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It was comically laughable how fast Jane lost her will to fight.
When she’d first arrived here at this hellish realm, she’d been broken, obsessed with the past and neglecting the present. She’d cooped herself up in an old basement room, fading away like an old memory surrounded by papers and documents.
Then, someone had arrived. Someone who convinced her to let go, to wake up and fight, to stop clinging onto the past and embrace the future. And she did, at least for a little while. She truly believed she could change their fates, and escape from this place. As long as she had hope, she could go on.
How quickly that hope shattered.
It was pathetic. The others were still able to see the light, and they’ve been here even longer. But herself? Jane was tired of it all. She hated this. She hated the constant running, the pain, the screams of her fellow survivors, the death, and worst of all, not being able to fight back. At least, not effectively. Most of the time, fighting back was futile, just a way to delay the inevitable. Eventually, she would be ran through by the masked man’s blade. Eventually, she would be mauled by the red beast’s claws. Eventually, she would be killed by the man she promised her life to.
It wasn’t fair. Why did it have to be him? Why did it have to be her? Why did it have to be any of them? Jane didn’t understand. She hated that she didn’t understand.
As she stands in the ruins of Builder Brothers Pizza, where she’d ironically had one of her first dates with John at, she lets that hate run through her body. She lets it fuel her, until the stinging from the wound in her arm wanes into a dull ache. One last time, she would fight.
In the distance, she can see John chasing after Guest. They were the last two alive, and with him already severely hurt, he’d offered to be the bait to lure John away. But they both knew he wouldn’t last long.
Soon enough, Jane is the last one standing.
For a few seconds, she can see John through the walls, highlighted in a bright red. And John can see her.
He begins to run.
Taking a deep breath, Jane readies herself. When he gets close enough for her to see the black veins bubbling around his body, she clenches her fists
and she begins to run.
She traces paths she’s run through countless times before, swerving nimbly between walls, obstacles and the bodies of her fellow survivors. She doesn’t give them a second glance. She can’t.
John is clumsy, uncoordinated. But it doesn’t matter. He crashes into the walls, knocks aside cars and pizza boxes, yet his footsteps still grow louder and louder as he gets closer, unrelenting.
Jane curses under her breath. Ignoring the pain in her arm, she lifts a crystal jar and heaves it toward John. Her aim strikes true, the jar shattering right on his body. He merely roars, and continues chasing after her.
Her legs grow tired soon enough, and she knows she can’t run forever. Of course she can’t. None of them can. Not from the killer, not from this place, not from anything.
Once she reaches an open area, she stops and readies her axe. Immediately, John plunges his arm into the ground, and spikes rise all around her, blocking any path of escape.
That was fine. She wasn’t planning to.
John rushes in, swinging wildly. She dodges the first few, but gets nicked soon enough.
John, she would’ve shouted if she were any more naive. It’s me! Stop!
The old her would’ve done anything to avoid hurting John. Running, deception, whatever it took.
How foolish she was. John was gone. Gone, forever and ever and ever, replaced by this monstrosity wearing his face.
The monster swings again, and this time he manages more than a nick. Jane grits her teeth as its claws slice through her side like butter, and she knows it’s now or never. She watches closely, waiting for it to strike. When it does, she sidesteps and dodges, then raises her axe.
And she hesitates, and he grabs her head and slams her broken body into the ground. Like she were anyone else.
And she swings. The monster screams, stumbling back and holding its face. But Jane doesn’t stop. She can hardly think, blind rage, sorrow, hatred, and a host of other emotions clouding any rational thought.
The final string holding her together snaps with ease as she steps forward, and swings again. It continues screaming, falling to the ground as blood gushes from the deep wounds inflicted.
Jane swings again.
She swings again.
And again,
And again,
And again.
If she were any more coherent, she would be wondering why she was able to do so, when she was normally only able to attack once every thirty to forty seconds or so. But it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered.
When her arms burn with exhaustion, unable to exert themselves anymore, only then does Jane stop. Her vision, previously foggy, clears up.
Once it does, she sees her work. She sees the monster. Or what’s left of it anyway. A mass of chopped up blood, flesh, and corruption lies on the ground, all mixed together in a disgusting pile.
Jane stares. Strangely, she doesn’t feel horror, or disgust, or any of the other emotions she expects to feel. Instead, she laughs. She laughs, and laughs, and laughs, giddiness taking over her body like a parasite.
The way her axe sliced through flesh, the sound of blood and meat squelching together, the way the monster screamed in pain; it felt... it felt good. Satisfying, in a way she hadn’t felt before. Like all her pent up frustration was released in one singular moment.
Jane loved it.
Eventually, her surroundings morph and distort into inky blackness, and in an instant, she’s back in the cabin. Her wounds and axe are gone, but the memories remain. Around her, her fellow survivors stare at her in shock, apprehension, perhaps even fear, but she ignores them all. She walks outside, heads to the basement, and takes a seat behind her desk.
She smiles, feeling excitement for the first time in ages. She couldn’t wait for the next round.
Somehow, she gets the strange feeling that someone, or something, agrees with her.