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Love.
'Love' has always been a foreign concept to Chance. 'Love' was something that was always close to them but never close enough. Always at the presence in but never actually in it. 'Love' was what people described as warm, peaceful, comfortable. Chance prided themselves to never become any of those, and always pretending it as just 'developing a poker face' or 'needing to stop being so emotional and sensitive.' To Chance, love never came across to them to have any meaning. They never sat down to actually think what 'love' was to them.
Was it when iTrapped used to undo his braid for Chance do them back? Or when iTrapped used to embrace Chance, squeezing all the air out of them, when iTrapped seemed to never want to let them go.
Chance couldn't remember the last time iTrapped had done any of those.
The first time he invited Chance to play Russian Roulette they were genuinely confused. Did iTrapped enjoy this type of stuff? What was the reason for this? Yet Chance, of course, folded and agreed. The type of compliance on par to a cult following its leader. It has long come to Chance's attention that they almost have a blind devotion to whatever iTrapped says and tells them to do.
But who can blame them? He's the only friend they've ever had.
What was weird was that Chance had never once heard iTrapped speak about playing Russian Roulette. Never once even mentioning it before iTrapped asked them to play. Almost like iTrapped asked on a whim and only acted as if he liked the game.
Did iTrapped just want them to lose?
No! How dare they even ponder that subject? ITrapped was his one - and only - friend. Wouldn't iTrapped cherish them the same way they do to him?
...
·༻𐫱༺·
It was the seventh game of Russian Roulette.
Chance was the first person to sit down at the table. Chance knew this feeling; the feeling of confidence when you first sit down, convincing yourself you'd win this, that you're on top of the world; nothing can get to you! Not even death! It's your brain comforting you, trying to make you prepare for what you're about to witness in the game, and if it doesn't go well.
They drew their attention to the revolver on the table; an older model, possibly from the 1980's, was already starting to rust on the edges, seven chambers instead of the usual six, which is interesting because there's still only six seats set up.
A hand reached for the revolver - to load it, probably - but what caught Chance's attention was who it was that reached for the revolver.
When Chance looked up, all they saw was a really weird mask. It almost spooked them, but they were more in shock than in fear.
It took a while for Chance to catch up that it was the host, no, hostess that picked up the revolver to load it. I mean, fair enough it took so long to figure it out, she's wearing this insane looking mask!
The mask seemed on par to the masks people use in performances in eastern Asia, but instead of it representing a historical figure or whatever, it seems to be trying to evoke a sense of fear and that's really it. Some artistic liberties were definitely taken to create such affect too; sunken in eyes, painted in shadows, so many stereotypically scary things on that mask that it would actually make you laugh from how hard it's trying to be frightening.
The hostess seemed to catch that Chance was staring, which spooked Chance a little, because they couldn't help but see that the mask didn't even have eye holes.
'Whatcha lookin' at?' Okay, not the voice Chance was expecting. It was high pitched, friendly, and feminine. It really didn't strike them as a voice that would come out of someone wearing a mask like that.
'Um.. Nothing,' Chance said almost absentmindedly.
The hostess paused before speaking in a rather 'if you know you know' type of tone. Really annoying.
'Good things happen when there's a lot of sevens, did you know? Unfortunately, all good things have a bit of... bad going along with it,' Okay. We love a cryptic queen I suppose.
And then she goes on with a, 'four is an unlucky number in eastern cultures, did you know? When you say it in Chinese or Japanese, it sounds similar to how they'd say 'death.' Interesting, isn't it?' Okay...? So why did they have to know this again?
'What I'm saying is-' Oh, sure, whatever. Just read Chance's mind willy nilly, 'is that don't be surprised if misfortune comes your way if the day goes by in your favour.'
All Chance could do in response was give some polite nods, hopefully so that the hostess loses interest in them or something and she can drop the topic.
And a lucky day it was! All participants found their seats just before the hostess can continue with her fear-mongering speech.
And then the hostess stepped forward and aimed the revolver at her head.
'Seven chambers deserves seven participants, doesn't it?'
BANG!
Oh.
The hostess forgot to spin the chambers.
