Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The Legion was Jake’s least favorite killer to go up against.

He was running, heart pounding sharply in his chest as his boots crunched down the dead winter grass in his wake. He could hear the frantic breath of one of the Legion members behind him, so close at times he felt the hot air against the back of his neck. His stamina was running low and the only thing keeping him up was the threat of a blade thrust between his ribs.

He slammed a pallet down and kept running. Glancing back he could see it came down too early to stun his pursuer. Instead they just slid over it as deftly as any other survivor.

That was one thing he hated. Somehow the Legion seemed much more agile and clever than the other killers. Unlike the others, the thrill of bloodlust didn’t make them sloppy. It just made them more focused. More dangerous.

He bit down on the twinge of pain that blossomed from his left ankle as he stumbled over a rock hidden in the snow. That was another thing he hated. The Legion made him run. He wasn’t a track star like Meg or adept at finding windows and ledges to hop over like Kate. When he was pushed into a chase, all Jake could do was run as fast as he could until he was inevitably downed.

A few lucky misses and sharp turns later, Jake was finally able to lose his pursuer. He crouched behind a pile of snow-dusted boulders as the Legion prowled nearby, slicing the air in frustration at the lost chase. He could hear the distant music flowing from a cassette player on their hip, some drum-heavy metal song that made his blood rush in his ears.

Overall, the match was going badly. His team was bleeding and scattered across the map, everyone hiding or healing or working on fixing generators. Dwight and Claudette were on their last legs. Meg was dead. There were three generators left to turn on before the exit gates could be opened but the Legion had progress slowed to a crawl.

Taking the opportunity to catch his breath, Jake peeked around the rocks to watch his opponent. The Legion member was looking around, staring into the fog that drifted lazily over the frozen ground of the trial arena. Looking for movement. Listening.

Jake kept his eyes on them and considered his options. He was safe for now, but the others would have to be working on generators or on the move, and either way they would be making noise. If any of them were going to make it out alive, one of them would need to stall.

He sighed, the near-miss cut in his side stinging as he shifted his weight to the balls of his feet.

Time to be the distraction.

Jake leapt to his feet and bolted out into the open, the Legion member spinning around from the sudden crunching of snow and dead grass. He didn’t need to glance over his shoulder to know that the pounding footsteps and growing music behind him meant that the Legion had taken him back up on his chase.

In general, Jake wasn’t one for being chased. Before he was brought into the fog, he was the hunter. He was adept at tracking, at slow stalks through the underbrush as he waited for his prey to slowly but surely run out of stamina. The only time he would find himself on the other end of a hunt was against wolves, and in those instances it was far better to climb a tree and wait them out than to try and outrun them.

In many ways, the killers were a lot like those predators. They were faster, stronger, and more deadly than he could ever hope to be. His best bet, both then and now, would be to outsmart them.

Jake trusted his instincts. He dodged out of the way when the Legion went for a swing with their hunting knife, using the momentary misstep to gain a few more feet ahead. Every time he felt the hair raise on the back of his neck he made a sharp turn or doubled back, using the Legion’s own momentum against them. He could hear the killer behind him growl and scream in frustration at missed shot after missed shot. In the moment of adrenaline, he couldn’t help but laugh.

He used the main building of the trial grounds to his advantage, a decrepit ski resort that acted as an appropriate centerpiece to the whole place. Jake darted inside, tossing down another pallet as he did, and let out a giddy breath as he heard the knife whistle harmlessly inches from his back. The Legion member yelled in frustration as they stumbled and stomped down on the wooden barrier. Jake took the opportunity to run up the stairs, stopping at the upper landing to catch his breath and watch the killer for his next move.

As he stood there, chest heaving and muscles burning, the killer didn’t chase him. They just stood in the desolate lobby and watched Jake silently through that disturbing grinning mask.

Jake glared back, meeting their gaze. Daring them to continue the chase. Another generator went off in the distance, the lights turning on like an alarm, but there was no indication the Legion noticed. The music continued to play, the energy of the mix in stark contrast to the silence of the moment, though a nearby fire pit cast the killer in shadows that seemed to dance to the rhythm playing on their hip.

He gripped the banister, refusing to be the first to break eye contact. The longer he kept the killer’s focus on him the longer his friends had to work. Just two gens left. If he could keep the killer occupied, they were home free.

There was an explosion somewhere nearby—Dwight, he guessed, he always got nervous towards endgame—that finally grabbed the Legion’s attention. They turned towards the source of the sound, blade gripped tight in their fist.

As much as he wanted to end the chase, Jake knew the attention he had was much more valuable. Dwight was much faster at running the gens than he was, despite his occasional slip-ups, and drawing the killer away from the others would get them out faster. Even if he had to take a hook for it.

“Hey!” Jake shouted, his rusted voice echoing throughout the sprawling resort. Just as he hoped, he got the killer’s attention right back where he wanted. He bared his teeth in a mocking grin. “Tired already? Need me to tuck you in?”

Yep, that did it. The Legion was halfway up the stairs before he could even react.

“Shit!” Jake ran along the upper hall, darting towards where a shattered glass window led directly into a second story drop. It was too late to turn toward the balcony, the killer was too fast to try and lose between bedrooms on the second floor. He would have to make the jump.

Jake leapt out of the window, barely missing the killer’s blade as he fell a full story to the ground. He’d done this before. He could hit the ground running with enough time to run the killer through another loop.

He landed on the frozen ground, right on his left ankle.

Pain shot through his leg as he fell to his knees on impact, muffling a cry of pain with a guttural grunt. He hadn’t twisted his ankle before, but it felt like the impact pulled something out of place. He looked up at the wall he came out of, seeing the killer’s grinning mask leering triumphantly down at him. He needed to move.

Jake pulled himself back to his feet and took a step forward, supporting himself on the side of the building. He stumbled forward, his bad knee shaking as he tried to keep himself upright.

A slash across his shoulder blades sent him back to the ground. The pain laced over his skin, spreading down his spine with the trickles of blood. Jake pulled himself forward, pushing himself onto his back and propping himself up on his elbows. The pain intensified as his shoulders shook with the effort, but he didn’t care. He wanted to face his death head on.

The killer wiped their blade against their hoodie sleeves. The blood—Jake’s blood—layered fresh over the crusty brown fabric. Jake shuffled back an inch despite himself.

Jake grit his teeth as the killer crouched down in front of him, the mask tilting slightly, inches from Jake’s own face. “You think you’re real funny, don’t you?”

The voice was… unexpected. Jake had known the killers could talk, or some of them anyway. The Plague spoke in an ancient chanted tongue and the Trickster taunted them in fluent Korean, but he had only ever known the Legion to hiss and growl like feral animals. If they sounded like anything, Jake had expected something far more strange. Perhaps a grunting howl like that of a dog, or multiple voices overlaid in a mockery of human communication.

Instead this just sounded… normal.

The momentary shock evaporated as he heard the chime of two generators being completed at once. The Legion member looked up in surprise, his shoulders hunched in a show of rage.

Jake grinned up at his attacker. “Yeah, actually I do.”

The next few moments were a blur of adrenaline.One moment he was pushing against the killer's arm, the next he had hit the ground running. With every other step his vision would flash white with pain. His lungs burned. But he had done it. The gate was open and he could see the other survivors, Claudette and Dwight, waiting for him right at the end. He was so close. He was actually going to make it.

A knife jammed into his back, right between his ribs.

Jake fell to the ground several yards from freedom. Jake pushed himself to a kneel, ready to run, but he heard a growl in his ear.

The fight was quick. Brutal. Efficient. In the end he was gutted like an animal, his memory flashing back to a boar he had killed in the exact same way.

As the blood loss drew him into unconsciousness, all he could hear was the Legion’s voice ringing in his ears.

***

“Not so funny now, huh?”

Jake rested his cheek against his hand as he stared into the campfire, the last thing the Legion had said to him still running through his head.

Around him, survivors chatted amongst themselves. Dwight and Claudette regaled Meg with the action she had missed after she’d been sacrificed, Dwight’s more grotesque details earning him a friendly smack on the arm. Across the fire Kate and David were sharing their own stories with Bill, who humored them like a grandfather would. Others would come to the fire and sit for a moment before being drawn back into a new trial, and others still wandered away from its inviting light to search for offerings in the fog.

Jake considered leaving the fireside himself. He had never been much of a people person, even before his self-imposed exile into the forest, and had often found his own comfort in solitude.

“Jake?”

Jake looked up, momentarily snapped out of his thoughts. Claudette was looking at him. “Yeah?”

“Are you okay?” she asked. Her tone was prodding but cautious. “You seem out of it.”

“You took a big hit for us back there,” Dwight added helpfully. “It looked pretty bad. You can talk about it if you need to, y’know?”

Jake looked down at his hands, picking at the calluses on his fingers. Honestly, he didn’t think the death had anything to do with it. He had died by the killer’s hand plenty of times before. Every killer had their own special way of doing it, and some of them were even a mercy compared to the slow death by hanging on a hook or bleeding out on the ground. It’s just more pain. Jake was good at handling pain.

This was something else. Something he couldn’t say out loud yet.

“I’m fine,” he said after a few long moments of silence. The fire crackled in the space between his words. “Just wasn’t expecting it is all.”

It was a lie and he knew it, but it seemed to be enough for his fellow survivors.

From there the conversation turned to the Legion. Meg was the first to start her own griping, swearing up and down that they were faster than she remembered. Dwight laughed and made a comment about Jake giving him the runaround with a bad knee, to which both Meg and Claudette gave him a punch in the shoulder. Jake waited until the topic had shifted away from him before making an offhand comment about gathering offerings and walking away from the fire.

