Chapter Text
"You're the newbie."
An annoyed painter shut his eyes tighter at the sound of an agitating voice. Did the man not notice the fact that he was completely spent and had no energy left to move? If these were his last moments, wouldn't they be better spent in silence?
Instead, he attracted company.
"Get lost," Edgar barely whispered. It was all that he could manage in such a pitiful state.
He once figured out that red was his favorite color, one that was cold and warm, gentle but also firm. But seeing the pool of blood that stained the snow-covered ground underneath him, he wasn't so sure anymore.
"I get that." The man crouched beside him, helping him sit up against metal containers that were colder than the snow itself.
Edgar, with nothing left to argue and fight back with, let the man do what he wanted. Edgar kept his eyes closed, but tried to let his body relax.
The pain was becoming unbearable. He could definitely feel the deep gashes when that monster attacked him. Edgar wasn't even doing anything to him in the first place, he was just trying to navigate the strange place he was unwillingly sent to. It was a long time trying to run away from that thing, and he was lucky enough for someone to pull him in the thing's blindspot and shove him in a locker behind giant containers.
"He hurt you pretty badly at the back," the man trying to tend to his wounds spoke softly, "It's nothing that woman can't fix, but you have to make it out. Can you?"
Edgar let out a weak sigh. He wanted to express so much of his disapproval for moving, but the man was already trying to bandage what he could with thin straps of cloth and helping him up.
With a deep breath, Edgar forced his legs to get up. It didn't matter if he was limping and could barely hold on to consciousness, all he knew was that there was a sliver of hope that he could hold on to in the nightmare that he was currently navigating.
The pair went to the closest unlit machine. The other man took the middle portion where the keys were, while he took the side where there was a container attached to the machine that he could lean on.
"Almost there." The man was completely focused on the task at hand.
Edgar didn't understand what the letter was about, seemingly a riddle that his eyes could barely make out. He had been given one before he entered a dark room, but he also couldn't understand its contents.
The man tried multiple words, cursing under his breath with every failed attempt.
"Ah, I think I got it!" The man smiled widely, showing Edgar the card, "It's cricket. Do you think so too?"
Edgar stared at him then blinked slowly.
The man laughed awkwardly before typing in the word and triggering a loud siren that sent a wave of pain to Edgar's ears and head. He crouched down, covering his ears, before noticing that the man had a hand stretched out for him.
With the place lit up better than before, Edgar could notice the toothy grin despite the blood dripping from the side of his head. He was also in a bad form, but not as bad as Edgar. His sleeve was torn, revealing the bruises and cuts that littered his right arm.
"Come on, newbie. Wouldn't want Mr. Gupta containing for longer than necessary," he spoke in a light, friendly tone.
Edgar uncovered his ears, slowly nodding, but getting up on his own. The other man didn't mind the rejection, only choosing to lead him to the gate that a woman was already trying to open.
"Took you two long enough." The woman huffed under her breath. "It's cold out here, you know?"
Edgar paused before looking back at the nearly deserted snowy terrain. "But what about..."
"He'll be fine." The man grabbed his hand, gently tugging him to exit through the opened gate. "You'll see him again tomorrow."
"Tomorrow?" Edgar stared at the man who held him.
The man nodded. "Well, no one truly escapes anyway. You'll wake up in your bedroom, so don't freak out. It's not a dream either. You'll see."
"But..."
Edgar was confused. What level of hell was he sent to? Or was this even hell? Perhaps the purgatory where he was sent to live out his days on a miserable and painful loop? Was he doomed the moment he entered the manor? Or perhaps when he accepted the invitation?
Edgar felt the gentle tug of the man once again.
"Let's go?" he gently asked. "You must be cold."
Edgar could no longer speak at the absurdity of it all. If it was truly not a dream, then he hoped it wasn't a curse laid upon by the mistakes that haunted his present.