Chunks of brain coat the rooms walls, already sliding from the walls. Very grotesque. Chance would be lying if they said they were used to this. Seeing peoples' skulls burst open and flop onto the floor is a sight not for the faint of heart. It never leaves your memory; it might as well appear in your last moments alive when you recall your 'best memorable memories' or whatever.
Would iTrapped be in their last thoughts before he died?
...
It's a bit disturbing to see a once chirpy woman fold up like that. Death was scary because it was irreversible. Chance won't ever hear the hostess blabber about some impending doom approaching them, nor will they ever need to ignore the hostess as if she weren't there.
Death marks change, and change is probably the most frightening thing a human can experience. Chance would've fallen into the same fate as any other adamant Russian Roulette player if it weren't for their luck.
Luck.
Chance was always lucky; even as a kid, when the only worry they had was what grades they'd get for math class, they constantly found four-leaf clovers in their parents' house's backyard - aren't they supposed to not exist?
Chance has always been lucky, even when they should've been dead.
'Aye. It's your turn, grey boy,' a bulky man sneers. Oh. Thanks for the reminder, fatass.
Chance aimed the revolver under their chin; did he really want to do this? Usually, the people who play these games have nothing to lose, already planning their deaths, nobody to say goodbye to. Chance has people, no, a person they can live for. A rabbit was also waiting to be fed, and he also has a casino to care for. He only agreed to do this because iTrapped invited him to. He wasn't even playing with them, heck. Yet, here they are now. The only way now is forward, isn't it? The finger hovering over the trigger pushed hard.
Click.
A bead of sweat finally felt his chin, as if the click as reassurance that it could fall. Adrenaline surging through their veins, could anything be more thrilling after this? Sometimes Chance wondered if they were better off never knowing how this felt, yet once you’ve done this once, you’ll never want to stop. The usual excitement you get from watching the roulette wheel spin or grabbing more cards for your deck in black jack suddenly seems dull and you start wondering why it doesn’t feel the same.
The whole game goes by like a blur, yet every time they bring the revolver to their head, they hesitate unlike the others on the table. Their hands tremor despite having already done it a couple times already.
Each participant dropping down to the floor gave the gambler a new wave of discomfort. They'd expected this, of course, but seeing it raw in front of them was new. Like watching a trainwreck - you can't look away from the inevitable. As the game continued, the participants grew smaller and smaller, and it felt as if the game became more and more personal. It was like Chance knew them personally, even if they didn't. They observed how some people were more relaxed than others, even resting their legs on the table. They clearly were cockier than the others. Some were more stressed, their eyes darting across the room, never setting on one position. Yet, even with these differences, every person, no matter the language, knew fear. And fear was rampant throughout the room after every click and bang that resonates through the atmosphere.
There were now only three on the table. A cocky woman aimed the revolver right at her skull with a smile on her face, yet the smile wasn't nearly as convincing as it was when the game started.
'I 'ave a kid on the way, 'yaknow?'
Chance shifted their attention to the woman; who's smile wasn't fooling anybody. Her eyes glossy, threatening to release tears.
''M too in debt to get money normally though. I didn't really think it though when I decided to play this game. I jus' saw the amount you could win from winning and agreed. I didn't even think before agreeing, dang it! 'M a failure as a mother!'
The woman was now curled up, her arm with the revolver rested on the table. Her face still carried that smile even though tears were now streaming down her eyes. There was a long moment of silence before the woman shoved the revolver to her forehead. If she dug even a little harder, she would've broken skin. The woman hesitated long enough for her smile to falter, then she shot.
BANG!
The shot echoed and vibrated through the air. Even after so many shots, each bang was as loud as the next. Each body falling gave the same feeling of shock. The air in the room got stuffier as the game went on. The gravity of the game finally setting in as more blood pooled down to the ground, flooding the crevasses of Chance’s leather boots.
These were real people dying, dying for money. Dying just for a chance to live.
The sad thing about life is that money is the key to living comfortably. Money can grant happiness; money can cause full out wars. Some people are in so much debt that not even Chance, with their unfathomable amount of money, could repay. Debt alters the mindset. It changes your brain chemistry, how you think, feel, act. The sad thing about this world is that it revolves around money. You wont ever live a comfortable live without wealth.