The fog, as always, was quiet. The campfire dimmed far quicker than it should have as he walked away from it. It always seemed as though the forest of the Entity’s realm swallowed lights and sounds when he walked into it. Peat moss covered the ground wherever he walked, so even his own footsteps seemed muffled and distant. It was the perfect place for him to think.

The Legion were human. At least, they were as close to human as the killers could come. Of the ones he had encountered, the majority seemed to be fully monstrous, inhuman, hulking and towering over the survivors. In comparison the Legion were small. Jake had always thought it was due to their speed and agility, their smaller stature necessary for their power, but…

Jake stopped, leaning on a tree. He focused on the feeling of the bark against his hand. It was damp and old. The bark came off in small bits against his skin when he trailed his fingers over it. The air around the tree smelled like mildew, compared to the rest of the fog, which smelled like the forest fresh out of rainfall. Jake pulled his hand away, shoving it back in his pocket.

Maybe the Legion weren’t monsters. Not like the rest of them anyway. But if that was the case, what did that mean for him? For the other survivors? What did it mean when they went up against the Legion?

Jake furrowed his brow, staring into the endless fog surrounding him. He had too many questions and no way to answer them. No way except…

As a plan began to form under the surface, Jake noticed a shadow in the endless fog around him. He steeled himself, his heart pounding as he prepared to run. He’d heard rumors of killers prowling in the fog where survivors wandered too far. He didn’t want to test what they could do to him outside of the bounds of a trial.

He relaxed when the shadow formulated into a more familiar shape. “Jeff,” he breathed.

The large hairy man smiled back. “Hey there, Jake. What brings you out here?”

He liked the friendly older man. He was nearly as quiet as Jake was and much easier to talk to than the others. He shrugged, glancing around the forest. “I came out here to think.”

Jeff nodded, motioning for Jake to walk with him as he continued his own path. “May I ask what about?”

Jake hesitated to answer. Jeff wasn’t quite like the other survivors he’d grown close to. He would ask questions without prying, offer suggestions without trying to fix things, and Jake knew that when he hit a brick wall he needed someone else to bounce off of to help him get past it. And yet…

There was very little Jake really knew about Jeff. The man didn’t talk about himself, instead spending most of his time sketching in a notebook. Jake had seen a few of these drawings. They were evocative pieces, often surreal in appearance. Jake could tell that’s what Jeff did with his emotions; He didn’t talk about them—he drew them.

One thing Jake did know about Jeff, however, is that he appeared in the fog around the same time the Legion did.

He thought about it, the two walking in near comfortable silence together. The fog curled around them cloyingly, like a dog begging for a treat or a scavenger waiting for food. It should have been cold, but if it was neither of them felt it. Jeff wore his long dark hair tied in a bun, a heavy leather jacket keeping him warm. Jake still wore the sheep-skin hoodie that had kept him warm at the ski resort. It was notably absent of the blood it should have been drenched in. The only sound for miles around them was their soft steps along the path in the forest.

After what seemed like ages, Jake answered Jeff with his own question. “Do you know anything about the Legion?”

Jeff stopped abruptly, the contentment on his face changing to something distant. Regretful. “Yeah,” he finally said, heaving a heavy sigh. “Unfortunately.”

Jake looked at him, trying to read his expression. It was guarded, much more than the man typically was. He waited for Jeff to continue.

Jeff leaned back against a tree and crossed his arms, looking off into the fog. “I did a commission for them once. Back before all of this.” He waved his hand out, motioning around them. “They seemed like good kids, y’know? Gave me my first job. Seeing the looks on their faces when they saw the mural…” He trailed off and smiled sadly. “They were so excited.”

Commission? Kids? Jake looked at Jeff with wide eyes, trying to process the information. The only experience he’d personally had with the Legion was brutality and violence. Was Jeff saying… Were they children?

Unaware of the way Jake stared at him, Jeff continued. “I never expected this from them, y’know? They couldn’t’ve been out of high school. Maybe they were troubled, sure. But they seemed like good kids.”

Jake leaned against his own tree, trying to wrap his head around it. He always assumed the killers were monsters, created by the Entity purely for the purpose of the trials. Most of them seemed that way to be sure.

But the Legion weren’t like that. They were human. Teenagers. They had a life before all this, same as the survivors.

How did they end up like this?

“No idea, honestly,” Jeff said, his voice tinged with regret. Jake startled. Had he said that last part out loud? “I left Ormond shortly after that. I only came back ‘cause my old man died. Never did settle those arrangements.” He looked at Jake. “They’re the only ones who know how they got here.”

Jeff paused at that, staring at him. Jake’s expression was hard, his brow furrowed and eyes distant.

They’re the only ones who know how they got here.

He didn’t need to know. Honestly, it was probably better if he didn’t know. He should forget this conversation ever happened, go back to the campfire. Wait for the next trial. The next monster.

Jake looked out into the fog, thinking about the killer’s voice, about what Jeff had said. Wondering if the Legion was out there now, wandering farther than they should into the fog. Just like he had.

He needed to know how the Legion became killers.

Chapter Text

It was easier said than done.

Shortly after he parted ways with Jeff, Jake was thrust into another trial. Fog swirled around him, black as void and full of whispers that set his teeth on edge. Despite his warm clothes, the chill seemed to claw into his bloodstream, like it was flooding into all his cells and remaking them into itself.

When it finally pulled away, Jake was on a new trial ground. He shrugged off the chill and looked around, blinking away the fog that remained in his vision.

He was in a forest, that much remained the same, but the atmosphere was completely different. Where the forest in the fog was darkened by a pitch black sky, the one above him was clear with a full moon that shone down on him, bathing the entire area in a cool blue light. It seemed more natural in some ways, like the trees and dirt devoid of rotten moss, but the presence of wooden crates and rusted metal structures brought a distinctly man-made element to the place.

As Jake glanced around, looking for nearby generators to work on, his eyes landed on something hidden underneath a fern. Something sharp and metal that peeked out from its hiding spot glinted in the moonlight. A bear trap.

He smiled, excitement and anticipation rising in his chest. This was a Trapper game and Jake was in his element.

Disarming the nearby trap was child’s play for him. When Jake was first brought into the trials his aptitude for methodically breaking things apart made the Trapper’s bear traps useless. He paid dearly for it every time he got caught, but it always bought his teammates precious time and safety during their trials. Eventually the Trapper evolved. The traps became sturdier and almost impossible to take apart, but Jake’s experience gave him priceless knowledge. He knew the contraptions inside and out.

With a loud snap the trap clamped shut, rendering it useless until the Trapper came by to reset it. Jake ran. The sound of that snap drew the Trapper in like the scent of blood drew in a shark, and Jake wanted to keep his presence in this trial unknown to the killer as long as he could.

As generator after generator turned on, shining like beacons in the perpetual night, Jake continued his path of destruction against the Trapper’s carefully placed traps. Every glint of metal or odd shape in the grass was investigated, every sharp snap followed by a race to the next one before he could get caught in the act.

The trial was going well. There were two generators left to go and none of his teammates had gotten caught in a trap or hoisted onto a hook, in large part due to his own sabotage. Jake stopped taking as much care as he should, hyped up on his own success.

That’s probably why the trap placement didn’t strike him as odd at first. Jake spotted the bear trap in the middle of a clearing, open wide and bathed in a stream of moonlight. He smirked, thinking that the Trapper had gotten sloppy, so desperate to catch a survivor that he stopped caring where he placed the traps. The idea of his antics making the killer burn with rage brought a satisfied smile to his face.

Jake glanced around before approaching the trap, making sure he couldn’t see the Trapper waiting nearby, cloaked in the shadows somewhere. If it was a trick, it was an obvious one, and Jake was smarter than that. He moved slowly through the treeline towards the clearing.

It wasn’t until he felt his foot press down on a metal plate that Jake realized his mistake.

Air hissed through his teeth as steel jaws clamped shut around his leg, the pain forming stars in his vision. Jake instantly fell to one knee and got to work getting the trap open. He only had so much time to get free before the Trapper showed up.

Which he would, of course he would. It was so obvious in retrospect. Rage didn’t make the Trapper sloppy, it just made him smarter. If he hadn’t been so focused on himself…

Jake had nearly gotten the jaws open when two large muscular hands grabbed him and lifted him into the air.

The trip to the hook was short. The Trapper was unbothered by Jake’s attempts to struggle out of his grip, his stride quick and determined, and when he hoisted Jake up onto the hook he was more rough than was strictly necessary.

Which made sense, honestly. Jake had spent the entire trial doing everything in his power to make the Trapper’s main advantage obsolete, and it wasn’t like the killer was a big fan of him to begin with.

The Trapper stood there staring as Jake squirmed on the hook, feeling too much like a fish for his taste. He glared back, catching his breath in a petulant attempt to not scream. He didn’t want the bastard to get the satisfaction of hearing his pain. A feeling of familiarity passed over him as he remembered the last trial, when he stared back at the masked killer chasing him.

A thought occurred to him. He had never heard the Legion speak until he actively spoke to one of them. The killers could talk. Maybe they just didn’t have a reason to.

Another generator lit up and the Trapper turned around, prepared to chase a new target. Urgency struck him as Jake yelled out after him.

“Hey, wait!”

To his surprise, the Trapper actually stopped and turned back to face him. Despite the menacing cracked mask obscuring his face, the killer seemed more confused than agitated.

Jake took the opportunity while he had it. “What do you know about the Legion?”

The Trapper approached him and Jake half expected to get a machete to the stomach for his gall. Instead, the killer responded in a deep, gravelly voice.

“Why do you want to know?”

