Chapter Text
It starts somewhat abruptly. Randomly. Your memories from a few seconds ago are blurry, violent-
The screech of tires against road, the sudden rush of wind against your body, crushing steel ramming into your chest, lungs, legs, twisting with a moment of careening. Vertigo flooding your senses- everything blurring together into unconsciousness.
Okay, not that unclear then.
“Oww…”
This might be the sloppiest transition you've ever experienced. Ugh. Waking like this is usually bad, but this is a whole new level of unsettling. What is going on?
…
… No more information. Right.
Ah, well, it’s a little early to back out now.
You can deal, but it’ll be a rocky start. Just a little more grounding than usual.
Your eyes are firmly shut. Knees throbbing a little as you gain your bearings. The sensation of something wet and mashed clinging to your lower leg. Pure blackness beneath your lids, no light shining through. You’re not really sure you want to open them.
A soft clinking and a murmur echoes behind you. Clinging harder onto obliviousness, slowly steadying your breathing, you take further stock of your body.
♡ Abrir los ojos .
♡ Mantenerlos
Pins and needles prickles down, leaving a wake of numbness on your proprioception like ice cold rain. At first, everything is so stiff you wonder if you can even muster the willpower to move.
It’s dead silent too; there doesn’t seem to be any ambient noise. Even breathing. Your heartbeat eludes you for the phantom ringing in your ears.
Still, you must.
Sucking in a calming breath, something vaguely palatable wafts into your nose. Sweet or savoury, it’s hard to tell. Despite that, it’s grounding.
Behind you, a voice clears its throat awkwardly. You flinch.
Every movement jolts a little more than you’re used to, hits a little harder. A painless shock to it all. Your motions naturally slow to compensate, lagging at an almost painful pace. Still, you must, starting with the broadest movements into twitching your extremities awake.
Hands move fine, no tug of a catheter or numbness. That’s good.
Your head is normal, too, not even disheveled with bedhead. In fact, you seem to have woken kneeling- face down? Weird, but whatever.
A little lower, your shoulders are draped in some weird cotton robe. A hospital gown, no doubt. Too loose and billowing for your tastes, but it doesn’t have a draft at the back so beggars can’t be choosers.
This time, the person decides to properly speak. “Hey…”
Maybe you should turn around..?
No, not yet. They can wait a little longer.
You continue patting yourself down and awake, lower and lower, more grateful by the moment with the lack of numbness of painkillers or tug of stitching.
It was a mild car-accident, apparently. A light bump. Of course you’d overdramatise things- they’re not even allowed past 30 down there, and it barely even hit head-on. It sucks, but life is life.
No permanent damage, and no hint to some overpriced surgery being needed. Once your pragmatic, optimistic side kicks in, you’ll chalk it down to an absolute win.
Clearing their throat one final time, the maybe-voice from before resounds clearly. “No deberías estar aquí.”
Huh? The words sound all jumbled up in your head. Both clearly enunciated and nonsense. “Dede ser una broma.” Do you have brain damage?
Great. That’s what you get for even thinking such a thing. Of course everything isn’t fine. This is exactly what you needed, a now literal inability to communicate with anyone, to go with everything else you’ve got going on.
A little afraid of opening your eyes to only discover all the colours inverted or something equally catastrophic, you force yourself to continue the pat-down. Maybe you’re not quite as intact as first thought, but you definitely want to know how bad it is before facing the day.
You can still walk, right?
The stranger behind you sounds amused, but you can’t tell much else. People don’t find horribly mangled bodies funny, so you must look relatively fine.
“No puedo creer que nuevamente se haya descompuesto el mecanismo de distribución. Tengo que hacerlo todo yo…”
No, no, there’s too much familiarity for it to be just that. The sounds, inflections, even some of the words, you’ve heard this before somewhere. Like an itch waiting to be scratched, the knowledge is there, if only…
If only.
It’s definitely a foreign language though, just not one you vaguely skimmed over in class or while geeking out. Vaguely European, you’d guess.
Operating by tone, it’s obvious he’s not really speaking to you, or anyone else. Must like the sound of his own voice. Not that you can blame him; it’s honeyed, deep, if a little cold.
Merely voicing their musings, so at least you aren’t expected to respond.
Good, because you aren’t up for socialisation quite yet. Your body is still a little unresponsive. Just sluggish from waking up in an awkward position, no doubt.
Worst though is that weird delay between your movements and senses. Like every action is muffled through cotton for a half-second.
