Male / 29.”

“Damn… just twenty-nine? How unfortunate, you have the voice of a forty year old chain smoker.” Chance muttered from beside him, but instantly shut his mouth when Mafioso narrowed his eyes at the gambler.

The next three slips came just as easily: “Elliot / Male / 24,” “Azure / Male / 26,” “Two time / Non-binary / 23.”

By the last one, the host's expression was gaining a hint of confusion. Maybe due to five males being drawn in a row? Or perhaps it was new addition of non-binary? Only so much Mafioso could speculate after observing this guy for a mere ten minutes.

“Uhm.. alrighty… Time for the next contestant!” He almost stammered, cranking the handle and taking another slip out hesitantly and showing the camera: “1x1x1x1 / Human / 25.”

“That's my nephice! Or maybe I should call him a niecew?" Shedletsky cheered the moment he caught sight of the name on the paper.

Mafioso would simply call any family members 'associates,' but he supposed that was just a personal preference.

“Hehe… sure not a lot of females this season,” Lucian mumbled, shooting a pointed look at someone off camera.

The ninth draw happened to be Chance’s: “Chance / Non-binary / 26."

Non-binary? Referring to Chance as 'the man,' was inadequate then...

Actually since when did Mafioso give a flying fuck. Whatever gender meant to them, it didn't change how Chance's personality was still just as insufferable.

The one after read: "John Doe / Male / 28."

“Interesting, two Doe’s! Either related or fated.” Lucian forced a laugh, though to anyone with a trained eye it was evident the man was sweating under all of his pizzazz.

What, was the noob not used to a little pressure and inconvenience?

“Shedletsky… Did you do something?” Builderman questioned slowly, turning his head to look at his right-hand man.

“Define something.” Shedletsky countered, trying to keep a straight face but miserably failing, as another slip was drawn: “Taph / Male / 23.”

“Was exchanging two names for Mafioso's and Chance's all that you ordered your subordinates to do?” Builderman asked instead, narrowing his eyes.

“Uhh… well… not exactly?” Shedletsky tried, as the last contestant was drawn: “Noob / Non-binary / 22.”

Builderman only stared until he cracked—which wasn't even a full 20 seconds later.

“I thought it'd be funny if there was not a single female on the cast,” Shedletsky murmured, “Besides, Lucian only ever chose Males and Females. I couldn't pass up seeing my nephice on a dating show, but I didn't want her to feel alienated either… so I might've ordered my agents to replace all the female names with random ones from the database of who signed up. But it looks like they couldn't even do that.”

One single comment: totally utterly unprofessional.

Builderman opened his mouth, his face twisting into one of fury—before he paused to reconsider Shedletsky's words. “Hmm… actually? I won't reprimand you for your foolish actions this time, as I don't have anything against it.”

Mafioso had to hold back a snort. Such lack of discipline.

The host speaking brought their attention back to the laptop. “Soo… uh… very interesting cast we have indeed! Please don't let it deter you. Stay tuned… filming begins in three days!” Lucian borderline shouted, hints of desperation creeping into his voice. “I shall now part with all of you wonderful people, Good bye!”

The camera cut, making the screen turn black.

“Soo.. now that that torture is done… please tell me he was joking about the fact filming starts in three days…” Chance trailed off, as if he already knew the answer but couldn't quite yet accept it.

“Nope, gotta pack your bags kid!” Shedletsky pointed a pen at Chance gleefully. “You two are taking a train to the resort after tomorrow. Filming starts in three days, yes, but you guys need to be there prior.”

Chance just let his head slam down on the desk again.

It was surprising, really. Mafioso had been briefed on this a week in advance, yet Chance was just learning all of this now? Perhaps Builderman was still deciding who to send, he knew his own boss withheld the same information until an hour ago when he showed up on Builderman Corp’s doorstep.

“Shall I consider this meeting done?” Mafioso asked, a much more sensible question than Chance's in his opinion.

“I suppose, you're both free to go.” Builderman agreed, sliding the laptop back toward himself to close the now finished livestream.

He nodded, not needing to utter any more words, before getting up and making his way across the carpet and to the exit. Mafioso turned the handle and stepped outside.

Chance was slower to follow, but got up not long after either, so Mafioso held the door open just a second longer for the gambler to go through too.

“Huh, thanks. Who knew you had manne—”

But mannerisms were the last thing in his mind. The moment the door clicked shut, Mafioso roughly grabbed the other by the collar of his shirt.

“—oh.” Chance gasped slightly at the unexpected action.

Mafioso didn't need to raise his voice, just lean in until their faces were inches apart. “I still want my money back, gambler.” He hissed, adjusting his grip to be slightly tighter. The fabric bunched under his skin, still warm from Chance’s body heat. “Just because we'll be working together now doesn't mean I'll forget.”

Chance stood still for a moment, but Mafioso was close enough to catch the faintest hitch of his breath. The gambler's eyes flickered over Mafioso's cold expression through his shades. The debt collector noticed the faintest of color dust his cheeks, his eyes wide, whether it was from surprise or embarrassment.

They both stood still for a moment… but it looks like he wasn't going to get an answer. It was almost funny how easily the man lost his flamboyance.

Pathetic.

Mafioso scoffed and released Chance's collar deliberately, turning away without another word. Behind him the latter didn't move, just tracked Mafioso with his gaze till he couldn't anymore.

Not that he cared much, anyways.

Chapter Text

April 30th

‘After tomorrow’ came too quickly for Chance's liking.

One moment he was packing a suitcase in his living room the day before, and the next he opened his eyes, just to realize he'd ended up passing out on the couch. He could clearly recall telling himself that he would sit down—but only for only a few minutes, enough to rest his legs.

So much for that plan.

Chance gingerly rubbed his eyes, the morning light filtering through his shutters momentarily blinding him. Groggily, he sat up and checked the watch he never took off.

10:05 am.

Shedletsky had texted him the details of their transport the day prior. Giles Cross Station, platform 9, departing at 2:45 pm. Apparently Lucian wanted everyone to be on set by 9.

Great…

Well, time to finish packing then, Chance decided.

He got up, walking over to the half full suitcase sprawled on his floor. After that, a quick shower and change of clothes was due, and knowing his time management skills, that's all he would be able to get done.

With a sigh, the gambler started to double check what he'd already managed to load in yesterday, in the half asleep state he was.

This was going to take a while…

. . .

Four and a half hours later Chance was sitting on a bench, legs crossed, watching the empty track where his train was soon to arrive.

He had put on a fresh white waistcoat paired with a dress shirt, star-shaped sunglasses, and a fedora, all in the same carmine color. It was slightly flashier than what he wore on a daily basis… yet it wasn't every day that you were leaving town to participate in a dating show hosted by a chaotic troublemaker, alongside one of your least favorite people in the world.

On the topic of said least favorite person… it was already 2:24, where was Mafioso? If anything, Chance would've expected him to be first, standing stiffly, somewhere along the fairly empty stretch of cement in between tracks.

Just as that thought crossed his mind, he heard footsteps behind him. He turned his head towards the sound.

Well, speak of the devil and he shall appear, right? Or, Chance guessed—think—in his case.

Mafioso wore his usual attire, a long black billowing coat over an ebony suit, topped off with a dark striped fedora, not too different from his own, by model.

Unlike in Chance's case though, Mafioso's hat always seemed to hood the upper part of his face, no matter the lighting. It honestly carried half of the menacing vibe the repo man had about him.

For a moment their eyes locked, before Mafioso apparently decided to completely ignore Chance.

He looked away, stepping around the bench to sit down on the furthest spot he could.

Ouch…? Not even a simple nod as a greeting? Who pissed in his cereal today.

If Mafioso wanted to be like that, fine. Chance didn't bother trying to make conversation either, only turned his head back to continue watching the tracks. He was sooo sleeping through the five hour ride, no way he could bear sitting opposite to Mafioso for so long, while awake.

After approximately 8 more minutes of waiting in silence, the tracks Chance was focused started to vibrate slightly. A low hum filled the air as their train was fast approaching, sending a gust of wind as it zoomed past.

The gambler had always appreciated how early trains were to arrive, and the 10-15 minutes you got before they departed. He never missed trains for that reason—unlike the local buses he'd long given up on.