The fear all but left Jake as he thought about how to respond. This was the second trial in a row that he’d heard a killer’s voice for the first time, and part of him thought he’d finally lost his mind.

“I, uh…” He struggled to explain his reasoning. “There’s something I need to figure out. It involves them.” Jake grabbed onto the hook for support. Hanging from the thing was miserable if he let gravity do its work unabated and he needed to focus if he was going to get any information.

The Trapper hesitated, staring at him silently as Jake waited for a response. He finally got one. “The Legion… those are the brats that keep trespassing on my land.” Jake raised his eyebrows at that, to which the Trapper gestured to the trial grounds. He knew what the killer meant. His land: The Macmillan Estate. “I think they have a dare going. Trying to see how far they can go before one of them gets caught.” He snorted derisively. “Stupid kids.”

Jake tried to make sense of that. “You… So you have your own land. Outside of trials. They have theirs?” The pain was making it hard to breathe and Jake could see the Entities claws forming around the hook, but he was so close.

He saw the Trapper’s head tilt fractionally. Jake wondered what he was thinking. “I assume so. I’ve hunted on their land in a trial before. Their name is painted on the side of that building.”

The ski resort. Jake remembered seeing a faded mural on one of the walls. That must have been the commission Jeff had done for them before he was taken.

It was that moment that the claws of the Entity fully formed and lunged at Jake. He barely had time to grab onto one, grunting with exertion as he tried to hold it back. The Trapper turned away, starting to walk off once again.

“Wait!” Jake was desperate. He almost had all the pieces, he just needed one more. “How do I get there?”

For one terrifying moment he thought the Trapper would ignore him, leaving him to struggle alone. Then he turned, staring at Jake for a long moment.

“The sacrifices,” he finally said. His tone was informative, lacking intent. “You can burn them to start a trial wherever you like.” Jake nodded, biting his lip as he held the overgrown claw inches from his chest. “Take one into the fog. You’ll know when you arrive.”

At that another generator lit up and the Trapper growled. Jake could almost feel the malice flowing from him. “You’ve wasted enough of my time, Saboteur.”

As he watched the killer stalk off into the forest, the relief was so overwhelming he nearly lost his grip on the claw. He knew his next move. Now he just needed to survive the trial.

Meg appeared from behind a nearby pile of crates and came running for him. The claws receded for her as she lifted him off the hook with a sickening squelch.

“Here,” she said, pushing Jake into a kneel as she produced a roll of bandages from her pocket.

Jake sighed with relief as he patched his wound. The Entity was many things, but at least it was relenting when it came to injuries. “Thanks, Meg.”

She hummed as she worked. “What was all that about,” she asked, her voice bordering on accusative.

Until that point, it didn’t occur to Jake that talking to the killers would come across as suspicious. His mind raced, trying to figure out how he would explain himself should she ask. “What do you mean,” he ventured, trying not to sound as nervous as he suddenly felt.

She scoffed, clipping the end of the bandage to itself. “He was in your face for ages! I couldn’t get close enough to get you down!”

Jake nearly fell over with relief. “Yeah,” he said with a breathless chuckle, “that was pretty weird.”

The trial ended quickly after that. The other survivors got the final generator done easily and the gate opened soon after. As Jake ran for the exit, he glanced over his shoulder.

The Trapper was standing just outside the gate, watching as all four survivors escaped the trial. A shiver trailed down his spine as he looked away.

Jake was going to pay for this later.

***

“And he was just standing there! I swear, I don’t understand how we’re supposed to help each other with the killer just breathing down our necks like that.”

Meg was ranting about the trial as usual. It turned out that Claudette and Dwight weren’t with them, so when they returned to the campfire she was more than happy to fill them in.

Jake wasn’t paying much attention. He was staring into the fire, once again considering his options.

He had his next step; Get an Ormond offering and take it with him into the fog. That was about as simple as anything in the Entity’s realm was. He had nothing but a killer’s word that it would even work–a killer who hated his guts, he might add–and he had no idea what he would be up against once he got there.

Based on his past interactions with the Legion, there were maybe four or five of them total. Of those, only one ever seemed to go into a trial at a time. That meant that no matter what, he would be walking into the home turf of up to five very strong, very fast, very violent killers. By himself. With no guaranteed way out.

“-so stupid. Right, Jake?”

Jake startled out of his thoughts, suddenly realizing all three of his friends were watching him intently. Shit, had they been talking to him?

“Ah, sorry.” He scratched his cheek, grounding himself in the texture of the stubble lacing his jawline. “I was thinking about… something. What were you saying?”

Meg rolled her eyes dramatically and folded her arms. “I said, the Trapper this trial was so stupid, right?”

He chuckled nervously, looking away. “Yeah, real stupid.”

Jake made an attempt to stay focused on the conversation after that but his mind kept drifting elsewhere. He needed some kind of plan if he was going to go looking for the Legion. Going out there now was suicide.

Well, maybe not suicide. The Entity fed off of the survivors that participated in its trials. It wouldn’t allow him to die permanently.

Probably.

A persistent tap on his arm lifted Jake back out of his thoughts. He looked over to see Dwight looking at him with an expression of genuine worry. “Hey,” he asked, not forceful in his tone but not timid either. “Are you okay?”

Jake sighed, rubbing his face. He’d known Dwight longer than every other survivor in the realm. They had shown up nearby one another in their first trial, and Dwight’s panicked demeanor gave Jake the resolve to get through his own fear.

They had both come a long way since then. By now, Dwight knew intimately when Jake wasn’t his best self, and Jake knew that he wouldn’t stop trying to help at any cost.

Well, some help could be just what he needed.

Jake lowered his voice, looking at his friend. “Can we talk in private? It’s… complicated.” Dwight nodded and stood up, walking with Jake into the fog just outside the campfire clearing.

Almost immediately, Dwight turned to Jake and crossed his arms. “Okay,” he said, tilting his chin up in a way that would have been authoritative on anyone else but was just funny on him. “What’s going on? You haven’t been yourself since we got out of that last trial.”

A fond smile crept at Jake’s lips, even as he attempted to stay serious. Dwight always tried so hard to be a good leader. In some ways, he didn’t need to. He already was.

“Okay,” Jake began. He was just going to have to bite the bullet and tell him what was going on. “I found out some… stuff. About the Legion.”

Dwight’s composure shifted, immediately losing his authoritative stance and falling easily into curiosity. “What kind of stuff? Like…” He lowered his voice, leaning closer to Jake. “Sexual stuff?”

Jake snorted and pushed his face. “No! God, no, nothing like that.” He sighed. “They used to be human, like us. I think they still are.” Looking at Dwight, dressed in casual jeans and a graphic tee, his glasses taped on the bridge from too many falls, he wondered what his friend might be like as a killer. He wondered if that was even possible. “I don’t know what that means, but I want to find out.”

Silence filled the space between them for a few seconds, making Jake more uncomfortable the longer he stood in it. He wasn’t sure what to expect from his friend at this point. The whole thing sounded crazy, even to him. Finally, Dwight responded. “How do you plan to do that?”

“I think I need to go to them,” Jake admitted. “Talk to them directly. The Tr-” He stopped himself, suddenly realizing how insane taking advice from a killer would sound. He corrected course. “I heard the killers have their own areas they stay in when they’re not in trials. I can take an Ormond offering with me into the fog to get there.”

Based on the face he made, Jake guessed that he disagreed. “Go to them? Jake, that’s-”

“Suicidal,” Jake finished. “Yeah, I know.”

Dwight shook his head. “Not suicidal, Jake. Masochistic.” He crossed his arms. “These are killers we’re talking about. Violent maniacs! They’d probably, I dunno, tie you up and torture you. Or worse!”

The thought made Jake cringe. Death certainly wasn’t the worst thing that could happen here. “What else am I supposed to do? If I’m going to get answers I need to talk to them.”

Jake expected Dwight to argue, to tell him it wasn’t that important, to tell him it was stupid to care about and to let it go. Instead, his friend just furrowed his brow, his hand resting on his chin as he stared intently at the ground. Jake tilted his head. “Uh-”

He started as Dwight suddenly looked up. “Why don’t you wait for them to come to you?”

“Wait?” Jake shook his head. “What, go through the trials until we go against the Legion again?”

“Yeah,” Dwight said, like it was obvious. “You can try and talk to them in a trial. Then if it goes south you just escape or,” he shrugged, “you know, die and go back to the camp.”

“So I’m just supposed to sit and wait to go up against them again?” Jake hated the thought. When a question bothered him it dug its claws into his skin. He’d much rather risk everything to find out the answers on his own.

He’d done it before.

“Or,” Dwight offered, “you can take that offering and just go to their home base in a trial. It’s just as likely they’ll have some stuff in that resort that’ll help you out.”

Jake blinked. That… actually wasn’t a bad idea. And that way he’ll know what the offering looks like, so if it doesn’t work…

Nodding, Jake looked back at Dwight. “Yeah, alright. I’ll try that. But,” he continued, “you can’t tell anyone else about this, okay? I need to do this on my own.”

“Jake, you don’t have to…” A look from Jake silenced him and Dwight sighed. “Fine, if you’re sure. But if anything happens, I want to know about it.” He held out his hand. “Deal?”

Jake smiled and shook his hand. “Deal.”

The fog seemed to swirl around them, filling Jake with a sense of dread-tinged excitement he hadn’t felt in a long time.

“Now,” he said, barely suppressing a grin. “Show me what an Ormond offering looks like.”

Chapter Text

As it turned out, Jake already had an Ormond offering on hand.