For a really long time, nobody moved. The silence was the loudest they'd have ever heard, even after experiencing music from their headphones on max volume.
Chance directed their attention to the last other participant, a young man, probably in his mid 20's yet had eye bags so heavy they could belong to a 50-year-old veteran. He looked as if he didn’t care about this game anymore, his eyes distant and unfocused.
‘I’ll just end this quick,’ he aimed the gun at Chance, and giving them no chance to react.
Click.
Click.
Click.
BANG!
The fourth chamber was loaded.
And Chance was the last one standing.
Their heartbeat was racing like a car on a highway. They were the winner, but they didn’t really feel like it. Chance had always won, yet it came with the cost of remembering all those bodies on the floor. Knowing people threw their life away playing this game that Chance was just doing for fun. Being in a round with Chance was an instant loss anyway. It was like being a random horse when there is a horse that descended from a legendary horse.
When Chance left the room, they weren’t greeted by iTrapped like usual. Chance found that puzzling. Hey, maybe iTrapped was just so sure Chance would win he didn’t bother congratulating them! Well, now they’re just making excuses for him. And it’s kind of a loser move to just leave and not even check if they’re alive.
So Chance returned home.
Chance’s house was absurdly large. They inherited it from their parents when they retired. It was like a stereotypical large archaic manor. It was obvious it went through several generations. Although the wood creaked, the wooden furniture probably having termites, and the windows being so fragile it could shatter from a flick, it still had that cozy feel Chance adored in a home. Warm light illuminated the house just enough everything was visible, and the shadows contrasted the light sharply. It was almost like the dramatic lighting they use for classical music performances. But unlike them, you don’t sweat under the light stressing about which queue you’re listening out for, instead your only worries are what you’re going to make for dinner.
Chance climbed the long spiralling stairs up to their room. It was a stereotypical rich person’s room; chandeliers on the ceiling glittering with a diamond-like shine, silk mattresses ironed neatly with blankets of the highest quality draped on top. Chance collapsed on their antique desk which probably couldn’t support their weight yet it does. They’d be lying if gambling didn’t take a toll on them. That the threat of losing it all didn’t affect them.
You know what? It’s decided. No Russian Roulette from now on. And they’ll let iTrapped know. Get the idea in his head, yknow? Whatever goes on in iTrapped’s head when he commands Chance to play one of the deadliest games in the casino they do quite want to know, but at this point they’d just rather give up and get over it.
They turned their head and whipped out their phone, probably to endlessly scroll through their billions of contacts yet still refusing to text them back after ghosting them for years.
Chance had become a bit of a shut in after iTrapped came into their life. Their once frequent presence at their parents' casino had now become occasional visits where they order a glass then dip, not letting any of the regulars have time for even a word with them. Many of them used to think Chance was being hard to get but soon they all figured it was iTrapped's doing.
Even long-time friends they once used to hang out with every hour of the day has changed to only a couple visits every month. Chance really never caught on to the change, but their friends sure did. Every 'hey, you comin'?' turned into 'oh, you're with iTrapped, aren't you?' Sometimes Chance wondered if their friendship with anybody who wasn't iTrapped was broken beyond repair.
While Chance was lost in their thoughts, a disruptive 'ding' echoed through the room. Dang, who could be texting them at such a time? Unlocking their phone, on top of countless more ignored notifications read a text from iTrapped:
'Chance. Answer your dang door. Are you deaf.'
Oh. Whoops!
Chance shoved their phone in their pocket and - grudgingly - went down their unnecessarily long flight of stairs before reaching the main entrance.
Chance hovered their hand over the handle but found themselves hesitating. It was almost like answering the door was going to cause something awful.
But who were they to assume that? They've always been a paranoid and insecure person. Could just be them worrying about nothing again?
Yea. Probably.
A loud desperate knock came from the other side of the door. They could hear iTrapped cursing loudly from the other side.