Their particular train was a silvery-white, with blue accents scattered along the sides.

Chance got up and stretched, since he might not have the opportunity to do so in the following hours. Leaning forward, his sunglasses hiding the way his eyes flickered over the blur of motion.

It was truly nerve-wracking, a sort of gut feeling he was well accustomed too. It reminded him of late nights at a poker table. The dread one felt the second a dealer flipped the final card. The dawning realization he'd made the wrong call.

He'd ended up in a shit position, through the absence of lady luck's help.

Nope, right now was not the time to think about the past—Chance decided, shaking off the momentary nostalgia.

He stepped towards the train, pulling four tickets from his pocket to examine them.

Why buy double of what they needed? Four would give them both an extra seat to put luggage on, plus a table between them.

Simply put, it was for comfort.

Was it selfish? Maybe, but might Chance try, he couldn't concern himself with the ethics of buying extra seats for no one to sit in.

The slips of paper he held told him he needed to get to cart 7, which was a lot closer to the conductor than where they were standing now.

“Yo, you coming?” Chance asked, glancing back at his now comrade. Mafioso only exhaled in response and stood up, grabbing his own black travel suitcase to follow.

“Y’know, we are going to be spending the next three weeks together. You could at least try to make smalltalk.” He muttered loud enough for Mafioso to hear, turning back and starting to stroll towards the front of the train. “Like, I don't know, start by telling me how your day is going.”

Chance heard a huff behind him, before Mafioso's gruff voice reluctantly began to speak. “I woke up, had breakfast, paid a debtor a friendly visit, then arrived here.” A pause, before he added. “Happy now?”

Was this guy serious?

“Not really, you have as much charisma as a sewer rat.” Chance deadpanned. “Maybe finding love will actually do you some good.”

But then again, who'd fall for a sewer rat?

“Do you think I have time for such foolish activities?” Mafioso asked rhetorically, almost sounding offended.

Chance's gaze scoured the small numbers printed on each cart, vision zeroing on theirs. “Aww, the scary debt collector doesn't believe anyone is good enough to warm his heart?” he mused, his voice taking up a sarcastic undertone.

Right after the words left the gambler's mouth, he registered the looming presence behind him, making his confidence waver.

“Do you want to say that again?” Chance could feel the warm breath on the back of his ear as Mafioso murmured darkly, making him freeze mid-step. Partially because he could almost feel the murderous intent coming from the man behind him, and partly because…

Who does this dude think he is? Definitely not menacing enough to pull that move off… probably.

So, Chance did what he does best, and took a gamble. “Nah, I think I'll pass. I don't want the big boy getting his ego hurt.” he replied, a theatrical smirk spreading across his face.

Unsurprisingly, that was the wrong thing to say, as the next sensation he felt was an elbow to the ribs.

“Oww, okay, okay,” Chance huffed, as Mafioso brushed past him, up the elevated steps and into the cart. The latter didn't even bother turning back to check up on Chance. “Werent you ever taught that ‘Violence isn't the answer,’ as a child?”

Now, that was an amusing thought, Mafioso as a kid? Probably stomping around a playground with a jacket three sizes too big, charging kids interest for borrowed lunch money.

Soon enough the two of them were walking through the carriage, Mafioso leading the way.

It was as expected, fairly clean, the teal blue seats spanning the length of the carriage. Only a few other passengers were sitting here and there.

Only once Mafioso turned to a quadruple seating spot with a foldable table in the middle—did a mildly concerning thought occur to Chance.

How did the man know where they were supposed to sit? Hell, Chance hadn't even told Shedletsky the seats he'd buy, who was the one to announce it was his responsibility in the first place.

Uncanny…

But he followed Mafioso nonetheless, plopping down into his seat and turning to face the window.

“So, excited for the big day?” Chance asked idly, almost as if he were speaking to a child.

There was a pause, “Who in their right minds would be?” The look in Mafioso's eyes clearly told Chance he didn't want to converse, but it didn't faze him.

“Hey, I'd wager the ten other people we'll be living with are.” He pointed out. “Not everyone else leads a life as gloomy as yours. Some people actually try to have fun.”

“Gloomy keeps me alive,” Mafioso muttered, shifting slightly to get more comfortable.

“Gloomy gets you excluded from dinner parties,” Chance countered bluntly, tilting his head. “Imagine sitting across some poor sap trying to flirt with you while you glare holes into their skull. Why were you even chosen for this job? Obviously not for your lovable personality, and looks? My opinion stands, Sewer Rat.”

Now… maybe Chance had lied a little in his last sentence…

What was he thinking? Of course he had lied, it was insulting, comparing Mafioso to a rodent—for the rodent.

“You're definitely one to talk,” Mafioso's voice was ice cold, sharper than daggers. “You used to gamble with real stakes. Now? You only gamble with your dignity to scrape together the slightest bit of worthless attention. At least sewer rats know when to keep quiet—you don't.”

Chance blinked, staring for a second longer than he meant to. Mafioso only narrowed his eyes.

However, instead of searching for a reply, the gambler just tilted his hat down, crossed his arms, and leaned against the window.

“Yeah, no, I'm not doing this. Nap time it is.”

And just like that he was done. His beauty sleep was waiting for him.

If the five hour train ride didn't kill him, his company might. Still, better to face it unconscious.

Eventually, the train had whirred to life, at what could be assumed was the departure time. Not long after, with the help of the soft rumbling and slight vibrations, Chance managed to drift off into a dreamless sleep

…

Chapter Text

April 30th

7:40 p.m.

The resort was massive.

A four story mansion with floor-to-ceiling windows and sprawling terraces. Sunshine made the white paint all the more vibrant, and gave the dark oak accents a twinge of warmth.

And the whole thing was also a complete waste of space and money in Mafioso's opinion.

Why build something this big just to use it occasionally for some stupid show? Only a few minutes into research on the background of this place, you'd realize it was vacant otherwise.

The fresh breeze hit his face just as he got out of the Taxi, slightly helping the agony his muscles were in after approximately 5 and a half hours of sitting. He heard the cab door opposite to him shut, and Chance came around carrying his not only his suitcase, but also a bitter face.

It really pleased Mafioso, that he was the cause of the disgruntled expression.

Yes, he could've woken the gambler up without kicking him in the shins, but he recalled a certain someone saying, “Where's the fun in that?” Just two days ago.

Might as well adopt it as his motto.

Mafioso rolled his own luggage over to the grand entrance, hearing Chance mutter something about ‘at least helping him out after ruthlessly punishing his right leg,’ while following more slowly.

Pfft, he'd pretend he didn't hear that.

Mafioso climbed the snowy marble steps, knocking three times before giving the ebony door a heave. His ears instantly picked up on the faint voices coming from inside, it wasn't surprising that they weren't the first to arrive, and probably wouldn't be the last either.

The hallway that sprawled out in front of Mafioso matched the clean aesthetic of the outside. A few minimalistic pictures framed on the walls, alongside a console table. It led straight to what he could assume was the kitchen, two other entrances opening up on both sides halfway through.

Chance huffed behind him, just reaching the top of the stairs, so Mafioso being the decent person that he is, let go of the door. A quick sound of surprise and confusion came, just before the heavy door closed with a thump.

Perfect.

Mafioso had had a lot of time to think during that train ride. His primary goal was of course, getting information on the host of this stupid program… but who would stop his secondary objective being payback for missing debt?

Unfortunately throwing Chance into a meat grinder wasn't going to be an option for now, because of all the probable surveillance in the house, so Mafioso would have to be creative.

Do things with a little more… imagination.

He walked forward in a slow strut, taking note of any and all things around him. Better to be aware in case he ever needed to recall the area.

The voices got louder the further Mafioso walked, coming from the midway entry on the right. Just as he approached, he heard the door behind him creak again.

Chance was finally planning on joining huh?

If Mafioso had to guess, the gambler had probably stood for a moment, giving the space where the debt collector once was an indignant look, before recovering. Hence the delay.

Mafioso soon realized the voices were coming from what was most likely the living room. Inside sat four people total, on a U-shaped couch.