Before now he had never had much need for a trial ground offering. He collected them in the fog when he went searching for offerings and saved them when he could, but he felt the location of the trial didn’t matter so much as the killer they went up against. That was something he had no control over.

The Ormond offering was interesting in its own right. It was a damaged photograph taken at the resort depicting four teenagers, three of whom had their faces scratched over. The fourth seemed to be the leader of the group as far as he could tell by their posture, but the photo was worn enough that it was hard to make out any other details.

It had a strange air about it, like those pictures taken moments before famous disasters. The serenity and happiness it depicted was overshadowed by something darker still to come.

In any case, the offering did its job just as well. After burning the thing at the campfire, the first thing Jake saw at the start of his next trial was his own breath condensating in the frigid climate of the resort.

He didn’t waste any time.

There wasn’t a lot for Jake to pick up on at the resort. Most of its contents were abandoned bags and snowboards, lost coats and children’s toys, all blended into the decomposing atmosphere of the Entity’s realm. He opened a few closets but didn’t find much of note. The contents within matched the exteriors: decaying remnants of plaid shirts and jackets, all coated in a thin layer of dust. Even the Legion’s mural was faded and barely visible.

Overall the effect was unnerving. The resort didn’t feel like a relic of a lost time. It seemed like a taunt. As if the whole place was the Entity’s way of enforcing the purgatory they were all stuck in.

The hair stood up on the back of his neck and Jake looked around in spite of himself. No killer in sight.

Still, he walked slowly as he made his way into the lobby of the resort. Now that he was looking, there were details he’d never noticed before. A couple of empty pizza boxes sat discarded on the floor by the fireplace. Next to them were newspapers. Jake picked one up, examining the date.

1996.

The front page article listed something about an arson committed against the local movie theater. The perpetrators were unknown.

The hair-raising feeling came back, stronger this time. Jake looked around again. Nothing.

Humming, he folded up one of the newspapers and put it in his pocket, continuing on. He’d taken items from trial grounds before, and it would be easier to read them by the campfire than it would be in the middle of a trial.

There hadn’t been any screams yet. Somehow that worried him.

Jake didn’t find the next item of interest until he dug through the drawers below a TV set in one of the rooms.

The set was an old model, one Jake hadn’t seen since his early childhood, which seemed to track with the year this place was from. The drawer stuck a bit as he pulled.

Jake screwed up his face in concentration as he put his energy into opening the drawer, it took some muscle, but he finally managed it when—

He froze. That feeling was back and this time he could have sworn he saw a light flash in the corner of his vision. He looked over to the door, staring at it for a few long seconds.

Still nothing.

By now his instincts were screaming at him to get out of there, but the drawer was open now and there was something inside. He put his nerves aside to look at it.

There were two pieces of paper. The first was a lined notebook paper, the scrappy holed bit at the top still attached from where it had been torn out, that listed different activities: Steal stop signs, raid hardware store, tag warehouse. Some had been crossed out, others not, and one, right down at the end, had been highlighted with a large circle: Light theater on fire.

Head swimming, Jake folded the paper and pocketed it before looking at the other.

It was a diagram of the human body, torn out of a book, documenting lesions and stab wounds.

He jumped as a floorboard creaked out in the hall, his heart suddenly racing. Was one of his teammates looking for him? Or was it something worse?

Jake stood up silently, making his way back to the door and looking out into the hall. Nobody was there.

“You know, you’d make a great investigative reporter.”

Jake’s blood froze as he heard the voice in his ear, a low, sinewy drawl that sent his teeth on edge with its air of flippancy. He spun around, a camera flash momentarily blinding him as a knife plunged hilt deep into his chest.

It wasn’t enough to kill him outright, of course. The wound was precise. Just enough to send him straight to the floor while keeping his major organs intact.

Jake clenched his jaw, his hand instinctively clutching his wound as he looked up at his attacker. The ghost-white mask and black leather gear told him immediately who the killer was.

“What a shame,” the Ghostface sighed, wiping the blood off his knife with a pristine leather glove. “Such a great mind, gone to waste.” Then he crouched over his victim. Jake could smell the pungent cologne that wafted from him like an aura.

“Well,” the killer added, grabbing Jake’s chin in a gloved hand and tilting it up, “maybe not entirely gone to waste.”

***

On the bright side, if Jake could consider this place as ever having one, the trial was over quickly.

The Ghostface had made quick work of him and his teammates, one sacrifice going up after another without even one generator being completed.

Jake lost his evidence in the process. The Entity wasn’t kind in that regard. If you gained something during the trial you only got to keep it if you got out alive.

It wasn’t a complete waste. Jake still got some valuable information from the investigation. It just wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough.

Jake leaned back on a log next to the campfire, waiting out the ache of a failed trial. The pain varied based on how well they did overall, and the Entity clearly decided that Jake had done very, very poorly.

Which, in some twisted way, was fair. It wasn’t exactly his best work.

This time around Jake was mostly alone by the campfire. His teammates were there as well, but he didn’t know any of them very well. Everyone else was gone.

As the aching gradually lessened, Jake hoped he would have time to search for another Ormond offering before his next trial. The information he’d gathered only left him with more questions than answers and the drive to learn more clawed anxiously from inside his chest.

Time passed slowly. The whims of the Entity demanded that time between trials never stayed consistent. He could have time to drift off in the heat of the fire into a dreamless sleep, or he could be thrust into a new trial the second he closed his eyes. Regardless, the aching finally lessened enough that Jake was able to curl up on his side, the warmth of the fire lulling him into an exhausted rest.

***

Up. Down. Thunk. Up. Down. Thunk.

Frank was lying splayed across the arms of a worn cushioned chair in the lobby of the Ormond resort, tossing a ball to himself. He’d found it in one of the many bags scattered around the building and decided it was better than nothing.

He was alone. The other members of Legion had been spirited away by the fog and in the absence of his friends, or really anything else to do, he was bored out of his fucking mind.

Normally he spent his time between trials with the Legion. When they weren’t shooting the shit and trying to one-up each other’s stories they would explore their realm, trying to see just how much of Mount Ormond the Entity had left to them. Other times they would venture out further, dipping into the territories of others and daring each other to cross further past boundaries the other killers had set. It was exciting and dangerous and always left him feeling powerful, even when they were caught and sent home running.

Up. Down. Thunk.

They were gone for longer than usual. Frank had already exhausted the bare remains of liquor the resort supplied. The empty bottles would refill within the hour, not that they really did much. The others didn’t notice how the buzz of the Entity’s alcohol was hollow. They’d been too young to have had enough of the beers and whiskeys that Frank was used to before the fog took them.

But Frank noticed. No matter how much he drank in an attempt to get accustomed to the taste, Frank could tell the difference. It bothered him.

Up. Down. Thunk.

Vaguely he wondered if the others had actually come back hours ago and were just hiding from him. They’d been gone for long enough. Maybe something he’d said had finally pissed off Julie enough for her to rally the others against him. Or maybe one of his jabs had hurt Susie’s feelings and the others were comforting her, telling her how awful Frank was and how they’d never liked him in the first place. Hell, maybe Joey had simply had enough of his shit and just walked off into the fog and the others were looking for him.

Maybe not though. It was stupid to think about.

Up. Down. Whack.

A flash had gone off somewhere, distracting him enough to miss the catch. The ball landed directly on his forehead and bounced off at an angle before rolling out of sight.

Frank sat up and rubbed his face, cursing under his breath. “What the…”

Another flash. Frank narrowed his eyes. It was possible his friends were pulling a prank on him, but that spark of light and its accompanying shutter were all too familiar.

Frank stood up and grabbed his knife off the table. “I know you’re there,” he called out.

Nothing. He expected as much. The Ghostface liked to think he was mysterious and unseen, a shadow in the night that saw all and was never seen.

Frank thought he was full of shit. He was too cocky, too eager to let others know he was there just so he could relish in their paranoia. And he was too used to getting that paranoia from the survivors he stalked.

But Frank wasn’t a survivor. He was a killer, and he didn’t appreciate being spied on.

Frank moved towards where he saw the camera flash go off, the handle of his knife held in a white-knuckled grip. He’d never gotten the chance before, but Frank would love to sink his blade into that creep’s chest, if only to get him to fucking lay off for once.

He looked in the hall leading to the check-in desk, where he’d seen the light. There was nothing that Frank could see, but it was hard to see much with the lockers and abandoned ski equipment in the way. The Ghostface was good at hiding if nothing else.

Frank lowered his knife after a moment of looking around. As much as he wanted to tear the stealthy killer a new one, wasting time looking for nothing just played into his game. It wasn’t as if Frank had anything better to do, but still. It was the principle of the thing.

As he took one last glance around, Frank noticed something new. A pile of photographs laid neatly stacked on top of the check-in counter. Glancing over his shoulder, Frank hesitantly walked to the counter and picked up the photos.

The top picture showed the resort, standing proud in all its deteriorated glory. Frank rolled his eyes. The creep just wanted to brag. He tossed the picture over his shoulder, expecting the one underneath to be a tacky selfie he could tear into pieces, hopefully with Ghostface still watching.

That wasn’t what it showed. Instead, it was a picture of a survivor standing in the resort lobby, stuffing a newspaper into his hoodie pocket.

Wait. Frank squinted. Was that…

Yeah, that was the survivor that smartmouthed him on his own turf during that one trial. What the hell was he doing here?

Instead of tossing the photo he moved it to the back, wanting to analyze it later. He still wasn’t sure if it was taken during another trial–the angle was all wrong. Not that it really mattered when he saw the next one.

The next photo showed the same survivor, this time in an upstairs bedroom. He was crouched in front of the tv set and clearly trying to get into one of the drawers.