Once you begin patting down your thighs to check their integrity, a relieving truth appears; the mush, soaking into your knees, sticking to this gown, isn’t you. It’s just some mess, and you find it easy enough to get your legs to cooperate, though your hands don’t exactly enjoy the texture.
Gauging anything from your limited senses is far more inelegant than you’d expected.
Aren’t you usually better at this?
“¿Qué estás haciendo? Abre los ojos.”
Behind you, the voice resounds. It’s male, probably, a little hoarse yet smooth, coming crisply from behind you. Loud, close, far from afraid of being overheard.
Judging by the accent, if you had to guess…
…
Spanish! Of course… That’s it!
Not that it helps. The voice is directed towards you but you can’t understand anything. Once again, it feels like you’re missing too many pieces from the puzzle.
That means you have to, doesn’t it? You woke up somewhere strange, and now you have to commit to it.
Ugh.
Even though facing this particular morning doesn’t sound particularly pleasant, now isn’t a worse time than any other. The place is clearly decently stocked, nobody’s panicking, and you even have someone to, hopefully, get answers from. You’re not feeling particularly lethargic, so you’ll have to wake up anyways.
Opening up your eyes…
… You’re on a table?
Both knees clearly impacted the table a short while ago, splattering cake a short radius around, tilting the plate askew from your weight, and ruining most of the meal set before you. There’s only one unoccupied seat set at the very end, tucked in closely enough for you to guess there’s no plans for it to be used anytime soon. Curiously, there’s still a teacup left there, simply to gather dust.
A faintly sugary scent fills your nostrils, whetting your appetite. It’s coming from the mess stuck to your fingers.
Curiosity takes the better of you. Leaning downwards, you scoop a dollop of the cake. It’s incredibly moist and fluffy, rich brown clinging rather readily to your skin.
Deep flavours of well-bloomed chocolate, a light buttery taste and a cascade of sugary icing explodes across your tongue. Delectable. The urge to moan from the taste is undeniable.
“¿¿Tu robarme mi pastel??” This time, their voice is clearly offended, taken aback in a more measured and disbelieving way.
Right. Someone else’s here. “Sorry about that.”
Though if ‘that’ is the unceremonious entrance, your in-retrospect uncanny behaviour, or ignoring them over a language barrier could be anyone’s guess. Or just theirs.
How rude.
Self-consciousness finally begins to rear its head; your unwelcome and too common visitor to your psyche. You’re a freak. An absolute mess. They’re judging you right now, doubtlessly.
You shuffle off the table and it becomes a little ruined by the cake the skirt drags beneath you. Flavours continue to dance across the roof of your mouth.
Guilt comes next- you ruined a perfectly good cake, and a really nice meal.
I mean, what kind of deviant would dump you on a dinner table? This must be some sort of misunderstanding. How you exactly landed here is likely your fault.
...
There’s no cracks on the ceiling. It seems a little hazy, really, your eyes refusing to solidify the image and details. Didn’t drop from above then.
You’d remember coming someplace like this. Despite your eyes refusing to quite focus, it’s rather swanky. The tablecloth is made of a nice material, the plates durable enough to handle a person’s weight, and furniture precisely carved in a way that feels handmade.
Most things are pure white or searing black. Must be a right sucker to clean. Not a place you’d live in for convenience or coziness, that’s for sure.
A cloying sense of deja vu simmers in your mind.
Sleepwalking? Somehow?
You can’t remember anything similar happening to you. Still, something about this…
Clearing his voice with a somewhat covert cough, the- what you still merely assume- man vies for your attention. Hopefully he’s fluent in English and good with directions. You won’t ask for much more.
Because… you probably need to stop ignoring him. It’s getting rude.
Brushing off as many crumbs and icing as possible, you slowly turn to the figure.
He’s impeccably dressed, a form-fitting red suit hugging his tight waist, tie crisply folded beneath.
Most noteworthy is his slicked-back hair, faintly incredulous smile, and dark angular eyes. They already seem absolutely massive, almost geometric on his face, only to be further highlighted by his long, draping eyelashes.
Cake, robes, falling out of nowhere, strange man. “Nulla?”
Weren’t you just told not to-
His grin has fangs peeking over his lips. Arching a brow casually as he remains seated with utmost etiquette. “Si.” Canines uncannily defined.
Un-canine-ly. “Ha-
“Ha-” Laughter is bubbling sharp from your lips. “Hah!” Great. You’re hysterical.
You’re hallucinating. A fictional man. From a dating sim.