The whole scene wasn't as uncomfortably tense as he'd imagined it… The atmosphere felt almost homey? But it could be easily attributed to the fact that Lucian wasn't in sight at the moment.

First to notice him was a man with messy brown hair and a slight stubble, looking completely worn to the bone. Though to his credit, the man’s eyes lit up slightly, as he moved his hand up to give a shy and tentative wave.

Soon the rest of the heads followed. A kid with saffron hair and almost a popstar like aesthetic, a person with black choppy hair wearing a scarf, and someone wearing black robes with hints of golden embroidery.

The group was seated, two on each side of the couch, just before the curve of the U started.

The chatter momentarily stopped as the group's attention was diverted to him. Mafioso tipped his hat and gave a smile, one that wasn't cold enough to make it threatening, but not warm enough to pass off as enthusiastic either. “Salutations.”

Chance finally rolled his luggage over to stand next to Mafioso, taking in the living room. “I really hate you, you know that?” He muttered under his breath, just loud enough for the other to hear.

Mafioso was about to respond—but the popstar spoke first.

“Hi there!” The saffron haired man exclaimed as he stood up, his eyes flickering to the gambler as he stepped into view. “Lucian is currently out, so unfortunately we don't have the keys to our rooms yet. But feel free to sit down!”

Usually it was nice knowing he'd have his own room—if only it was of much use. After inspecting the two previous seasons, Lucian apparently wasn't a big fan of giving participants a good sleep.

Instead of voicing anything though, Mafioso only nodded at the kid, strolling over to the edge of the couch and sitting down. Chance followed, sitting on the opposite side while still giving him the stink eye.

It was almost funny.

“I'm Elliot,” the blonde introduced, sitting back down once the two newcomers were in their places. “That's Two time and Taph,” the man gestured at the choppy haired kid and robed individual respectively, who were seated with their backs to the entrance.

Two-time gave a too-serene and almost unhinged looking smile while Taph gave a respectful nod. The names did sound familiar from the raffle, they were both 23 making them the second and third youngest if he recalled correctly.

Yes, Mafioso had decided to go through the trouble of memorizing as much as he could, including the contestants.

“And this is… 007n7.” Elliot trailed off, his eyes narrowing and voice taking on a cooler tone. It was just barely noticeable, unless you were used to reading people. 007n7, the man that initially waved to him, shifted uncomfortably under Elliot's gaze, giving a quick, “hey.”

Mafioso opened his mouth to introduce himself—but the gambler beat him to it.

“I'm Chance, pleasure to meet you all.” He flashes his smirk. “And this dark and brooding fellow is Mafioso.” His expression took on a smug undertone as their eyes met.

That son of a bitch—wait a minute, that wasn't adequate.

That conniving, demon spawn, parasitic, star-shaped-sunglasses-wearing child of a bitch.

There, that's better.

“Wonderful!” The voice snapped Mafioso back to reality. “Truth be told, we're probably supposed to be complete strangers, but everyone knows reality TV is half scripted anyways. We're all supposed to be here by 9, right?” Elliot asked, his eyes lingering on Chance.

“Yup, it's 7:21 at the moment,” the latter replied, shooting the watch in his wrist a quick glance. “So, what made you all join the show?”

“Well, believe it or not, my sister Mia. She always loved watching these types of stuff on TV, and when she found a raffle for one…”

And at that point, Mafioso had tuned out of the conversation. There was only so much danger he could get in due to not memorizing these people's back stories. Besides, he'd probably learn everything he needs in the actual on-camera introductions.

In the meantime, he leaned back and pulled out his phone.

Next to arrive was a rich looking kid with a half purple half black suit, introducing himself as Noli.

After that was a nervous but pretty colorfully dressed person, hair and skin almost the same shade as Elliot's.

The only noteworthy thing Mafioso noticed, is just how bad Chance flinched, the moment the latter individual entered the room. Perhaps they knew each other? Though ‘Noob’ as they were called, showed no recognition, barely even giving the gambler a glance.

Soon he began to lose track of the new participants trickling in over the hour, instead deciding to spend his time reading recent news articles online. It was too dangerous to do anything concerning his job, especially with the people around and the inevitable surveillance, so catching up on information was the second best thing.

Eventually Lucian himself returned and greeted the cast theatrically, mentioning something about bringing their keys soon. Everyone's luggage had been stacked up in the corner, as to save space around the couch.

Finally, it was 8:40 when the last two people arrived. The first was the only female in the cast, a pink haired woman with a similar black hat and coat to Mafioso's. The second was dressed in a green hoodie with a black ribcage print, alongside dark cargo pants.

The instant vibe Mafioso got? Angry at the whole world, which was odd. Who wouldn't be happy if they'd willingly put their names into the raffle and got drawn?

The room was a lot more active by then, so it was inevitable that the free space next to Mafioso would be used as a seat for anyone who didn't want to go deeper into the I curve. That ended up being none other than Jane Doe.

“Soo… not a big fan of crowds?” She drawled as she sat down. Despite the confident demeanor, mafioso noted how she fiddled with a bracelet on her left wrist.

Hmm, why was she talking to him then, if she wasn't exactly relaxed either?

Moreover when he was clearly focused on his phone?

Perhaps the woman just didn't want to feel out of place, with most others talking about a topic brought up long before she arrived.

Well, a little chatter wouldn't hurt him so he clicked his phone off and set it in his lap.

“They're not my favorite,” Mafioso agreed. "Wouldn't even be here if I had the choice.”

A smile split Jane's face, as if she didn't expect that answer, her fidgeting subsiding slightly. “Forced to be here, eh? Need’a know the backstory of how you ended up in this place, then.”

Mafioso shrugged, his own lips twitching into a faint smile as he glanced at Chance. “An acquaintance forced me to sign up with him, and unfortunately we both got the honor of being drawn.” That was as close to the truth as he'd go.

Jane followed his look. “That guy, huh? He seems… lively” she observed as they watched Chance animatedly gesture, while he was in deep conversation with Elliot, about something unknown to them. “He seems to be the loud type, one to never lose spirit. Probably has a lot of friends?”

“Presumably,” Mafioso agreed.

“Did he ask any others to join, who weren't drawn? Or only you specifically?” The woman continued. It almost sounded like an interrogation.

“Not that I know of…”

“So, a popular guy dragged only you into this, a dating show no less?” Jane asked, turning her gaze to the debt collector. There was a hint of amusement in her voice.

No, no he didn't… but admitting that wouldn't work.

“I suppose so, what are you implying?” Mafioso followed, looking back at Jane, since it felt odd to stare for a prolonged period of time.

“Oh, just a passing thought. Anyways, what's your name?” The woman shrugged it off, and Mafioso let her, deciding not to ponder too hard.

“Call me Mafioso, and I assume you're Jane?”

“In the flesh.”

“Hmmh.” Mafioso acknowledged, before addressing the elephant in the room. “You either feel really fortunate or completely out of luck, huh?”

“Kind of blunt.” Jane laughed. “But straight to the point, I like that. To be honest, though? Neither, I just don't want the show to be… too centered?”

As the words left her mouth, she scrunched her nose, realizing how they sounded. “Not to mean that in an egotistical way...”

But that much was already clear to Mafioso, it was just a mere logical conclusion. “Yeah, I understand.”

Jane let her eyes flicker over the others, "It's just a little nerve wracking—"

But she never got to finish as Lucian stepped into the room, dressed in a red suit and top hat. “Greetings participants! I see we've gathered the whole crew? And no one is late!” He boomed, catching the groups their attention. A few people followed him into the room, some either rolling or holding professional cameras while others held microphones on long poles. “Shall we start filming?”

Hold on… what?

Chapter Text

April 30th

8:46 p.m.

A beat of silence passed before—to Mafioso's surpise—Noob spoke up. “Aren't… aren't we supposed to start filming tomorrow…?” They tentatively asked, a worried expression on their face.

“I said that on TV, to give the audience the illusion that contestants have more time to prepare, but why do you think I asked to gather today?” Lucian laughed, as if there was nothing wrong about what he just said. “The audience expects episodes to roll out soon. Editing also takes time, you know.”

Was this guy joking?

