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1x1x1x1 lay in bed, wide awake, blankets thrown off their transparent body. Moonlight glimmered in through open curtains, bathing the room in a hazy glow. It was hard to tell what was day and what was night in the Spectre’s realm, but 1x knew the other inhabitants of the killers’ side were fast asleep, resting as much as possible before they would inevitably be called into rounds one by one. 1x turned over on the bed, staring out the only window in the room to gaze up at the– likely artificial –night sky. Their eyes casted a red glow on the sheets in front of them, the only light accompanying that of the moon.
They couldn’t sleep. They rarely could– they usually got their fill of energy from hour-long naps between rounds and endless mugs of hot coffee from pots prepared by the other killers. This restlessness, however, was different. Their mind swam, filled to the brim with unwanted thoughts of their life, how they ended up here, and all the many things that were out of their control, the pieces of the past they could no longer change. They hated it all. Every decision they made that led to this, every single person they encountered, all their comrades in this godforsaken realm, they loathed.
Of course they did. They were made to hate. They were made to carry the burden of someone else’s woes. 1x turned over on the bed again, forcing their eyes shut as if sleep would come any easier now than it had been the last few hours.
More than anything, they hated themself. 1x was cocky and arrogant, but it was all a front, a carefully built ruse to hide deep feelings of despair toward themself. 1x was a monster, and they knew it. Maybe it wasn’t their fault they became what they now were, but they did nothing to stop the spread of hatred through their body. They did nothing to combat their ever-growing rage towards everything around them. They groaned, exasperated, clutching at their hair with tight fists pressed against their head. Why couldn’t they stop thinking? Why were they tortured so heavily with thoughts of the past?
1x1x1x1 gave up on falling asleep, sitting up on the edge of their bed and pulling themself to their feet. They stretched, arms spread out wide and back arching, visible bones cracking with each movement. They were sure they’d stayed up long enough that their day was bound to start soon anyway, and an early start certainly wouldn’t hurt anything.
1x made their way to a bathroom down the hall, careful to not make too much noise as they tiptoed past the bedrooms of the cabin’s other occupants. They shut and locked the bathroom door behind them, then stepped in front of the porcelain sink. The counter was scattered with belongings– way too many toothbrushes gathered together in a little stand, some makeup, countless hair products, and a straight razor. 1x ignored the clutter, turning on the faucet and reaching their hands beneath the stream of water to splash it on their face, rubbing the water against their skin before opening their eyes and glancing at the mirror above.
For only a moment, someone else was in the reflection. A distorted vision of a 1x of the past. They were no older than a pre-teen. Their eyes were wide with wonder, a softer red than the bright crimson they were cursed with now. They were smiling, innocently, without a care for what was to eventually burden them. Their short hair was pulled into a ponytail, framing the gray skin of their face nicely. From the sides of their head protruded two gray and green-feathered wings that fluttered involuntarily.
1x blinked. The reflection was gone. In its place stood 1x as they were– sharp edges, piercing gaze, the remains of tattered, torn, and trimmed wings. They stared, waiting, unusually hopeful. They stared as though if they waited long enough, the reflection of their past self would return, and they would wake up from the nightmare they’d been living for the majority of their life. Nothing changed. Their reflection stayed the same. Before they realized what they were doing, the mirror was broken into mere shards. 1x’s fist ached where it made contact with the glass, the skin of their knuckles marred with fine cuts from the sharp edges. They took a deep breath.
“What am I doing?” They whispered to themself, glaring down at the shards of glass in the ceramic sink bowl as if they would somehow answer the question. This was stupid. Everything they were doing, everything they were thinking– it was all stupid.
From their peripherals, they caught sight of the straight razor they’d taken note of earlier. 1x was unsure who it belonged to– likely the mafia boss or one of his goons, maybe the loner vampire –and it, quite frankly, didn’t matter to them. They picked it up, folding the blade out from its sheath.
1x had been in this position before, many years ago, when they were first abandoned on the Heights with nothing but their blades as company. They didn’t know what to do back then, slowly being overcome by emotions that weren’t theirs, watching the only person that ever mattered to them leave without a trace. They’d cried, screaming out the name of the creator that abandoned them. They turned their venomshank on their own skin, ripping and tearing until they were surrounded by blood and viscera, praying that the gory scene would be enough for the deity to return to them. He never did.