It always bothered Chance that iTrapped was such a furious man. Chance wasn't stupid, they could see through iTrapped's calm facade; they could see the rage behind his ice-cold eyes. It made Chance wonder why iTrapped wanted to hide it; being passionate is a good thing, isn't it? And seeing such a composed man quickly switch to throwing curses left and right was certainly a sight to see.
A muffled 'Dude I know you're there open the fucking door!' came from behind the door, finally snapping Chance out of their own thoughts. Chance slowly opened the door only for it to be forced open.
'Dude, what the fuck? Why didn't you come to me after the Russian Roulette game? I thought you died!' He practically yelled at their face.
'Gosh, man, chill out! I was just tired, dude. I wanted to go home,' Chance spluttered out, clearly a bit irritated by iTrapped's needless assault.
He wasn't happy with that answer, clearly.
'Fuck, man-' iTrapped was now vigorously shaking Chance now, 'Why do you have to be like this? I want to SEE you before you die! Couldn't you be any less inconsiderate-'
'Gosh, fuck off, dude! Can't I catch a breather right after playing a death game? Plus, I don't even wanna play Russian Roulette anymore!' Oh yeah, iTrapped REALLY wasn't happy with that.
ITrapped's face suddenly relaxed - oh, he's doing the switch up again - and with a stoic expression he announced, 'We're going on a walk. Forest... walk.'
'What? But it's snowing really hard today!'
'No,' iTrapped firmly said, before dragging Chance out of the house.
Chance couldn't read iTrapped's expression at all. Wasn't iTrapped having an outburst just a second ago? It almost flew over their head from how rapid it was.
Chance knew which forest iTrapped wanted to have a walk in. It was this forest close to the town Chance and iTrapped lived in. What was odd was that iTrapped wanted to have a walk there so suddenly. But was Chance going to just say no? Maybe iTrapped just wanted to talk to Chance about something, and the forest was just the best place to do it.
Chance conveniently ignored the fact that iTrapped was vigorously thrashing Chance, screaming at their face just a second ago.
'Um, so why'd you wanna go to the forest? Y'know it's kinda dangerous right?' Chance said in a chirpy tone not suit for the tension between the two.
ITrapped let out a defeated sigh, 'don't tell me you believe those dumb stories, do you?'
'Oh, come on! Don't you also get invested when you hear about the rumours of ghosts and stuff?'
'No?' iTrapped seemed genuinely confused by their question.
Silence fills the atmosphere yet again.
They were now deep in the forest, the town probably miles away. How long have they been walking again? Where was iTrapped going to lead them to?
'Dude... Where are we going?' Chance chirped. Yet all they were met with was silence.
The forest was really pretty. Chance remembered going to the forest when they were younger to hunt with an uncle of theirs. It was one of those days where there weren't any clouds in the sky; it was probably the best day Chance could remember. The trees looked even more luscious than it already was and the sun was just enough to shine between the leaves but not enough to sunburn you.
While Chance was reminiscing on their old memories, iTrapped came at a sudden halt.
'Hey, do you happen to have the key to the Banlands?' Chance couldn't read iTrapped's expression, but he seemed dead serious.
'Um... Yeah,' Chance said nervously. 'What about it?'
'...Hand it over.'
What? Chance stared at him, basically gawking at him for wanting the key to basically Hell.
ITrapped grimaced, 'Why are you just staring? You don't have to make this harder for yourself.'
Chance finally composed themselves and sighed, 'The key to the Banlands is like, one of the most sacred artifacts I inherited from my parents, dude. I kind of don't wanna lose that.'
'Come on, you inherited tons of stuff from your parents,' iTrapped scoffed.
'Yeah, but-'
'Dude. Don't make this any harder for yourself. If you don't give me the key, I'm gonna get it by other means.'
'Dude, why do you even want this key so much? Aren't the Banlands full of bad people-'
'Don't you DARE call them bad people!' iTrapped snapped, grabbing onto Chance's collar and tugging it hard. Did they just hear a button snap off?
When iTrapped cooled off, he turned his back to Chance and created distance between them. It wasn't like iTrapped just wanted them to be separated; it was like he wanted Chance to follow suit.