The room was silent for a moment again before Lucian clapped. “It's settled then! Spread out on the couch more evenly.”

Mafioso exchanged a glance with Jane, as she scooted away slightly. Elliot and Chance reluctantly did the same, as the contestants gradually adjusted.

“Now, I want you all to introduce yourselves one by one. Include your name, age, gender, and a little about yourself or your job. Starting from…. You!” To Mafioso's horror, he chose his side of the couch instead of Chance’s.

Wait a moment… job? ‘I'm the debt collector for this one crime organization unofficially named Coldwater,’ probably wouldn't cut it. What else was he good at? How had he not considered this? It was so obvious…

At this point, the most believable thing he could say was just to roll with the truth—he decided as all the cameras shifted their focus on him.

“Evening, my name is Mafioso…. I'm male and 29 years of age. I work for a company as a private negotiator and a debt recovery specialist… and I also own a gubby named GD.” He managed, not bothering with a smile.

“So you take people's money for a living?” Lucian asked from off camera.

“...Not exactly—”

But before he could elaborate with more lies, Chance deemed it the perfect time to butt in. “No, that's exactly what he does.” The cameras shifted to the gambler. It was made clear that Lucian liked stirring drama the moment he gave an obvious thumbs up.

Next was Jane. “I'm 27 and female. I work as a fitness trainer. I enjoy working out and long treks through forests, though nothing beats a late night drive on my bike.”

And so they all went down the line.

“Sup, they call me Noli. 25, male, and single, ready to mingle. No job though, was born to inherit my family's company instead… so if you're looking for a pretty fortune, I'm right here.”

Yup, it was safe to assume this guy won't get anyone. Though the probability of the rich kid finding a date was still higher than Chance's.

“The Spawn greets you all. My name is Two Time, but you can call me Two. I'm non-binary and 23 years old. I'm an antique shop owner. Everything in my store has a story… and a price. However, all the money in the world doesn't compare to the glory of The Spawn.”

Mafioso supposed that explained the slightly unhinged smile. This sounded like the type of person to perform seances and sacrificial ceremonies with daggers.

He didn't even want to question what ‘The Spawn’ was.

When it was Taph's turn, he gestured something in sign language. Lucian muttered something about post-production translation hassles, when Noob decided to surprise them all, hesitantly offering to do it.

“I—I took a few courses back in highschool…” they mumbled. Taph seemed pleased to have someone who could understand him, and started re-signing slower so that Noob could translate along the way.

“His name is Taph. He is a 23 year old male who works as a tattoo artist and really likes cats. He actually owns two sphynxes.” And Taph nodded in confirmation.

If he were being honest, the robed one looked more like he belonged in a temple than a dating show… go burn some incense or something.

Noob then continued with his own. “Hi, I'm Noob, 22, and non-binary. I just work as a retail store clerk, nothing fancy.”

Average, not even worthy of a comment.

“The name's Azure, and I'm a male as well as 26. I double as a surf instructor and a lifeguard at my local beach. Personally, the motto “go with the flow,” has always spoken to me. I also picked up gardening a while back, great way to relax.”

That checked out, the laid-back vibes of a surfer were definitely present.

“Im 1x1x1x1 but you better call me 1x. 25 and I don't see how my gender is relevant, I don't care how you refer to me, better yet? Don't talk to me at all. I work as a freelance programmer…” He shrugged, “Or y'know… I can help out with similar jobs tailored to the individual, if it includes servers or databases.”

Basically a hacker-for-hire, huh?

“My name is John Doe. I'm a carpenter… and oh! Right, I'm 28 and a male. I don't know whether there is much more to say about me… I enjoy comedies and find pugs cute.”

Mafioso could tell this man was clumsy in the way some might find endearing—but it was nothing more than a display of how useless he was.

“I’m 007n7… but feel free to call me 7n7. I'm a 29 year old male game programmer as well as a single father to my adopted son. He can be quite a bit to handle… but I love him unconditionally.”

Mafioso caught the sour look Elliot gave 7n7, at the last sentence. The upbeat kid actually harbored negative feelings against the single father? How curious.

“My name is Elliot. I'm 24 and a male. I manage a place belonging to my family's restaurant chain, but also serve as a pizza boy or chef when I'm free. I really enjoy cooking, so I'm happy about my position.”

True Italian pizza was always better anyways, and this kid was giving American through and through.

Pizza poser.

“Call me Chance. Freshly 26 and non-binary, although I do go by he/them. I work in law enforcement and try my best to keep civilians safe. I have a black continental giant named Spade, who's around half my size.”

It took Mafioso everything in him not to snort as Chance flashed his trademark smirk. Although… a small part of him did note some of the information said.

“Wonderful! What a wide variety of contestants we got this season!” Lucian announced, the cameras panning to him as he stepped in front of the group.

“Now, you all will be given a pen and clipboard with 11 slots. Based solely off of looks and first impressions, list others from best to worst! You will then show your order to the other contestants and say a few words about why. But be careful of who you put where~ this may affect you in the near future.” The host finished, stepping back with a bow.

“Usually there are only 5-7 slots,” Lucian muttered. “Due to the fact that it was customary for the genders to rate each other… but I suppose that wouldn't work here.”

Soon enough, the people in suits handed out materials needed for the task.

Mafioso sat, staring at his clipboard. He was only sure of one thing, which was that Chance was going in dead last. After he scrawled the gambler's name at the bottom, he considered his next move.

Honestly… he didn't care much about who went where. Maybe he'd put Jane at the top of the list purely because of their interaction earlier? She seemed like a decent enough person. He also put Taph as second because of the fact he probably wasn't as annoying as people that can speak.

As for the rest of the contestants… he jotted them down depending on who came to mind first. It wasn't his concern on what people thought when it came to the list.

Once he was done, he glanced around at the others, to see how they were fairing. Most were still writing, attention fully directed at their clipboards.

“Quick to judge?” Jane whispered from beside him, a smile spreading across her face as she gave a quick glance at his paper.

“No, I just don't care much.” Mafioso responded quietly, catching a cameraman zooming in on them from the corner of his vision.

Soon enough, the contestants were done for the most part, glancing around and waiting for the reveals to begin.

Mafioso really wanted to get this over with and just get some sleep.

Eventually Lucian announced for the event to start, and unsurprisingly the debt collector was chosen to begin again.

Mafioso flipped his clipboard around for everyone to see. The order was: Jane Doe, Taph, Azure, 1x, John Doe, Noob, Two time, Noli, 7n7, Elliot, and… Chance.

“Chance, you're last.”

Was the only thing he settled on saying, to which Lucian excitedly announced: “Oooooh, the drama is already starting! Some of you may not be very pleased at the outcome of this event I see~”

Whatever that meant. How was placing Chance last not a satisfactory outcome? Speaking of which, the gambler was now giving him an indignant look, betrayal written all over his face.

What did he expect?

Jane Doe went next, and to Mafioso's surprise, he was first on her list as well. The other contestants' list were fairly normal, with John Doe also placing the woman next to him as first.

1x1 just wrote each contestant's name at the bottom, somehow managing to fit all in the box. Unsurprisingly, Elliot listed Chance as first, but when it was the gambler's turn…

“Guess what? You're last in my list too, what a coincidence?” Chance announced, glaring at Mafioso as he turned his clipboard around. Elliot's name topped the list, and Mafioso noticed how Elliot's expression turned to one of content.

Chance didn't further elaborate on his list, so Lucian took over again. “Very diverse lists I see, participants! Now for the twist you've all been waiting for…” the host let the silence stretch, probably planning on adding drumrolls in post-production editing.

“Everyone will be paired up and given a place to make do for the night! But are you going with the person who you mutually rated highest on average? Nope! You're going with your lowest rated peer!”

The moment Mafioso processed this information, his gaze locked onto Chance, who returned it, equally as shocked.

“Who doesn't love a good change of heart? Every season we've had at least one pair who ended up together from this very event! Even if the twist differs from season to season.”

Yeah, except Mafioso had read up on the previous two seasons. Last season's twist was that the list didn't matter, you'd end up with the person sitting next to you. No wonder that worked out for someone, but this?