1x hovered the blade of the razor over the inky void of their inner arm. Were they really about to do this? They had no reason to resort to harming themself. They weren’t devastatingly sad like they were when they resorted to self-harm in the past. They were angry, but that wasn’t anything new. They hated themself and everyone around them, but that wasn’t new either.
A deep, profound ache of yearning took over them, drove them to seek out pain in any form– a way of grounding themself to the present before they became lost in their own nostalgia.
In a quick slash, 1x dragged the razor across their arm and split the skin beneath it wide open. Crimson blood dripped from the wound to the glass shards in the sink. The cut was deep, deeper than 1x meant for it to be. They hissed under their breath, pathetically leaning down to blow on the open wound to numb the pain in any way possible.
If 1x met their younger self now, what would they think of this? Would they feel comfort in the fact that nothing ever changed? Would they resent their future self for stooping so low for no reason?
1x1x1x1 brought the razor down again, criss-crossing over the first cut. It stung. It was painful in a way they’d never felt before. They bit down on their lip, muffling a shout, pressing an open palm down against the steadily bleeding wounds. Their vision blurred. Something dripped onto their arm, salt mixing with the blood that poured from their arm. 1x was crying– why were they crying? They did this to themself, there was no reason to cry over it.
Blood continued to drip, tears continued to fall.
1x1x1x1 needed to clean up.
They turned on the faucet, sticking the razor under the water to rinse off the blood before folding it back up and setting it aside– whoever’s it was, 1x could only hope they wouldn’t notice anything amiss. They reached into the cabinet under the sink, fetching an unused first aid kit and sorting through it with one hand to find a roll of bandages. It was a struggle trying to wrap their arm with a single free hand, but they managed to tear off the bandages with their teeth and tuck the free end of the wrapping into itself, tightly concealing the wounds. After they finished dressing the cuts, they looked around the remaining mess– the broken glass, the spilled blood.
When 1x was a child, they’d broken a mug that belonged to an admin they couldn’t remember the name of. It was an accident. They were excited, flung their arms too fast, and the mug filled with coffee toppled to the floor. The drink spilled, and the glass shattered in a loud crash that pushed them to tears. They remembered being so afraid when they looked up to their creator to gauge his reaction. He’d smiled, telling them that it was okay, helping them clean up the spilled coffee and broken glass.
“Mistakes happen, dear,” He’d said, crouching down to their eye level. “You must learn from when you’ve failed, or you won’t grow.”
“I don’t want anyone to hate me!” A younger 1x had cried out, throwing their arms around Telamon’s legs.
“How could anyone hate you? You are Telamon’s pride and joy. They all love you.” And maybe, at the time, Telamon’s words were true.
1x1x1x1 stared at their distorted reflection in the mirror shards. They missed him. In a sickening, disgusting, horrifying way, 1x missed Telamon. The trauma of their abandonment outweighed any of the good memories they had with him, and yet they still yearned for the love their creator had shown them in the past. They cursed under their breath, flicking off the bathroom light before leaving the messy space. Someone else could clean up after them.
When the round started, 1x nearly shouted in frustration. They were tired. They were in pain– even if it was their own fault. The last thing they wanted was to be forced to play a game of cat and mouse for an hour. 1x had half the thought to sit down right where they spawned in and just wait for the round to end naturally. They huffed, gripping the hilts of their swords and setting off from where they’d spawned to search for whoever would be the first unfortunate victim of their wrath.
They’d barely walked a few meters before they heard the familiar sound of metal scraping the inside of a sheath. They turned, side-stepping the swing of the other’s sword before it could make contact with their translucent body. Shedletsky stood right where 1x knew he’d be, grumbling to himself for missing an easy blow.
“You’re getting sloppy, Shedletsky,” 1x spat. They watched closely as the man recovered from the missed attack, making no move to counter him.
Silence stretched on between the two of them. Shedletsky didn’t move from his spot for a moment, as though he was waiting for something that never occurred.
“Um, okay?” He sheathed his sword again, reaching to scratch the back of his head. “Aren’t you gonna… You know, hit me?”