Frank set his jaw, moving through photo after photo as it showed that cocky bastard snooping through the Legion’s things. The survivor was collecting things, pulling items out of their place and stashing them on his person. One photo showed him digging through the closet the Legion stored their gear in and messing with one of Frank’s jackets.

Discomfort laced over Frank, drawing his shoulders in with a wire of tension. It was one thing for the survivor to dig through the Legion's things and take discarded junk, but that was Frank’s jacket he was touching.

Frank resisted the urge to rush to that closet and make sure the jacket was still there. The Ghostface was probably watching. Hell, the creep probably left these photos for him expecting them to freak him out. Frank wasn’t about to give the bastard the satisfaction of watching him scurry around in a mad dash to check on his things.

Instead he just stood stock still, tensely shuffling through the photos. Finally he landed on the last photo, one that clearly showed the survivor’s face.

His eyes were wide in this one, the red reflection of a camera flash prominent in his eyes as a look of dawning horror spread across his features. It should have made Frank feel good. The little snoop clearly got what he deserved. And yet…

Frank’s chest tightened as heat spread over him, a low simmering anger bubbling to the surface. Honestly, it wasn’t the trespassing or digging through the Legion’s stuff that got to him. It wasn’t even the white hot shivering anxiety that settled in his stomach at the thought of someone else touching his belongings. What actually pissed Frank off, what actually made him want to take his knife and tear it into the closest warm body he could find, was the total and complete lack of respect being shown by one of the very people who were supposed to fear him.

As Frank stared down at that photo, his hands practically shaking as he held it, he finally noticed that the bottom right edge was folded up. He paused for a moment before flipping over the photo. There were words written on the back in barely readable handwriting.

This one’s name is Jake Park. He’s looking for you. Thought you should know. ;)

Frank flipped the photo back over, staring at Jake Park’s face. Memorizing it.

He was going to make that survivor learn to fear the Legion’s name.

Chapter Text

Jake had never gone this deep into the fog before.

As he traveled further into the fog away from the campfire, the terrain gradually shifted. Where the forests that immediately surrounded the clearing were more uniform, condensed with trees and covered in a silencing layer of moss, the terrain became rugged and wild as he walked. The soft moss gave way for dead leaves and twigs that crunched and snapped as he moved. Boulders and rocky outcrops jutted out in the spaces between clusters of old growth trees to create walls and alcoves with enough room and shade to easily hide in. Thick vines twisted around every available surface and the green ends that hung down from skeletal branches gave the distinct impression that they wanted nothing more than to twist around his neck.

It was colder here, too. It seemed that the further he ventured from the warm safety of the fire the more the fog clung to him and sapped away his heat. Even with the layers he wore, a thick green jacket and scarf wrapped close to his neck, the fog still chilled him to his core.

Jake rubbed his arms, his eyes scanning the area around him. He’d been searching for another Ormond offering without much luck and decided to venture out further than he otherwise would have. Partly out of desperation, but mostly out of curiosity. He wanted to know what he was up against out here.

He now knew why survivors didn’t often wander too far from the campfire.

Crows called out and flew into the trees nearby, setting Jake’s teeth on edge. He knew how to move in a way that wouldn’t startle the birds, but killers often didn’t. Careful not to step on any dry litter that would make sound, Jake retreated to one of the stone alcoves to watch and wait.

For a few long minutes no other sounds came. Eventually the birds returned to their perches, one landing nearby Jake’s hiding spot.

Jake allowed himself to relax with a small smile. The crows were honestly his favorite part about the Entity’s realm. Everything in it seemed to be designed for fear and danger and the crows weren’t exempt from that, but he could never bring himself to truly dislike the little guys. They were just birds behaving like birds.

He held out a gloved finger for it to examine and peck at. It seemed to approve, as it hopped a few inches closer and allowed him to run his finger gently over the soft feathers of its head and neck.

“Hey there,” he cooed, so softly he barely made a sound. “You’re so nice. I wish I had something to give you.”

He had meant food, but it suddenly occurred to him that he’d pocketed a small coin he’d found while looking for the offering earlier. Jake pulled it out, the shiny metal glittering in the light as he held it out to the crow. “You want this?”

The crow tilted its head, eyeing it for a moment as it shuffled its wings in anticipation, before finally grabbing the coin in its beak and flying away.

Jake watched with a small sigh as it left and allowed himself to close his eyes. It was rare to feel moments of contentment in the Entity’s realm and he wanted to savor the moment while he could.

The moment ended much more quickly than he would have liked. Alarm calls echoed through the fog and the birds took off again, signaling the presence of a new potential threat. Jake shrank back into the alcove, making his breathing as quiet as possible as he listened for whatever scared them off.

His answer came soon enough. He heard a soft grunt as something heavy landed in the grass nearby, followed by impatient footsteps moving closer. Jake glanced up from where he was hidden in shadows to see a tall, lithe figure dressed in a hooded leather jacket, a manic smiling mask hiding their face.

He froze. It was a member of the Legion.

Jake kept his eyes on them as they looked around, idly spinning a knife in their hand. He noticed a tattoo on their neck, a grinning skull that seemed malicious in the light. It looked familiar somehow. Did the member who spoke to him also have that tattoo?

They–or he, Jake guessed–looked around the area again before snapping the knife’s handle back into his hand and moving on.

Jake stayed frozen to the spot. This was the chance he was waiting for. A member of the legion was right there, alone as far as he could tell. This would probably be his best shot at getting answers.

But something stopped him. Why did it seem like he was waiting? Jake glanced out from the alcove to take another look at the killer, but he was gone.

Furrowing his brow, Jake slowly moved out of the shadows. Where did he go?

“Looking for someone?”

Jake spun around. The member of the Legion was crouched on top of the stone that had formed the alcove, his arms draped casually over his thighs as he tapped the knife against the rock. He tilted his head, the mask accentuating the small gesture.

Jake tilted his head back, mirroring him. An urge to run buzzed inside him, some base instinct warning him of danger, but Jake pushed it down. He was already aware of the danger. He knew what he was doing. “Yeah, actually,” he finally replied. “I was looking for you.”

“You got a death wish?” The mask did very little to hide the malice that dripped from the killer’s voice.

“No.” Jake held his ground. “Just some questions.”

Silence filled the air between them as the two stared each other down. Aside from his steady breathing and constant tapping of his knife, the killer on the ledge was perfectly still. Jake, for his part, shifted his weight uneasily and flexed his fingers as he waited for a response.

The hair on the back of his neck stood up.

Jake dodged out of the way just as the Legion leapt forward, his knife barely grazing the skin of Jake’s arm. He bit down on the pain, steadying himself on his feet as his attacker did the same.

His heart was racing. “What the hell?”

The Legion rolled his shoulders, cracking his neck as he stood. “You’ve got a lot of nerve coming out here,” he growled. He turned the knife in his hand with a fluid motion. “Was going through our stuff not good enough for you?”

“Going through… What?” Jake watched the knife, taking a step back. How did he know about that?

The Legion lunged forward again, grabbing Jake by the neck and slamming him back against a tree. “Don’t act dumb! I know what you did!”

The killer was just as strong out in the fog as he was in the trials and Jake gasped as the air left his lungs from the impact. Instinctively he reached up to try and move the killer’s grip off his neck. His hand wouldn’t budge, but he wasn’t squeezing. Not yet anyway.

Jake swallowed, staring at the killer’s mask. “I just wanted to ask-”

“Shut up!” The Legion raised his knife to Jake’s face. “You don’t get to talk!”

The fear in Jake suddenly evaporated as he said that, rage pooling in its place. He glared at the killer for a long moment before suddenly raising his knees up and kicking him hard in the sternum.

The Legion flew backward and Jake hit the ground running.

In a lot of ways, being chased by the Legion was like being hunted by a wolf. The killer was much stronger and faster than Jake, and had the tools and motivation necessary to tear out his throat if he was caught. But unlike a wolf, the Legion wasn’t used to using the forest to his advantage. Jake was.

Only seconds after kicking him away Jake already heard the quick and heavy breaths of the Legion at his back, a feral growl coming from his chest. Jake took a sharp left, grabbing onto a low hanging branch as he did. He pulled it and let it swing back into his pursuer’s face with a satisfying crack.

Jake grinned as he heard the enraged cursing growing more distant behind him, taking full advantage of the head start he just bought himself.

Blood rushed in his ears as Jake weaved through the trees. The forest worked to his advantage here, his steps light as he darted over uneven terrain that made the Legion hesitate. Jake could tell at a glance which piles of leaves hid ankle-spraining roots and which would crunch easily under his boots, which patches of ground were softened into mud and which were hard as stone, and which path through these would be most likely to make his pursuer stumble.

Despite this though, the killer was agile. He would trip and halt and nearly fall but he would right himself almost immediately and stay running. It gave Jake just enough of an edge to stay one step ahead, but not enough to break the chase. He needed to try something else.

Looking around, he spotted a large stone incline that jutted out a few feet above the ground. Perfect. He ran up the incline and stopped at the edge, turning and waiting for the Legion to reach him.

The Legion slowed as he approached, panting heavily in tandem with Jake as they both caught their breath. The killer grabbed Jake by his scarf and pulled him close, the knife pressed against Jake’s throat. “Fucking… Finally,” he huffed.

Jake kept his feet planted firmly on the rock as he glared defiantly. Almost…

The knife pressed harder against his throat and Jake felt something warm and wet on his neck. “I’m gonna make you scream,” the killer growled, his mask inches from Jake’s face. “You’re gonna beg me for mercy before I kill you.”