“Well then! Give us a moment to calculate, though one pair up is already clear as day.” Lucian spoke, Mafioso was unsure whether to the participants or the cameras. A woman next to him was tapping something on her phone, then jotting down on a notepad. Presumably doing said equations.

Mafioso glared at Chance as if it were his fault—in his defense, it actually somewhat was.

“Well, that was unexpected,” Jane murmured, looking at Mafioso with something akin to… mischief? “But you know, it could turn out for the better.”

“In what world?” Mafioso retorted bitterly, which made Jane pause.

“Yet you're still his friend.” The woman pointed out. “I know, I know, it's just a love-hate relationship between you two… but give him a chance.” She wrinkled her nose at the pun.

Hate? Yes. Love? Absolutely non-existent. There was no reason for any chances in the first place!

“Well, it seems we've gotten the pairings!” The host boomed, triumphantly holding up a piece of paper. “First and foremost, Chance and Mafioso! You two get the kitchen. Next, Noli and Jane Doe, make due with the backyard. 1x and Azure, you both get the terrace. Two Time and Noob, the indoor pool room is all yours. John doe and Taph, you've been assigned the roof. Finally, 7n7 and Elliot, the basement is where you'll be staying.”

Well, at least he didn't get the outside, unlike a few unfortunate individuals.

“Now that it's 10 p.m., you all can prepare for the night before setting off to find your locations! My assistant Nora here will show anyone who wants to know where the bathrooms are. Whether you sleep, converse, or stay up all night, it's up to you!”

Oh no. Mafioso had still been hanging on to the slight hope that this was nothing more than a bad dream.

Contestants started to get up, casting glances ranging from acceptance, to anticipation, to discontent.

Mafioso gingerly looked over to Chance again, who was now saying something to Elliot.

“Well, I suppose I better go. Good luck to you.” Jane said, getting up as well and heading towards Noli, who had a smug smirk on his face. Undoubtedly taking pride in the fact that he was paired up with the only female, even if he rated her low enough for them to end up together.

Mafioso nodded, begrudgingly standing up. He didn't even bother looking back before walking over to his suitcase to grab a few things including a fresh pair of clothes for the night.

He, alongside a few others, followed Nora to a hallway with a total of 8 doors. Well, props to Lucian for making individual bathrooms instead of communal stalls.

After freshening up and changing into a long-sleeved shirt and matching baggy pants, Mafioso headed back into the now empty lounge to drop off some stuff. Only a few crew members scurrying about remained and—is that a person on the couch?

Mafioso had to double take. There was a man in a gray hoodie and pants, but that wasn't the most noticeable part. The guy was wearing a mask, for the most part white with a few red accents and big dark eyeholes. The individual turned to him, watching him blankly.

What does one even do in this situation?

So, Mafioso decided that this might as well be someone else's problem, and walked back out of the room.

It didn't take him long to find the kitchen, though to his dismay Chance had already beaten him to it. It was a nice area—for a place to cook and eat food, but for rest? There was a singular sofa in the corner, almost like one you'd find at a restaurant booth, but elongated enough for twice the people.

Worst of all, Chance, who had changed into dark red pajamas, had apparently already claimed it as his spot. The asshole was laying on his stomach, head facing the wall, watching something on his phone.

As Mafioso stepped closer, the gambler turned his head and smirked. “Hey there—” but before he could finish, the debt collector promptly hooked a hand between the sofa and Chance's waist, pulling him off.

Chance tumbled off with a yelp, groaning as he hit the marble floor below.

Mafioso sneered, plopping down onto the couch himself and laying back.

“Oww, man, you could really warm me before doing stuff like that…” Chance muttered, sitting up on the floor and blinking at Mafioso. "You've really got the entire floor, and you're gonna take my spot?”

Mafioso brought his arms up behind his head and lay on them. The couch barely had enough space, so one of his elbows were propped on the side, but it was fairly comfortable. “This is the only couch,” he said flatly. “Why don't you sleep on the floor?”

“You know, I'm really not a floor person.” Chance shot back, crossing his arms.

Mafioso's eyes lazily slid towards him, dark and disinterested. “That's not my problem.”

“Oh it's about to be,” the gambler decided, standing up. Before the older man could react, Chance flopped down on top, landing squarely on Mafioso with the grace of a hippo.

The air in his chest left with a sharp exhale, arms instinctively moving from under his head to push Chance off, but the culprit grabbed onto Mafioso tightly, arms wrapping around his upper torso.

“You are not getting the sofa without a conflict.” Chance announced, holding his head up to meet Mafioso's eyes.

Pardon—?

It was uncomfortable—more so due to the fact Mafioso never had anyone this close to him. And he hated foreign sensations.

“Get. Off.” Mafioso commanded, his tone measured and deliberate. The voice of a man trying to keep his anger in check.

“Hmm... nah.” Was all Chance replied with. It almost sounded casual, taunting.

“What do you mean by ‘Nah’?”

“Nah, I'm not moving first. In fact, might as well make the best out of a bad situation. You're warm.” Chance grinned smugly, and as if to drive the final nail in the coffin, he lay his head down sideways, making it reach up to Mafioso's collarbone.

“This is your bad situation.” Mafioso pointed out, feeling his chest grow hot with irritation. He really wanted to slap his thick skull away—or better yet? Just snap his neck in half.

“No, it's our bad situation. Teamwork, right?”

. . .

This stubborn fatass.

“I'll push you off the moment you fall asleep,” Mafioso declared.

“Likewise, Mr. Debt Recovery Specialist.” Chance replied, still holding on tight. It truly was weird, even if the gambler was doing it out of pure spitefulness. Feeling the slight warmth of exhale through his shirt, the weight of another body on top of him.

So now it was a waiting game, huh? Yeah, he could do that.

“I will feed you to the fishes one day,” Mafioso muttered, bringing a hand back under his head, looking up at the ceiling.

“Yeah, yeah, just don't spoil me with all this sweet-talk.” Chance murmured back, a slight drowsiness evident in his voice.

Hmm, this won't take too long then.

“You know, for someone who is all about threats and intimidations, you're surprisingly good at staying still.” Chance commented, his eyes closing for longer as he blinked. “Have you ever considered meditation?”

“Have you ever considered shutting the fuck up?”

“Ouch, harsh.”

And surely enough, Chance's breathing started to even out, his eyes fluttering shut. Unbebounced to Mafioso though, he himself wasn't in top condition either. Fatigue was a sneaky thing at times, creeping up on you when you least expect it to.

Soon enough with the sound of the gambler's rhythmic breaths, and the subtle warmth from his body, Mafioso could feel himself slipping away.

He'd push him off in a moment… This was just a temporary rest.

The last fleeting thought Mafioso had was how everyone watching would most likely see this. It was the same during the two previous seasons. Most of their lives for the next 3 weeks would be recorded, actually.

He hadn't even realized when he'd closed his eyes, but by then it was too late, as he fell into a quiet dreamless sleep.

Chapter Text

April 30th

10:31 p.m.

“So uh… this all we got?” Noli asked, scratching the back of his head, as he and Jane stepped out onto the back terrace.

A lawn of freshly mowed grass was illuminated by the moonlight. If one looked beyond, they'd see where the garden began, all of its vibrant flowers paled by the lighting. The air was crisp with that late night quality, a refreshing breeze hitting his face.

Usually it would make a pretty serene scene, if only without the fact the two of them had to sleep out there tonight. He didn't pick out this suit just to have it stained green.

“I guess so.” The woman huffed. “But nothing I haven't been through before.”

“Just because you've slept on grass before doesn't help us in the slightest.” Noli deadpanned, turning his gaze to Jane. What should he do, congratulate her? That wasn't going to solve the inevitable backache.

“Then listen to what I have to say, and maybe you'll actually learn a thing or two.” She shot right back, crossing her arms.

“Excuse me?”

“You're excused.”

“. . .”

A brief silence ensued before Jane sighed, dropping her arms to her side. “Okay, we're in a shit position, but let's not make it worse than it needs to be.” The woman proposed.

Noli considered that for a moment. Well, Jane wasn't wrong…

“Fine. Do you think this counts as the backyard though?” He questioned, thinking fast, gesturing to the patio they were currently standing on.