He made a good point. Why wasn’t 1x hitting him? Shedletsky would be an easy kill. He was already caught off guard by their lack of offense. They could stab him right there and he wouldn’t see it coming at all. But they didn’t. 1x looked off to the side for a moment, then to the other side. No other survivors were nearby– at least, none that 1x could see. Shedletsky took a step back, preparing to run.
How could anyone hate you?
1x glanced down at their arm, then back over at Shedletky. The man’s eyes had followed 1x’s, trained on the shoddily-wrapped, blood-stained bandages around their arm. He didn’t say anything. It wasn’t his place to speak, and 1x knew that he realized that.
“You…” 1x trailed off, closing the distance between the two of them.
“Why..?” 1x asked, their voice uncharacteristically small. Shedletsky should’ve been dead by now. 1x1x1x1 should have already buried their venomshanks in his chest, ripping him away from the life he didn’t deserve. They didn’t. “Why!” They repeated, raising their voice. It was less of a question and more of a demand, a testament to anger that built up over countless decades, that festered beneath 1x’s skin, waiting for the moment they could demand answers from the creator that abandoned them.
Shedletsky looked between 1x’s arm and their eyes. “I… don’t know what you mean, 1x.”
1x shouted, kicking the ground by their feet and throwing their venomshanks aside. With free hands, they reached out to grab the admin by his shoulders, sharp claws digging into the fabric of his white shirt. “Why did you leave me?!”
Shedletsky’s went still. He made no move to tear himself free from 1x’s hands– they wouldn’t have let him escape anyway. “I…” he sighed, closing his eyes. 1x didn’t dare to look away from his face, scanning for any expression they could read, for any emotion they could glean from his visage.
“I didn’t abandon you. Telamon did.”
1x1x1x1 laughed. It was loud, incredulous, carrying no sense of amusement with it. Shedletsky thought this was all a joke, didn’t he? They laughed until they brought themself to their knees, still clutching at Shedletsky’s shoulders from their place on the ground. Their loud cackling bled into something else. Tears filled their eyes despite how desperately they tried to blink them away. They sobbed. Shedletsky flinched under their hands.
“You,” 1x spoke through their wails. “I hate you!”
1x1x1x1 fell forward, their face pressed against Shedletsky’s chest. Their tears wet his shirt, but they couldn’t find the shame they should’ve been feeling at that moment. This was humiliating. They were wailing at the feet of the man who’d abandoned his entire previous life– his own realm, his own child –without ever looking back once. “I hate you! I hate you!”
Shedletsky was frozen for all but a minute before he was crouching down in front of 1x, carefully settling himself on the ground and pulling the other into his arms, into a tight embrace. “I know you do. That’s okay.”
You are Telamon’s pride and joy.
1x sobbed into Shedletsky’s shirt, their grip on his shoulders weakening. The man let go with one hand to gently take hold of 1x’s bandaged arm. He examined it silently. He turned 1x’s arm over in his hand, something conflicted in his expression that 1x couldn’t read. He dropped their arm.
“I’m so sorry, 1x.”
1x1x1x1 didn’t respond. Their cries were reduced to sniffles and hiccups. The apology was long-awaited, but it meant nothing in the grand scheme. There was nothing Shedletsky could say that could ever remedy the actions of Telamon. Still, they held tight to their creator for as long as they could. They stayed like that for so long 1x lost track of time. Eventually, Shedletsky parted their embrace, freed hands reaching to hold 1x’s face. He used his thumbs to wipe away the remaining tears that fell from their eyes, his gentle touch a stark contrast to the harsh way he’d treated 1x before.
For a moment, 1x could imagine they were a child again. That they’d dropped a mug, that Telamon was telling them everything would be okay and helping them pick up all the broken pieces. They pitifully stared into the eyes of their creator, searching for answers, searching for anything that would remind them of the past, that would bring them back to the moments Telamon would spend comforting them before he left them alone on the Heights.
“Telamon told me I was his pride and joy,” they said, their voice small.
Shedletsky’s expression was complicated– something between him recalling the memory and remorse. He sighed and pulled 1x into another tight hug. “I’m sure he meant it.”
Before 1x could respond, their surroundings melted away, bleeding back into the familiar atmosphere of the killers’ cabin.