He shoved back once, curling his fists into the fabric of the Legion’s jacket as the killer shoved back. The pressure against his neck made him swallow. Almost…

“What,” the Legion snapped. “No smartass comebacks? Don’t have anything to say?”

Jake tensed up before breaking into a smirk. “Sure I do.”

The Legion tilted his head slightly. “Yeah? And what’s that?”

“Watch your step.”

Shifting his weight sharply to the side, Jake swung around the end of the rocky incline, using the momentum to throw the Legion over the edge. The scarf came loose from Jake’s neck as the killer tried to maintain his hold on the survivor. Jake stumbled backwards on the rocky ledge as the Legion landed on the gravel below, briefly stunned.

Relief bubbled up into laughter as Jake ran off, thrilled that his plan worked. The adrenaline lasted him another few minutes of running before he could hear the Legion following behind him again, shouting threats of mutilation and violent death.

He couldn’t run forever. The Legion would reach him eventually, and at this point he was pushing the limits of his luck. Jake looked up at the trees around him and spotted what he was searching for, a large oak strangled by a thick vine that acted as the perfect access point for him to climb up.

By the time the Legion caught up, Jake was already almost a story up in the tree, watching him silently within the canopy of leaves.

After a moment of frantic running around, the killer began pacing the area. Jake could hear the growl in his voice from his spot in the tree. “I know you’re still here,” the Legion shouted into the fog. “You can’t hide!”

Jake leaned onto an adjacent branch. Surely he would tire himself out eventually, or the Entity will get bored and pull one of them into another trial. Either way, he could stay up in the tree as long as he needed.

But then, he did come out here for a reason. How good at climbing could the guy possibly be, anyway?

“I’m up here,” Jake called out, catching the Legion’s attention almost immediately. He could feel the killer’s glare through his mask.

“How the fuck did you do that?”

Jake snorted, leaning his head on his arm. “Are you gonna answer my questions now?”

“Fuck no! Get down here!”

“No.”

The Legion kicked the tree before pacing around some more, as if arguing to himself. An amused smirk pulled at Jake’s lips. If nothing else, at least he would get some entertainment out of this.

Finally the Legion stopped and looked up at him. “You’re really gonna make me do this, aren’t you?”

Jake furrowed his brow. “Do what?”

The Legion took a few paces back before running up to the tree and jumping up onto its side, beginning to climb.

The way the Legion climbed was slightly different than how Jake did it. When Jake climbed the tree he used muscle and grip strength to pull himself up the various holds he found. The Legion barely made a sound as he climbed, nimbly hopping from one grip to another like a lizard scaling a wall.

Jake wasn’t thinking clearly when he scrambled off his perch, he was just trying to get away from the predator that was coming for him at an alarming speed. He wasn’t watching where he was placing his feet as he leapt for the branch of a neighboring tree, nor did he stop to check how well the branch could support his weight. The branch snapped and suddenly Jake was in freefall.

The fog echoed with a sickening crack when Jake hit the ground.

For a moment, Jake didn’t feel anything. His entire body was numb and his ears were ringing and all the air had been forced from his chest. He groaned as he slowly propped himself up on his elbows. Everything was out of focus. As he blinked, he could see the blurry shape of the Legion dropping down from the tree and approaching him.

He tried to shuffle backwards but his arms were numb and one of his legs wouldn’t move. Why wouldn’t it move?

“-finally got you,” the Legion said as Jake’s ears stopped ringing. The killer walked over to Jake’s side and pushed him back onto the ground with one foot on his shoulder.

The numbness was suddenly gone. A stab of pain shot through Jake’s chest and shoulders like fire, centering on the exact point where the killer’s weight was placed.

For the first time in years, Jake let out a scream of pain.

The Legion jolted backwards in surprise, taking his foot away from Jake’s chest. The trees surrounding them were alive with caws and fluttering wings as dozens of crows were startled from their perches. The killer looked up at them before peering further into the fog.

Jake was blind for a moment, black stars bursting in his vision as the pain receded into a heavy ache. He dug his heels into the dirt, trying to push himself back before a warning stab of pain lit up in his left leg. Why was it always his left leg?

The collar of his jacket suddenly pulled taut around his neck as he was being dragged across the ground and into the shadows of a rock outcrop. Jake gagged, searing pain spreading across his shoulders as he grabbed at the fabric.

He was about to scream again–to shout obscenities at the killer, to call for help, to beg for mercy–only to be gagged by a bandaged hand held firmly over his mouth.

Even through all the white-hot pain Jake tried to fight back. He kicked, squirmed, struggled as the killer wrapped his other arm around Jake’s torso, pinning his arms and holding him tight against his own body. Jake wrenched open his mouth and was about to bite down when the killer hissed at him.

“Shut up. There’s someone here.”

They both went silent. A moment later, Jake heard it–a continuous scraping sound and a hoarse, heavy breathing that echoed in an unnatural way. The sound came closer and closer until at last the source came into view.

It was the Executioner. Jake had only ever faced him in a trial a few times. He was a behemoth, towering over the survivors with a large angular metal structure where his head should be. The killer, or creature as Jake thought of him, was the stuff of nightmares, dragging around an enormous butcher’s knife that summoned veins of rusted iron and barbed wire over the ground.

The Executioner lumbered past their place hidden in the shadows, seemingly unaware of their presence. This close to the massive creature Jake felt his blood turn to ice. Some part of him felt oddly grateful for the hand that muffled the cries of pain that threatened to come out.

Even after the creature had passed, the bone-chilling scraping sound leaving with it, neither of them dared to move. As close together as they were, Jake could feel the Legion trembling behind him.

Eventually the Legion loosened his grip on Jake, sighing in something like relief. Jake immediately shoved away from him, still fighting the urge to scream. By now he could feel the distinct sensation of breaks in his leg and collarbone. He probably had bruising and dislocation elsewhere, but if he did they weren’t what was making him clench his jaw just to suppress pained yelps and whimpers.

The Legion slowly stood, looking down at Jake. It was hard to tell what he was thinking behind his mask. Jake just stared back up at him, waiting for one of them to make the first move.

In the end, neither of them were the first to break the unspoken truce they had entered. The fog surrounding them swirled into motion, and when it settled again they were both gone.

Chapter Text

The first thing Jake felt when the trial grounds formed around him was pain.

All of his nerves were on fire. They buzzed around just below his skin, gathering in his shoulders and mid-calf. He pulled himself to his feet, leaning on the remains of a stone wall he had thankfully appeared next to, and tried to focus on the environment around him.

The sky was completely overcast, the ground and stone structures covered in enough moss and grassy overgrowth that it gave the whole place a vaguely green haze. Looking towards the center of the trial grounds, he could see a dessicated stonework building that towered over everything around it.

Jake set his jaw. He was at the older asylum, the one the Nurse had brought with her into the fog.

Pulling himself along the wall, Jake struggled to stay quiet. It took all of his energy just to keep from collapsing as he moved and pulling his focus inward was difficult when every small pressure on his leg or arms would stab deep into his mind.

A scream echoed across the trial grounds and Jake winced. Whoever the killer was, they wasted no time downing his teammates.

One generator blinked on by the time Jake found a med kit in a chest. Sitting himself down, Jake got to work on a makeshift splint for his leg and sling for his arm. It wasn’t a permanent solution; There was nothing in the kit to dull the pain or miraculously set his bones. But it was good enough. At least he would be able to move.

Distantly he heard a shout, followed shortly by two more. Jake put the sound out of his mind and made his way to the nearest generator. The best thing he could do right now was help his teammates turn on the gates.

It was slow work for sure. He sat fully on the ground to work on the machine and with only one arm he could only turn and set one piece at a time. He clenched his teeth against the small noises that forced their way out each time he turned his torso just the wrong way or pulled back too far to check his progress. Slow progress, for sure, but it was progress all the same.

The lights turned on above him with a persistent hum. As Jake pulled himself back to his feet he heard another scream, this one much closer. He chewed his lip for a moment. He could let someone else help them…

Jake took a shuddering breath before running over to where he heard the scream.

Claudette was hanging from a hook nearby a small outdoor garden. She looked down at him and Jake felt cold at the look of mixed worry and fear on her face. “Jake! What happened to you?”

He shook his head, trying to figure out how to get her down. “That’s not important, you…” He would need two arms to lift her off the hook. Maybe he could go get help from one of the others, but the claws of the Entity were already almost entirely formed around her. He could…

Setting his jaw, Jake shook his arm free of the sling. He raised his arms up to his friend before she or his own body could protest.

Jake screamed as pain shattered through him. His arms shook violently as he lifted Claudette’s light frame off of the hook. The moment her feet were safely back on the ground he doubled over, panting as wave after wave of agony rolled over him.

Claudette screamed his name, crouching next to him to check him over. Jake shut his eyes tight as her fingers gently felt over his breaks. “Oh god,” she whispered. “What did you do, Jake?”

Behind the heat pricking at his brain, Jake wondered how much it pained Claudette to see his shoddy patch job. If it was anything like what he had done to his knee in Georgia, he’d be hearing about it for weeks. He laughed to himself, a quiet shuddering thing that only made Claudette fret over him more.

After a few moments of Claudette trying to treat him, she shook her head. “I can’t do much more for you. We just need to get out of here.”

Jake nodded, leaning on his friend for support as she helped him stand.

Claudette glanced around once before moving forward, keeping one arm around Jake. “Let’s get you into the ward. There are better places for you to hide there.”

“I don’t need to hide,” Jake grunted back. “I need to work on gens. The sooner those are done-”

“I’m not arguing with you on this.” Claudette’s tone was much more firm now, something she only did in the rare instances she took charge of a situation. “You can barely move. If the Legion catches you…”

Jake didn’t hear the rest of what she said. His mind went blank. The Legion was the killer. Was it the same one? Had they come into the trial together?