Perhaps they could bend the rules a little, and spare themselves the trouble of bugs and whatnot.

The trainer shrugged, but her expression shifted into one of mischief as she spun on her heel. “I doubt it, but honestly… it's not like anyone will tell us otherwise, right?”

Noli nodded, following Jane over to the main seating area of the porch. It was nothing more than several loveseats and two hammocks placed around a coffee table, but it was infinitely better than sod.

Once he reached a couch, placed furthest from the hammock Jane settled on, he fell forward and groaned, plopping face flat onto the cushions.

The sofa was around two-thirds his length, so a large chunk of his legs simply hovered beyond the edge, but that was the least of his concerns right now.

Once again, Noli had caught his thoughts drifting to something specific, just like for the majority of the previous activity.

And unfortunately for him, Jane read him like an open book.

“Who are you thinking about?”

The words were light, yet they weighed on Noli more than he'd like to admit.

“Why do you ask?” He mumbled, his face still pressed against the fabric of the loveseat.

“Just curious. Didn't imagine anyone would catch your eye so quickly. Want me to guess instead?”

“No.”

“Well, the fact it's not me is clear enough… but who would be your type? Maybe someone confident and laid-back? Like Azure or Chance?”

“No.”

“Interesting. One of the more quiet ones, Noob or Taph?

“No.”

“Hmm… what about the endearing ones like Elliot or John?”

“No—can you stop?”

“Who else is left? Aha…! They do say opposites attract, but don't tell me you've fallen for that one…”

Despite his eyes already being closed, he squeezed them shut even tighter, waiting for her to finish. Opposites? Absolutely, but there was just something so fascinating about him. But now Jane was gonna guess and—

“—1x?”

Oh? Well uh… that was sort of a relief…

“No.”

“Shoot, I thought I'd get it that time.”

“Can you like, stop?”

“If you tell me who it is.”

Noli let out a sigh. “It's the one with a kid.” He murmured softly, as if voicing it would make it too real. He turned his head towards the backrest, not wanting to look at Jane but needing to catch a fresh breath.

“Pardon? You've got to speak up a little.”

“It's the one with the kid!” Noli almost shouted, bringing his hands up to his face. He could already feel his cheeks burning, why was he like this?

For a moment the world stilled, before Jane finally mused. “007n7?”

Noli only groaned again in response. He was sure it would be possible to cook an egg with the heat he felt in his chest.

“Wow… didn't see that one coming.”

“Don't even—” The man begged, finally shifting his head to catch a glimpse of his companion.

“No uh, whatever floats your boat I suppose. I'm not judging.” Jane shrugged, a crooked smirk splitting her face. “In fact, that's even more opposite than you and 1x. Say, what's got you so into the guy?”

Now this was embarrassing.

What did have him so captivated?

“I genuinely have no idea…” Noli trailed off, closing his eyes to think.

“Maybe it's how he's not that much older than me, yet so much more mature? With a job and a child. Maybe it's how I always wanted to care for a kid? Maybe it's those rare smiles, when otherwise he's always guarded and nervous?” Noli tried, listing off what instantly came to mind when he thought of 007n7.

The man was almost like a fresh breath of air, and Noli found it completely enthralling.

“Well, loverboy, shoot your shot.”

“How? I can't even think of the guy without my stupid cheeks turning red.” Noli muttered.

“So flamboyant and confident, only for all of that to slip away because of one single father…” Jane wondered out loud, her voice containing a teasing lilt.

“Stop, I can't help it!”

“But I can! I'll do what I can kid, don't worry.” Jane reassured.

“What does that even mea—”

But a loud crackling interrupted him.

“Testing, testing, one two three.” A voice boomed from an unknown source nearby, almost making Noli jump out of his skin. The voice sounded familiar, even through the slight distortion of speakers.

“Haha, this machinery still works! Anyways, Noli and Jane? What a heartfelt conversation, but are you two on the grass?”

No one moved as their eyes met, both equally surprised and just as confused.

“Thought so. Chop chop then, off the terrace you go.” Lucian ordered through the speaker.

Jane had jinxed it, there really was someone that was telling them otherwise.

“Uh, you can hear us?” Jane recovered faster, speaking up first.

“Of course I can! Now on the grass you go.”

“Wow, so much for privacy.” Jane scoffed disapprovingly. Her gaze still on Noli, he saw pity creep over her expression. Great… now not only Jane knew the absolute mess he was because of a single individual.

“I suppose we've got to go then.” Jane offered a hand out to him, and he took it. At this point he didn't care that it was the trainer of all people.

Lucian had heard all of that? Will the whole world know as well now?

As if it couldn't get worse—wait no, he better not jinx his luck again.

Noli followed Jane wordlessly, almost in a state of shock. This had to violate some sort of laws, right? Yes, he had signed a contract beforehand, but it's not like he actually read it.

Honestly, who really goes through forty-page contracts?

Apparently he should've.

“Well, make yourself comfortable.” Jane announced, dropping down and crossing her legs.

Noli looked skeptically at the grass. He couldn't remember the last time he sat on it, much less actually laid down. Weren't there bugs and worms crawling somewhere just beneath the earth as well?

“I think… I might just stand.” He breathed out, unable to find any better options.

Jane rolled her eyes before taking her dark overcoat off, laying it on the grass. “Here, that's better for ya?”

“What?” Noli asked, dumbfounded.

“Lay.”

“Why?”

“You look tired.”

And no more words were needed, as Noli settled himself on his back, looking up at the stars spread out above them.

It felt… really weird. No one had ever sacrificed anything like that for him. Yes, his parents exist, providing living quarters and food… but honestly he'd spent more time with babysitters than even merely looking at them.

Apart from that… they kind of always ignored him, barely glancing at him.

Was this just selfish of him? Craving attention?

A small part of him wondered what it would be like for 007n7 to acknowledge him—but he quickly shut that thought down. The man hadn't even spoken to Noli yet, no doubt his feelings were absolutely one-sided.

At least he was aware of that.

The rankings didn't help much either. The single father had placed him at 6th, which wasn't the worst… but not great either, just managing to get into the lower half of the contestants.

Noli found his eyes growing heavier as he thought, hearing the chirping of crickets mingling with the sound of Jane's soft breathing. The coat smelled faintly of her perfume, and the ground was still uncomfortable as fuck, but he was grateful.

“Good night, and uh… thank you.” Noli murmured, sliding his eyes shut.

Jane only hummed in response, adjusting her position somewhere nearby.

. . .

The first thing Noli registered was the aching that had settled deep into his muscles throughout the night, and the slight dampness of morning dew. He cracked an eye open, taking a moment to figure out where he was.

Right.

Getting shooed off the porch… settling down on the grass—no not grass, but Jane's coat.

Huh, he still wondered why she'd do such a thing. The nights weren't too cold during spring, but the woman could've easily used it to make herself more comfortable. It sure soothed him, feeling fabric under him instead of the ground.

Speaking of Jane… Noli fully opened his eyes, tilting his head slightly to look around. The sky was slowly starting to glow with that typical warm amber color of sunrise.

“You awake?” A voice spoke from nearby. Jane was already on her feet, holding at least 5 flower crowns.

“Unfortunately, what time is it?” He rasped, realizing how dry his throat was.

“5 a.m.”

Wow, that was a little early… especially considering Jane was already up, eyes fully alert. She definitely didn't have the vibe of someone who woke up not long ago. That's when a thought hit him—

“Did you sleep?” Noli suddenly asked, sitting up, feeling the guilt creeping up his neck.

“No, kept myself busy making these. Why?” Jane sat down next to Noli, holding the crowns out for him to see.

“Oh uh…” Noli sheepishly looked away, feeling his ears heat up from embarrassment. He could feel the cool fabric bunching under his fingers. What could he even say? This random woman he'd snapped at had offered her coat, and while he napped, she didn't rest at all? Was it his fault?

But Jane seemed to understand something he didn't, from the way her gaze softened as she examined Noli's expression. Instead of pushing, the trainer decided to redirect the conversation.

“How about we go grab a snack? I'm sure the challenge could be considered done by this point.”