This is a dream- it’s the only logical option. Pinching yourself though is “-Ow!”
“Jaja- La madre se está demasiado excéntrica con las juguete.” His own laughter is somewhat sharp. Unyielding.
… Everything seems fine. You shouldn’t test fate again.
“Right- I-” am dreaming. What would saying that prove? “How?”
He shrugs, which is helpful enough. Doesn’t know, or doesn’t care.
“No controlo el mecanismo distribución.”
Right. Of course. Everything makes sense now.
Mechanisms, distributions, control-o… That’s how. Because fictional distribution mechanisms can do… whatever this is.
He seems to catch something in your expression, likely a furrowed brow, before continuing.
“¿No hablas español por favor?” That you can guess. Something-something, Spanish.
“… Could you speak English, please?”
“Sure.”
That was definitely smug! You knew it!
He thinks you’re some kind of weirdo, doesn’t he? Sitting all high and mighty, watching people spontaneously appear over his chocolate cakes.
Why- You’ll show him! You can be completely ordinary and well-adjusted.
Yeah!
Straightening up your posture and expression doesn’t exactly get his smile to shrink, though.
“This’ll just be a moment.”
Gracefully gesturing, Nulla’s slender fingers curl. There’s a rigidness to the movement, making you tense. You force yourself to stay still.
Three hands extend from the darkness of your shadow, latching on and pulling you down before you can react. It’s strong, too much to imagine resisting. As pitch as a starless night, it feels as if the grip envelops your entire body as it sinks below.
It’s strange… warm…
A few seconds after your vision is dragged into the darkness beneath, you reappear standing elsewhere, shadows still pooling at your ankles.
The space is excessively large, the distance between you and any countertops lending to a certain vulnerability. Everything is just as white: floor, carpet, fridge. Even the scribbled notes in a faint beige.
The greatest contrast is a massive sink in front. Something about the lighting makes it impossible to tell if it’s matte grey or metallic black.
The kitchen. Of course. It’s still as blurry and stark as before, though now you’re certain the space is well-lit.
Your balance tilts as your feet are forcefully set onto solid ground. Something about the way they’re outstretched is wrong. Like you’ve been pulled taut as a string. An arrow about to fire.
♡ / .
You dismiss the notion entirely. Running might be the stupidest idea out there. Especially with how stiff you still feel; joints protesting at each opportunity, particularly after being unfolded like a pretzel.
Beats being twisted into a pretzel.
Does Nulla know who you are? Does he care? How far can you deviate from the script? Should you?
It’s probably best to be cautious in your new reality. Considering genres and all…
Nulla’s hands, slightly outstretched after that impressive display, are shoved into his pockets with casual bravado. You can’t be certain, given that he’s smiling more often than not, but you think he appreciates getting to show off a little.
Or maybe he’s smirking at just how green you’re getting from the vertigo of it. You still can’t get your knees to bend in a comfortable fashion.
He’s going to do that again in a minute. Great.
At least you aren’t smeared in food anymore, though something still feels wrong about your skin.
“No connection. You’re definitely one.”
Hah, right. Of course.
A puppet.
“Good. Welcome! I’ve been expecting you. Mother said she’d send them a new toy.”
‘Toy’? That’s…
Act natural. You belong here.
Okay, that’s incorrect. He’s supposed to be confused and surprised. You know that. But he also thinks you’re a regular puppet?
What is going on?
Seemingly unfazed by your presence, Nulla’s eyes drift to the side, not-quite scowling into the distance.
“After the last one… I really hope you last longer.”
You don’t want to know what happened…
You kinda do, though. You’ve been pretty conflicted lately, huh?
Guess it comes with the territory of such an unfamiliar situation.
Hmmm… should you speak up? Probably… right? Yeah.
What to say, though? Will he believe you?
You can’t quite believe it yourself.
“As you know, I’m Nulla, master of the void. Nice to meet you.” The words are smoother, more rehearsed than the rest, though there’s a clear amusement in the fact you had-
Ah.
You identified him earlier.
Is that not normal puppet behaviour? But wouldn’t he more overtly suspect anything if he did?
Didn’t exactly seem worried about sharing his opinions with you, after all.
His hand is outstretched, waiting for you to shake.
Need to stop daydreaming… This world isn’t exactly click-to-continue anymore.
You take his hand. For the owner of all darkness, it’s warmer than you expected, and despite Nulla’s stature his palm swallows yours easily. The skin is faintly calloused, yet still soft between the divots.
It’s a nice hand.