What was he going to do if he caught Jake like this?

Claudette had finished talking and Jake simply nodded, swallowing nervously. He hated being coddled, being treated like he was made of glass, but he was more worried about what would happen if the killer found him to try and defend his ego.

So he didn’t complain as Claudette left him in a small alcove between collapsed pieces of stone in the asylum ward. He just sat still, trying and failing to ignore the steady pulsing ache that flooded his body.

Jake was no stranger to pain. Even before he was taken by the Entity he had experienced plenty of it for himself. Early in his time spent off the grid he dislocated his knee during a hunt, and rather than seeking medical help had tried to set it himself. The resulting weakness and chronic pain stayed with him in the Entity’s realm no matter how many times it would bring him back from other disabling or fatal injuries.

The pain from that incident was what forced him to learn to swallow pain, to push it down deep in his gut to handle later. He couldn’t take leave of injury alone in the forest. He needed to hunt for his food, to gather water to drink and clean himself, and there were more than a few downsides to letting pain be heard deep in the wilderness.

But all of that paled in comparison to what he felt now. Even slight movements were excruciating and the only thing that even slightly lessened his pain was his voice.

Jake leaned against the stone, listening to distant shouts and screams as the Legion hunted his friends.

It was worse than helplessness. This was Jake’s own fault. They were one man down because he made one stupid mistake. If they died…

The sound of pulsing music grew closer, interrupting his thoughts. He covered his mouth with his sling-free hand, waiting to hear the beat fade back into the distance.

Instead, it just grew louder. The rapid drums made his skin crawl as he felt the vibrations in his teeth. The Legion entered the building, their pounding footsteps all too loud against the tile floor. Jake tensed as they came around the corner. They were coming right for him.

They knew he was there.

Jake dived out of the way of the knife that nearly buried itself in his chest, scrambling to his feet with a hoarse scream. He bounded up the stairs, nearly falling onto all fours a few times as his body struggled to carry him. If he could get to the window- The Legion cut him off. He turned around, running through the central room where a silent generator sat next to empty cots.

He was almost out the other side when the killer caught him in the shoulder with their knife and he fell to his knees, stars exploding in his vision. If he could just— If he could just—

The Legion shoved him onto his back and looked down at him. Jake gasped for air as his vision cleared. The Legion had a tattoo on their neck.

He was right. It was the same one.

Jake clenched his jaw, rage and fear saturating his pain-addled mind. “Just fucking kill me,” he snapped. “I know you want to! Just fucking do it!”

The killer didn’t move, just staring down at him silently, unreadable behind that damn mask.

Pain shot through him again and Jake let his head rest back against the floor, shutting his eyes tight enough for colors to burst behind his eyelids and waiting for whatever the killer would decide to do next.

He expected a knife to his throat, a stomp to his chest, even silence as he was left to bleed out slowly. Instead, the killer grabbed Jake’s free arm and dragged him over to one of the cots.

Jake yelled out in protest, kicking against the floor uselessly as he slid easily over the tile. The Legion pulled him up against the wall by the cot, holding his wrist in an iron grip as he pulled a scarf from his pocket. His scarf.

Rage flooded his senses as he yanked at the Legion’s grip, trying to bring his arm close enough to bite down.

The Legion actually struggled to keep him still, growling back. “Stop moving.”

In response Jake just pulled harder, kicking at the killer’s shins. The bursts of pain from the impacts didn’t even register.

“Ow! Dumbass, I said stop fucking moving!” The Legion tied Jake’s wrist to the frame of the cot, making sure the knot was tight before retreating from his reach.

With one strong yank Jake was able to pull just hard enough to budge the cot a few inches before he finally went still, panting heavily as his head spun from the pain and exertion.

“Jesus,” the Legion muttered. Jake just glared at him. “Fucking…” The killer sighed with something like exasperation before putting his hands up. “Don’t do anything stupid, okay? I’ll be back.”

“Go fuck yourself,” Jake replied.

The Legion scoffed. “Yeah, sure.”

All the fight drained out of Jake as he watched the killer dart off. He was aching all over and his throat was raw and he could feel a stream of blood drying on his back. He just sank back against the wall, staring at the generator that sat, untouched, on the other side of the room.

***

Frank didn’t often mind that the survivors fought back as much as they did. For the longest time it even invigorated him. He took it like a challenge, an aspect of the game that just made it more fun.

He quickly changed his mind as the remaining three survivors ran him around the map, jumping on and off of generators just enough to keep their progress going between chases. He wanted to be done with them already, get the hatch open so he could have time alone with Jake.

The survivor said he had questions. Well, Frank had some questions of his own now. Questions like What the hell is wrong with you and Were you always this stupid or did that fall break your brain?

He wanted to sit down with the guy and get inside his head, maybe scare him a little, and then put him out of his misery. He couldn’t do that if Jake’s dumbass friends got the gate open.

A survivor dressed like a cop went down with a satisfying scream as Frank sliced into his back. He glanced around as he wiped the knife off on his sleeve, searching for someone else to hit. As altruistic as survivors tended to be, he wouldn’t be surprised to find one lurking around the corner waiting for the perfect time to make the save.

It turned out that his instinct was right. The moment he went behind a wall to look for someone, another survivor basically appeared out of nowhere to try and get the cop back to his feet. Frank drove her off with a slash to her back, and a moment later the second to last generator turned on.

Frank gripped his knife. There was one generator left to turn on, which meant…

There was a generator in the room he’d left Jake in. Frank had made sure Jake was tied up far enough away that he wouldn’t be able to touch it.

He needed to make sure none of the others went into the ward.

The next few minutes were an absolute bloodbath. Frank raced between the ruined stone structures, barely giving survivors a moment to breathe before cutting them down one by one. He wasted no time and didn’t stop running until the third survivor on the map was dangling from a hook, fending off the claws of the Entity.

Frank leaned forward, resting his hands on his knees as he caught his breath. He couldn’t remember the last time he ran that fast for that long.

He turned back to the ward as the deaths rang out across the trial grounds, noting the location of the hatch as it popped open by his feet. He probably wouldn’t need it, but it didn’t hurt to be prepared.

When he got to the top of the stairs, Frank paused. Jake was slumped against the wall, his face pressed into the crook of his arm.

He was definitely still alive. There would have been some indication if Jake had bled out or just dropped dead out of spite, and a moment of staring confirmed the survivor was still breathing. But he was crumpled and limp and… small. In a way Frank had never seen from him before.

Frank approached him slowly, not wanting to startle him in case he flinched and cracked his head against the wall. Frank needed him to be conscious for now.

Briefly, Frank wondered why he was even doing this. Sure, he was curious about what the hell Jake’s deal was, but he was expending a lot of extra effort on one survivor. If he had any sense he should just get it over with and kill the guy, go back to hanging out with the Legion, move on with his life.

He crouched in front of Jake, hesitating a moment before reaching out and carefully patting his face. “Hey. You awake?”

Jake’s eyes snapped open and he promptly bit Frank’s hand.

“Christ!” Frank pulled his hand back, checking it to see if the little shit drew blood. He didn’t think it would get infected–he didn’t really think anything could get infected in this place–but he sure as hell didn’t want to push his luck.

Jake glared at him. On a second look, Frank realized he didn’t really look crumpled. He looked coiled, like a snake ready to strike out. He narrowed his eyes. “Were you waiting for me, you piece of shit?”

Frank noticed that Jake hesitated a little too long before answering. “Obviously.” The survivor pulled on the scarf pointedly. “Why the hell would I let my guard down here?”

He stayed silent, watching Jake carefully. Frank knew what it looked like when someone lied. Figuring out all the different cues and tells had become a survival skill for him when he was younger, and by now he was practically an honest-to-fuck human lie detector.

But it didn’t make sense. Jake was right–why the hell would anyone let their guard down during a trial? Especially someone like Jake. Frank had encountered what felt like several dozen survivors by now, and of all of them Jake had to be one of the more capable.

Jake glanced away from Frank’s gaze, focusing on the scarf and pulling at the knot. “If you were going to be creepy about it you could’ve at least used rope,” he muttered. “I like this scarf.”

Frank scoffed. “You gave that thing up when you launched me off a small cliff. Thanks for that, by the way,” he added with a hiss.

“I wouldn’t have had to if you weren’t trying to kill me.” The survivor punched at the knot in frustration, as if that would do anything.

“Whatever.” Frank sat back on his heels. This wasn’t getting him anywhere. “You said you had questions, yeah?”

Jake stopped moving, looking at him. Frank was surprised to see how much anger had already left his expression. Was he that damn curious? “Yeah. Are you going to answer them?”

“Depends,” Frank shrugged. “I have some questions too, come to think of it. You answer mine and I’ll answer yours.”

The survivor stared silently at him for a long while before giving him a curt nod. “Fine.”

“Cool.” He gestured to Jake. “You first then. What was so damn important that you risked life and limb just to ask me?”

Whatever Frank was expecting, it wasn’t what Jake said next. “How did you become a killer?”

Frank tensed, the unfamiliar feeling of ice going down his spine surfacing as he processed the question.

What?

Jake was just staring at him expectantly, his eyes sharp and focused. Suddenly Frank was glad he was wearing a mask. “Excuse me?”

“How did you become a killer,” Jake repeated. “I know you used to be human. Why aren’t you a survivor?”