“...okay.” Noli agreed, slowly getting up. Oh hell—the sores were so many times worse when he stretched. Every last bone in his body felt like it was made of lead, ready to snap at any moment. A warm shower was definitely due.

Jane let a small smile of satisfaction cross her face, as she grabbed her coat and stood up, folding it in half. She turned to lead the way back into the residence.

As they walked, Noli examined his suit. It was mostly clean thanks to Jane's favor, save for a few faint green smudges on his calves, where the coat wasn't long enough. He really could've changed… but Noli was one of those people who preferred bathing in the morning rather than evening, and he'd been too tired to care much yesterday, anyways.

Up ahead Jane opened the terrace door and held it open for him, waiting till they both got through before closing it. Noli nodded a simple thanks, unwilling to speak in case of others sleeping nearby.

The mansion was eerily quiet, only the occasional creek of their footsteps sounding. The air felt still—almost fragile—as if the slightest of voices could shatter the silence.

If Noli was being honest, he hasn't memorized the majority of the house yet, only knowing that the patio was connected to the main living room, so he let Jane lead the way.

They crept across the large room, towards the hallway. The couch, so lively the night before, stood absolutely vacant—huh?

The place was dim since there were no windows facing east, so at first Noli didn't see him. Was that a masked man sitting on the couch, slowly turning his head to follow them?

Was he… hallucinating…

You know what? This was not his problem, and Jane didn't seem to notice him in the first place. As long as the intruder didn't do anything more than stare.

Creepy.

The trainer stepped out onto the marble of the hallway, heading right, so Noli followed. Step by step they slowly and silently made their way through the corridor—until Jane froze, right at the entrance to the kitchen.

Noli opened his mouth, about to ask what was wrong before he noticed the glint of excitement… and maybe smugness in her eyes. She frantically waved him over, covering her mouth with a hand as if to hold in laughter.

Slightly confused, Noli obliged, strolling over.

What could possibly be so amusing—OH.

In the corner of the kitchen stood a narrow red couch, although it wasn't the sofa that was so humorous, but rather who was on it instead.

The man that introduced himself as Mafioso was fast asleep, a hand propped up under his head. On top of him rested Chance, cheek smushing against the former's chest. Last night the two evidently had something against each other, the tension so palpable even the most clueless of people would notice it.

Yet now, Noli would go as far as saying Chance was relaxed—even snug against Mafioso. His hair out of its usual ponytail, lightly snoring.

So amusingly peculiar.

"Well... They seem to get along a lot better while unconscious..." Noli whispered, eyeing the duo on the couch.

"Right? I knew it." Jane proudly responded, keeping her voice equally quiet.

"Knew what?"

"Oh, just had a hunch, nothing important though." Jane concluded, scanning the rest of the kitchen. "Let's get that snack, shall we?"

It was rough, Noli swore each time he so much as let out a breath, something would creak. After a few cabinets, Jane eventually managed to locate some pretzels. Usually Noli would go for something slightly more high-end, but at the moment he could not be more grateful.

Eventually he himself managed to pinpoint a shelf with multiple kinds of drinks, settling on taking the apple juice.

Once he held up the bottle for Jane to see, she gave him a thumbs up, and gestured towards the exit. In her left hand, a pack of chocolate chip cookies had joined the pretzels, the plastic packagings softly rustling.

Time to retreat.

Noli took another glance at Chance and Mafioso, making sure they were still out cold. It would really be an awkward moment to interrupt their sleep...

The man creeped over to Jane, smiling and satisfied with their loot. Just as he was about to step out of the kitchen—Noli suddenly felt his foot catch on something, and a loud metallic clang came not long after.

He froze, looking down.

The trashcan he'd knocked over was rolling on its side, the few contents in it spilling out.

Oops...?

Noli's gaze locked onto Jane as he heard a soft mumble from behind them. The woman only mouthed a single word.

'RUN'

And so they both did, racing down the hallway, barely containing their laughter as they skid into the living room. Just as they reached the clear terrace door, Noli heard a loud 'WHAT THE FUCK??' It was undoubtedly Chance's voice.

That only made him cackle louder as halted to a stop outside, Jane slamming the patio door shut behind him. He doubled over, heaving and breathless, still gripping the juice in his hand.

“So much for not waking the lovebirds up.” Jane grinned, breathless and slightly ruffled.

“I'm sure they'll be fine.” Noli smirked. “How do you suppose they ended up like that anyways?”

“Beats me, but whatever works.” Jane straightened up. “Let's go sit down, eh?”

“Sure.” Noli agreed, following Jane over to the patio sitting area.

If this was day one, he couldn't wait to see day twenty.

Chapter Text

April 30th

11:05 p.m.

Noob shifted, trying to make themself more comfortable on top of their makeshift bed.

What a first day…

Around thirty minutes prior, they, alongside Two Time, had found the indoor pool room. There wasn't anything that could double as a resting spot, spare for the few plastic lounge chairs.

Even if Noob didn't like drawing attention to themself, and preferred to settle for less if it meant staying average—even they had some standards. And a stiff seat just wouldn't cut it.

Instead, they went rummaging through the connected storage room, finding a few pool equipment like kickboards and towels to make a somewhat bearable bed.

After gathering as many materials as the clerk could, Noob had meticulously arranged the foam boards into a rectangle, layering the towels on top. Throughout this whole endeavor, Two Time had simply perched on one of the lounge chairs, only observing.

Now, Noob would be totally fine with that, not being big on socializing and smalltalk, if it wasn't for the fact that their companion hadn't so much as moved, for the past thirty minutes.

Even currently, as Noob lay, with their back to Two Time, they could feel the latter's gaze burning through their skull.

It was uncanny, to say the least.

The clerk let out a slow breath, shifting again. They probably weren't going to get any sleep in, with how different this felt compared to their own soft bed, located inside their little downtown apartment.

Speaking of their living quarters, Noob was already feeling homesick. They could've just stayed in the building, never going through any of this trouble, continuing with their mundane day-to-day routine.

Wake up, survive work, catch up on Netflix series or perhaps call Sixer, and go to sleep—

“Would you like to see my collection of blades?” A voice brought Noob back to the present—wait, what?

“Uhh..” The young adult sat up, turning their head to squint at Two Time, who had their usual uncanny grin plastered across their face. Had they heard that correctly? First stare at someone for half an hour, then offer to show them weapons? Very tempting. “I think I'd rather n—”

Although, Noob never got to finish, as Two Time clasped their hands together in delight, before reaching somewhere behind themself.

“Wonderful! I don't have too many on me at the moment though, so we must make do with what we have.” The antique store owner pulled out a silver jambiya, reaching to place it on the tiled floor in front of them. “This? Offered to me as an introduction. It's fundamental, for all.”

“Do you.. usually start friendships with death threats or is that me?”

“Death threats? Oh no, dear Noob, think of it as an instigation.” Two Time placed another blade, this one resembling an ornate, gold stiletto. “This beauty is largesse from senior Amarah, after my last issue.”

‘Cool knives… yeah, no, nothing weird. Totally normal.’ Noob thought, but kept their mouth shut.

“This one I have received as a blessing from The Almighty Spawn. Oh the wonders it can cause…” Two Time said dreamily, but instead of placing it next to the rest, they held it out for Noob.

“Hold it. Feel the weight.”

“Umm…” Noob took it tentatively. It felt disturbingly normal for something that felt like it belonged at an altar.

“Tell me what The Spawn whispers to you.”

“Wait, pardon?” Noob flinched their hand back, accidentally dropping the dagger. It clinked as it hit the cold tile floor.

Two Time didn't even flinch as the clatter echoed throughout the large room. They only reached to pick up the dagger, not breaking eye contact.

Something told Noob that maybe contestants should've gotten psych evaluations before being accepted on the show.

Due to the silence, Noob almost felt pressured to speak again. “So… uh, this Spawn thing. Do they just hand out knives? Or…” They sheepishly asked, an apologetic look crossing their face.

“Are you interested in venerating The Spawn?” Two Time suddenly asked.

“Not… really?” The clerk tried. So, it was a worshipping thing, huh.

Great, they got stuck with a lunatic cultist with blades.