You give it a nice shake, trying to make your grip equally reassuring. Once again, you’re reminded by how awful the tiny stutter on your movements is.
Alas… good enough?
Nulla doesn’t let go.
“Uh..?”
You look up at him, properly. His dark eyes are still difficult to read, too reserved for any distinct guesses. Basic politeness is still well, polite though.
Common sense would dictate he’s trying to even things out. Give a clean slate.
Still, courtesy is an armour, and something about this feels like an attack.
As if prompted by the eye contact, the corners of his eyes curl with a smirk. “Oh, one more thing.” His grip is firm, unyielding. A salesman’s shake. “May I have your name?”
Ah…
Should you say it? You don’t really want to. He might find out later, but still. Names hold power in this universe, right? He could identify your real self with that, maybe even follow you there.
Then again, can you make something up with a straight face?
You try pulling back, but- surprise, surprise; he’s stronger than you.
Nulla’s grip isn’t subsiding and his smile is patient. Nothing is definitely a bad option…
Dammit, he did this because he noticed you phasing out, huh? Can’t exactly avoid answering now.
Hmm…
Go for a pseudonym, probably. He already thinks you’re an oddity, maybe you could ask for one?
Yeah! Even if he picks an insult, he’s sure to make it pretentious and catty. You can just clear up the misunderstanding later.
“I don’t…”
By the time you commit to the action, Nulla withdraws his grip with the faintest hitch to his breath.
“I understand… apologies for my behaviour.” He sounds oddly uncomposed?
Though you do feel a little sad for insulting him indirectly, it’s a relief. You can tell by his voice he’s resigned to the fact. That however long you waited was enough for him to know pushing the matter wouldn’t work.
The guilt from causing the faint shakiness to his voice doesn’t come. Probably because it wasn’t that intense.
He’s a professional man. Good enough to last this long. To him; you’re just a stranger. Not even one that he’ll meet ever again.
Professional doesn’t mean heartless, though. There’s a blank look in his eye. Like he’s still processing things.
Wow. He does not take rejection often, huh? At least now you don’t have to say anything.
He’ll survive.
“Of course, it’s just a puppet.”
… Oh…
“N-nulla…” The words certainly elicit a reaction, though not the one you want.
A mounting tension shivers up his body, a clear movement as if holding himself back. Reining something in.
A soft grin takes over, incongruous with the rest of his face. “I suppose it’s a little obvious. You’re looking for easter eggs, am I correct?”
You nod.
Let’s go with that. This isn’t too bad, really.
“Hm…” He lets a short, satisfied hum. “Miss me that much?”
He steps closer, expression musing. Like..?
He’s unsure who pulled back.
Something seems to put a damper on his mood before it quickly lightens again. Maybe that theory really is correct.
“My apologies for earlier… I didn’t realise I’d be facing someone from the u͂͜p̵ͯp̞eŕ̷͡ p͠ĺ͙͟a̳͉̳ne.”
Oh great, now the air is screeching. That certainly doesn’t bode well.
Caught as you are, there’s really only one truth to offer.
“It’s me, I-” His gaze keeps perpetually stealing your breath. Its intensity burning your core.
This is what you came to yandere games for. Pure, unfiltered. Aimed directly at you.
“G-god…”
His eyes slowly rake across your form, ending on your eyes with the sort of intensity that’s definitely unhealthy. For the both of you. “Y̙̎o̴̝̰̙u r̼̲͇̈̒̾͞e̛̬͒ͪa̍͡l̠ḽ͓̇̚͞͞y̖ a̷͇̋r͇͛̋͐é͖̜̘ aͣd̠͈ȏ̦̮͗ͬ́ͭrab̴̛̟͎͉͌l̥e.͚”
Your heart kicks into a rabbity frenzy, flinching on instinct.
Maybe it’s just that he’s not a voiceless 2-dimensional character behind a flat screen, but he seems waay more excited about this than in the game. Both frozen and trembling in the spot.
Ready to pounce.
Nevermind, go back! Rude and detached Nulla was much better. You can deal with thinly veiled insults; intoxicating, intoxicated compliments are too far.
Especially with what he’s about to do.
Thoughts race in your mind. You need to run- you need to cut him out of it- maybe he can be fooled otherwise? Something, anything.
Too late.
But your body doesn’t cooperate. Like leaden weights dragging you down it screams predator and nothing else. To stay perfectly still, stay entirely silent.
Only then is there a chance it may pass you by.
You’re not quite as naïve.