'Look, -' Chance inches towards iTrapped, 'I just... Don't really want to give you the key. You're my friend and I'll do anything for you. Just not this.' Chance moves closer to iTrapped, who seems hunched over. What was he doing: crying? They didn't want to see their friend cry. What if...
A sword materialises from thin air and lands heavily in iTrapped's hand. Is that the Darkheart?
ITrapped turns his head to glare at Chance, and, with a sneer, said, 'I guess I'll have to do this the hard way then.'
ITrapped whips around and thrusts the Darkheart into Chance's abdomen.
'Do you understand me now?-' He twists the Darkheart further into Chance, 'You should've just given me the dang key.'
Pain.
Soaring through Chance's whole body. Not only physical pain, but mental, too. Is this the fate Chance succumbs to? Not glory, not shame, but betrayal? ITrapped... ITrapped was their friend - only friend -, how could they do this to them? Fuck - tears are already streaming down their eyes; how could they be this stupid? Why didn't they see this coming? All this thick skin built up for what, just to get themselves hurt like this?
The surrounding flesh around the wound sours with pain sending it all to their brain - gosh, are they gonna faint? How much blood are they losing? They look down and see - oh, not that much blood.
Chance must've spoken too soon, because iTrapped kicks Chance off of the Darkheart onto the ground, allowing blood to fountain all around them.
Maybe Chance was just seeing things - from the blood loss or pain, they bet - but they saw a bit of remorse in iTrapped's eyes. Did iTrapped even want to do this? Maybe he was fuelled by the Darkheart or his own ambition got the best of him.
But who were they kidding?
One who wheeps after killing is no better than one who doesn't.
'Dude - fuck - stop bleeding - ah, fuck. Gosh just - whatever. Just... You get it now, don't you. Just give me the key,' iTrapped stampers over his words yet Chance can't even make fun of him. What a life they're living.
They reach into their inner breast pocket to fish out a shiny bronze key, only for it to be snatched away.
'There. Was it... Wasn't that easy?' iTrapped gave them a look close to pity. It was hard to tell if iTrapped cared or not about Chance's inevitable death.
Death.
It was hard to believe Chance would die in this fate. Considering themselves, they'd assume they'd die from Russian Roulette or freak accidents or attempts on their own life. yet, it was somebody they cherished so close that brought them to their demise. I mean, of course. Lady Luck could be by their side, but when she isn't their life completely plumets.
Chance thinks back to that woman with the odd mask, blabbering about the latest 7 she found and how today will be lucky but it'll eventually run out. Well, she was right. Chance's luck seemed to have gone cold turkey on them supposedly. How unlucky of them.
They remembered how the guy last in Russian Roulette died on the fourth bullet. Gosh, they really should've listened to that woman a bit more rather than ignoring her.
From the corner of their eye, Chance saw iTrapped slowly walking away.
'...Wait.!' Chance pleaded with their last remaining strength.
ITrapped turned around; Chance was surprised iTrapped hadn't just ignored them.
'...You're... Just gonna leave me here to die? Stay with me for a bit... Would ya?' And maybe iTrapped felt sorry for them, but he came over by their side.
As iTrapped rested next to them, Chance looked beyond the forest and saw that the sun was setting, radiating a beautiful yellow hue. The light bounced on iTrapped's image and made him look as beautiful as the sun.
It felt better than any other sunset they've ever watched.
Maybe this is what love feels like; still finding beauty in somebody who betrayed you.
Hey, even though Chance will die today, that's alright. Because hasn't Chance experienced all that life has to offer? Love, luck, pain, and death. It's as if Chance has experienced all of them in one day.
There's a reason why the day one dies isn't one's least favourite day after all.
Chance looked over to iTrapped. Were they seeing things or was iTrapped crying? They could hear faint pleas coming from him; apologies and cries to anybody who'd listen.
'ITrapped,' Chance started, iTrapped's eyes snapped onto Chance. They were clearly a bit red. Chance smiled, 'Thanks.'
'What?' iTrapped asked.
'Thanks for killing me.'
And iTrapped had nothing to say.
So, Chance closed their eyes.