“Hmm…” Two Time acknowledged, “Just remember, The Spawn watches over all of us. It chose you to be here, too.”

That was ominous… but also oddly comforting?

And with that Noob only nodded and laid back down, if their chances of going to sleep had been zero, now they were in the negatives.

Sleep officially cancelled. Noob supposed they'd just stare at the dark rippling water until the Spawn tucks them in or something.

Three weeks of this…? Oh brother.

. . .

April 30th

10:48 p.m.

The air was stale as Elliot made his way down the stairs, each step kicking up a cloud of dust. It felt like the place had been sealed off for the last century, having collected enough filth to feed all of the dust mites around the globe, if not more.

The buzzing light ahead flickered, as the pizza boy descended the staircase. The only other sound was another set of footsteps behind him.

007n7’s.

Hell, Elliot would've put the single father as first on his list, if only that meant they didn't need to spend a whole night together.

If only he'd known.

But then again, how could anyone have guessed what Lucian would make up?

Reaching the last step, Elliot finally got to view the grimy basement in all of its glory. A singular bare lightbulb hung pathetically from a cable, the brightness continuously stuttering.

“...this is cozy.” 007n7 sighed, stepping out to stand next to Elliot. The latter only rolled his eyes. He was decidedly not making conversation with this man, of all people.

The majority of the contents in the small basement looked to be camera equipment and production gear. Although there were a few musty mattresses leaning against the wall, they were bound to be riddled with bedbugs and whatnot.

Well, it was better than nothing, he should count himself lucky. Getting nothing more than grass and greenery was arguably a lot worse than a crusty basement.

007n7 walked over to the mattresses, starting to hum a tune he'd probably heard on the radio, since it sounded somewhat familiar. Elliot only watched him for a moment, eyes narrowing.

How was the man so nonchalant? Pretending nothing ever happened? The tense energy in the room was suffocating, resurfacing memories of a crimson child sneaking into the kitchen to steal pepperonis or scattering napkins.

Yes, at first it was harmless stuff—a kid should enjoy their childhood, right? But it didn't stay like that for long, especially when two more children came into the picture.

007n7 dragged one of the mattresses just far enough to make it fall flat, before turning to the pizza boy. “Do you also want—”

“You know it's your fault, right?” Elliot interrupted, he was not accepting favors from this man.

“What is…?” 007n7 straightened up with a puzzled expression, turning to fully face him.

“Everything—” Elliot gestured around him like it was obvious. “Kidd, Pr3ty, Bluu. The absolute mess they make of the pizzeria, the moment they've got nothing better to do.”

“I—”

“And you're the one who let it start. You're the one who was in on it at first, messing around alongside C00lkidd. Now look at the monster you raised.”

At that 007n7’s expression hardened. “He's just a child.”

“A child who acts like everything is just for fun. A child who found it fun to mess with ovens. A child who burned down a fucking building!” Elliot almost shouted, the memories flooding back.

One day it was just another average shift, sprinkling cheese and cutting pizzas—then there came the smoke and panic.

In the end nothing could officially be proven. A single oven’s heat settings was mysteriously cranked to the max, causing the pizza to burn, soon making the whole machine catch fire. According to the authorities, it could've been a tired worker or just a malfunction.

But it was clear as day who was to blame.

“It was an accident, you know damn well Kidd never meant to hurt anyone.” 007n7 murmured, a hint of remorse creeping into his voice as the man turned his head away.

“Yet he did.”

And that signaled the end of their conversation.

Elliot walked over to drag a mattress of his own as far away as he could from 007n7, which just so happened to be next to the entrance. The fabric scraped against the chilly concrete floor as he moved it, eventually stopping by the stairs.

With a slow exhale of breath to calm his nerves, he flicked off the lights. Not even bothering to check if 007n7 was prepared, he cast them into complete darkness.

He could hear a sigh and the creak of springs as the other man settled in to rest.

Elliot also let his knees buckle, laying down on the mattress. It was… not ideal. He'd even go as far as saying it felt a little moist, but he should try to get any shut-eye he could.

This was just the beginning.

. . .

Chance drifted in a state of languor, not quite waking, but not fully aware either.

Soft muffles of cabinets opening and creaks of footsteps blended into the background of fading dreams, but his brain was too fogged to care.

Instead—what he did notice was warmth, solid and beneath him. A slow, steady rise and fall, matching the rhythm of his own breath. His arm curled around it tighter without thinking, cheek pressing against fabric that smelled faintly of smoke and cologne.

For a moment, he let himself believe.

iTrapped.

The name resurfaced automatically, bringing an aching so deep, it almost felt melancholically sweet. He could still recall the nights spent shoulder to shoulder, the low laugh that cut through the silence, the hand on his back that managed to comfort him through the worst of situations.

He missed that.

He missed him.

Shit, a lot more than he'd ever like to admit.

It's funny—how sometimes the mind only clings to the good, refusing to acknowledge the betrayal. Not the flash of cold steel pressing against his neck, not the sharp intake of breath he was sure would be his last—no, his brain skimmed past the ruin.

Chance preferred the illusion of comfort, the phantasm of what used to be. Maybe if he'd done something differently, iTrapped would've stayed, and this would still be a reality.

But something felt amiss…

The body under his felt too solid, broader in a way iTrapped wasn't. He had been more slender, this, whatever it was, was different…

Chance's brows furrowed, the realization dragging him closer to the surface, his heartbeat picking up speed.

The warmth no longer felt like the familiar heat and safety he once knew. No, this was unfamiliar and foreign. It was wrong.

Then, just as he was mid pondering—came the big, faintly metallic crash, dragging him back into reality.

“iTrapped…?” He tentatively mumbled into the cloth beneath him, his eyes fluttering open.

That's when it hit him—iTrapped was gone. Nothing more than just a figure of the past.

Then who was…

Chance bolted upright, his eyes snapping open, panic rising.

“What the fuck??” The words left him, before he could process what was going on, loud enough to echo down the hallway. The only response he got was distant laughter and running, cut off by the slam of a door.

Beneath him, Mafioso shifted, illuminated by the soft morning light filtering through the windows.

It wasn't iTrapped.

Not iTrapped.

He was safe.

Chance let out a slow shaky breath, forcing a grin on his face as he ran a hand through his hair. “Oh, great. Out of every mattress in the world I had the honor of sleeping on one shaped like a mobster. Lucky me.”

Mafioso cracked a bleary eye open, squinting at him intently before sighing, impressed. “You drool.”

“Wha- I do not!” Chance exclaimed indignantly, momentarily distracted from the lingering mix of comfort, desolation and dread. “Besides, you should be thanking me pal. Weighted blankets are usually a luxury people have to pay for.”

Mafioso didn't even bother justifying that with a response, as he groaned and pulled his hat lower over his face.

“Get off my legs.” Was the only thing the debt collector muttered.

Chance looked down. Huh, he hadn't even noticed after he had shot up in a panic, that he was in fact, perched half on top of Mafioso's thighs. The gambler was about to defend himself—before he thought better of it.

“You know what? Fine. I could use a walk anyways.” he scoffed, gingerly getting up and off the sofa. Chance grabbed his hair tie from the counter nearby, loosely tying his hair into a bun before slowly strolling out of the kitchen.

Mafioso didn't say anything else, as his breathing started to even out again.

Well, at least one of them could go back to sleep, and it sure as hell wasn't him.

Best course of action right now?

Redirect. Block it out. Pretend.

Anything honestly.

Chance walked along the corridor, aiming for the front entrance. He pushed the heavy door open, stepping out to get a breath of fresh air. Amber light was creeping over the driveway, giving it a fresh feel, not that he was in a state to appreciate it though.

Occasionally iTrapped came back to haunt the gambler, most often in the form of dreams or nightmares. No— Think of something else.

Anything else.

Chance let out a sigh, it was impossible. He was still unsure whether to smile or shiver at the memories, maybe both. Even if he refused to acknowledge it, iTrapped would forever stay, burned into the past.

…

Anyhow, he had to get a hold of himself before all of the other participants started to wake.

Yeah, composure, that sounded nice.

He breathed deep, trying to shove everything back down where it belonged.

A bad hand,

reshuffled,

nothing more.