Clearly savouring every second of this encounter, Nulla’s smile grows even more when he notices just how flushed and speechless you became in a matter of seconds.
The undoing of your composure with a mere lone flattery.
Maybe if you find the most perfect, most optimal solution, your body will cooperate. The right string of words to survive.
“I- I-”
!
Like blinking with your lids wide open, Nulla disappears for a fragment of a second only for a crushing weight on your throat and his entire body pressing against you squeezing out any chance of communication.
His hands are splayed wide on your trachea, long fingers stroking each grove down your throat as he slowly tightens his hold on your air supply, eyes soaking everything up like a snake mesmerising its prey.
Those coils keep pressing, harder and harder, bending something that shouldn’t be bent- pressing down with serpentine force.
Spots begin to cloud your vision.
The moment your vision starts to waver, he loosens his grip.
Sweet air rushes into your lungs, and you choke it down with all the ferocity you can muster. You’re sure the damage is permanent.
His thumb works at the spot an Adam’s apple could’ve been. It’s almost gentle, for a chokehold.
Almost.
Mild, dissociated panic races through you. What the hell!
That gentle affection continues to ripple across the black of Nulla’s half-lidded irises. As if this is a simple handshake, or the most chaste of kisses.
But then comes your morbid curiosity. What will it feel like? To die by his hands.
He hums, so close the vibrations rumble through your chest.
“You’re here… but it’s not enough. If I can just get you out of the puppet.”
No, no! You want to live. You do!
You have to convince yourself of that fact. It’s the premise of reality.
Even though you have no connections, or goals, or really anything of this world.
You want to stay.
He won’t listen to you.
That’s fine. You’ll just snap him out of it with the manual method!
With him so close and distracted, it’s easy to target his vital spots. You won’t let this mistake go unpunished!
Rearing your arm back, you thrust the nastiest elbow you can, full-force, into his solar plexus.
You feel the blow ricochet up your shoulder. The little gap between you two widens momentarily from the impact.
A solid hit!
A deep throb takes root in your own clavicle.
Oww… Your joints did not appreciate that though.
Guess you didn’t have space for a wide swing, but the priority was incapacitating him. Time to wriggle free.
But as you attempt, his grip readjusts flexibly. Face absolutely unfazed.
He didn’t even notice.
No, no…
That can’t be true. It has to be a lie-
That was everything your will could throw at him. All you’ve got is a nondominant arm and a few seconds to live.
Causing more damage to you than him. No, Nulla didn’t even budge.
What is he made of? Concrete?
He smiles, and it’s only now you put together the reason for such big fangs- prime for getting past that little cartilage around your throat and tearing it loose. Sinking deep into flesh that must taste so rich to the symbols- savouring every bite of the live prey they have captured. Their soul, their essence, it doesn’t matter, vital organs are ripped into scraps to reach the precious treasure regardless.
Any talk of favouritism wouldn’t change the facts. He’s a predator like the rest.
“Don’t worry, it won’t hurt you, so please; stay still. After this, I’ll finally be free of these loops.
“I’ll get you out of there…”
Deep down, you know that’s not how it works.
Here; you are you.
But with the rhythmic squeeze to your throat, you can’t talk. With the way his body cages yours, you can’t run. And with that brute strength? Fighting was never an option.
Giving a soft, gentle blink, his stare begins to trail down your body again, lingering right between your ribs.
With little more fanfare, Nulla’s hands begin to sink into your chest.
I don’t want to… please…
Hurts…
You bear the brunt of the pain.
Ribs pulling outwards, organs pushed apart. A pain so great your nerves can’t communicate it.
There’s no proper sting of betrayal, or time for anything but shock.
… It’s really happening… You’re dying…
Your life doesn’t flash before your eyes, but maybe it’s because this body has so few to replay.
In a way, it’s much like your nightmares at the dentist. The cavern of your mouth plundered and cut open, contents paraded about like a mere object. Only in this case, the determined concentration isn’t sadism, really.
Just a detachment you’re all too familiar with.
Fingernails catch on the surface of your guts, forcing you to flinch. Your heart. Heart? makes an unpleasant thump.
Finally, Nulla finds what he’s looking for, fingers hooking underneath to drag it out.
Red, red, red.
Your vision frays at the edges.
There’s no pain anymore. Everything is cold, but gentle. A long, cool night to fall asleep to.
“Hey,” the voice is soft. Too soft. Your hearing is fading, too. “What’s going on ?”
The last thing you see is worry cresting in his eyes.