Everything had gone wrong. It was just supposed to be a tag run, a bit of vandalism to get back at Joey’s boss. There wasn’t supposed to be anybody there. Julie wasn’t supposed to be grabbed. He wasn’t supposed to drive his knife into the man’s flesh, watch him lying there suffocating on his own blood as the knife passed from hand to hand to hand–

Frank stood up. “We’re done here.”

Jake blinked, his eyes going wide. “Wait–”

The survivor didn’t get to finish his sentence. Whatever he was going to say, it wouldn’t have stopped Frank from kicking his head against the wall, knocking him out before the killer ended the trial with a spray of blood.

Chapter Text

“What do you mean you’re going back?”

Jake was leaning against one of the logs by the fire, his arms draped behind him as he waited for the throbbing ache of the last few hours to go away. Dwight was pacing nearby.

“It wasn’t that bad,” Jake said, staring up at the sky. The embers from the fire drifted up, mingling with the stars overhead. “I fell out of a tree, Dwight. I could’ve handled myself otherwise.”

“Not that bad?” Dwight shouted. Jake cringed, glad nobody else was around to hear this. The two of them were alone by the campfire for once. “You broke bones! Bones! Multiple!”

Jake rolled his eyes. “And look at that! I’m back in one piece.” He waved his arms to illustrate his point, wincing at the way his muscles spasmed in protest. “Mostly.”

Dwight rubbed his face, his glasses pushed up as he pinched the bridge of his nose. Jake never really understood why his friends worried about him so much. He’d gotten this far in life just fine. “I can’t let you do this.”

Annoyance pricked in Jake’s chest. “You’re not letting me do anything.”

“You know what I mean.”

Jake sat up, grabbing a stick nearby and poking at the fire. It didn’t actually stoke the fire at all, but it gave him something to do with his hands. “I have to know. I was so close this time.”

Silence fell between the two of them, the only sound coming from the crackling fire. Dwight walked around to Jake’s side, sitting down next to him. His hands were folded in that way that Jake assumed was meant to look thoughtful, but on him it just looked anxious. He stared into the fire for a long moment before speaking again. “This is about your grandfather, isn’t it?”

Jake tensed, no longer moving the stick. “Don’t say that.”

Another silence. Jake wanted to stand up and walk out of there, despite how sore his entire body still was, if only to escape the conversation.

But Dwight wasn’t wrong.

“I’m sorry,” Dwight said after a long pause. “I just don’t want you getting yourself killed because of him. You almost did that once.”

Jake tossed the stick into the fire and sat back, crossing his arms. “This is different.”

“Is it?”

No, not really. He was doing it again, running off into the dangerous unknown on the slim chance that he would understand something better. Back then he was searching for the truth about his ancestry. He had wanted to know where he came from, what kind of mettle ran through his veins. He supposed, in a certain way, he found what he was looking for.

It wasn’t his past he was looking for this time, though. It was his future. He’d never really considered whether this life he’d ended up in was his only option before now. Before, it was just a game of survival. Fix generators, avoid the killer, survive, rinse, repeat. Over and over for the rest of eternity.

But change was natural, wasn’t it? Was it possible to go from one thing to another? And if he did, would he be able to live with what he became?

The Legion had those answers, or at least some of them. He was sure of it.

“I know what I’m doing,” Jake said quietly.

Dwight just sighed and nodded, wringing his hands. “Just make sure you come back, okay?”

Jake smiled a little and leaned on Dwight’s shoulder. “I always do.”

***

Frank knew the Ormond Resort like the back of his hand.

Probably better, honestly, given how often his hands were wrapped in strips of cloth for protection and better grip. The resort was his hideout back in Ormond. Before the Entity, before the incident, before the Legion, Frank had the resort.

By the time he had gotten to the small town the resort had long fallen into disrepair. People still came to stay overnight and ski, but more often than not it was closed down due to weather. It never became quite enough of a tourist attraction to bring in quite enough money to pay for the expensive equipment maintenance and Canadian regulations demanded that safety come before income, so Frank was able to explore the place at his leisure. Over the course of a few years, he had found all the perfect hiding spots to stash his stuff and all the ways to access otherwise inaccessible locations. The roof for instance.

Frank used to spend a lot of time on the roof. He could brush away the snow to make a clear spot for him to lay down, away from all the people and responsibilities and expectations, and just breathe. Since the Entity took them, Frank did this less. He had less to escape now, what with the trials and perpetual hangouts with the Legion, and going to the roof barely even crossed his mind anymore.

Which was probably why, as Frank laid on the roof of the resort and stared up at the momentarily clear sky full of unfamiliar stars, Julie came up to join him.

She was quiet, saying nothing as she swiped snow away from the old tiles and sat down next to him. Frank didn’t acknowledge her presence just yet. He knew she would wait until he was ready, and when he was they would have some shit to talk about.

Some things never changed.

Eventually Frank sighed, sitting up to drape his arms over his knees. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Julie replied. Her blonde hair was down, pulled over to the side so it wouldn’t hide her face from Frank. He never really understood how she did that, the little things that made her seem that much more open and approachable when she needed to be.

There was another silence as Frank waited for her to speak. He knew she came up for a reason.

“So,” she said. The word hung in the air between them. “What’s up?”

“What do you mean?” It wasn’t that Frank didn’t appreciate what she was doing. He just didn’t want to be the one to breach the subject.

“You only come up here when you need to think,” she said. “So what are you thinking about?”

What could he say to that?

Frank stayed silent for a while, suddenly wishing he had a cigarette on hand. A few months before the Entity he’d tossed his whole stash of smokes in an impulsive decision to quit. He wished he hadn’t. It’s not like he had to worry about lung cancer here.

Julie waited for him, drawing idly in the snow by their feet. Frank just watched her.

She was still a fantastic artist. Even with nothing but a finger for a utensil and a roof for a canvas, her drawing skills far surpassed anything Frank could do.

She drew the Legion logo. Frank furrowed his brow.

“Jules,” he finally said. His voice was low, like he was afraid someone would overhear. “Do you regret this?”

Julie looked up from her drawing. “Huh?”

“Do you regret,” Frank gestured around them, “this. The Legion. The trials.” He paused before adding, “Do you regret meeting me?”

Silence fell like snow and Frank wished he hadn’t said anything. It was stupid and weak and he felt like his chest was imploding as Julie sat there, deep in thought.

“Well,” she finally said. “That’s complicated.”

Frank looked at her. “Complicated?”

Julie nodded. “Sometimes, you know, I think about what my life might have been like if this,” she mimicked Frank’s gesture, “never happened. I think I might’ve gone to art school. Gotten the hell out of Ormond.” She looked away. “Maybe I would’ve married Susie. I think that would have been nice.”

Oh. Frank looked away, guilt weighing on his shoulders. He never thought about the fact that his friends had plans of their own. He wondered what futures he stole from the others.

“But,” Julie said, interrupting his thoughts. “I don’t regret meeting you. Not at all.”

He paused at that. “You don’t?”

“Nope.” She sat up straighter, a smile playing on her lips. “Not even when you forgot our anniversary and bought me a knife to make up for it.”

Frank snorted. “Or when I crashed your dad’s car into the garage after our first date?”

Julie shook her head. “Not even when we had to shave the cat after your gum fell in her fur.”

The air seemed a little lighter as Frank laughed, the memories he used to cycle through when he couldn’t sleep at night coming back as points of light in the dark.

She nudged her elbow into his arm, getting him to look at her. “I don’t regret meeting you, Frank. None of us do. You made our group of friends into a family.”

The light feeling that bubbled up in him gradually dissipated as he looked away, his smile falling. Yeah, they were a family.

But that just made what he did to them worse, didn’t it?

Maybe she could tell that he had gone back to moping, because Julie just patted his shoulder. “Hey. What happened in that last trial anyway?”

Frank stared up at the sky, trying to figure out how to explain it. Honestly, he wasn’t entirely sure what happened. “There was this survivor…” he trailed off, looking for the words.

Julie patted him again, more intently this time. “Hey, look at this.”

When he looked over, Julie was staring off somewhere else. She pointed past the broken down lift. “I think we’re being watched.”

Frank squinted, expecting to see a black and white mask spying at them from the snow. Instead, he saw a fluff of raven black hair and a forest green sleeve peeking over a snow-dusted crate. His eyes widened. “What the fuck?”

“I’ll go get the others,” Julie said, standing up.

“No.” Frank grabbed his mask from where it sat next to him. “I’ve got this.”

Julie glanced at him, her fingers flexing as if they were curled around the handle of a knife. “You sure?”

Frank nodded, putting his mask on. “This one’s mine.”

***

Well, so much for the element of surprise.

Jake was crouched behind a crate, trying to decide how best to approach the Legion. He’d finally found another Ormond offering, and almost as soon as he stepped into the fog with it he was walking into the snow covered forests around the resort.

The place was a lot bigger than Jake had ever seen during a trial. Trial grounds were relatively tiny, surrounded by insurmountable barriers that ensured the survivors had no escape but through the gates or the hatch. Outside of a trial the barriers were replaced by miles of whatever the place must have been like before the Entity took it.

As it turned out, the Ormond resort used to be located on top of a mountain. At least, that’s what Jake assumed as he climbed the steep incline to the resort, the air getting noticeably thinner as he panted. He had to stop and catch his breath multiple times before continuing on.

Jake wasn’t sure how exactly the Entity simulated the atmospheric difference of a mountain, but he couldn’t help but feel like it was entirely unnecessary.

The resort seemed much bigger here, too. He supposed it made sense—what kind of resort only had two rooms?—but he couldn’t help feeling intimidated by the unexpected size of it.

Moreover, there were two members of the Legion sitting on the roof. And they clearly spotted him.

Jake stood up as one of them jumped down from the roof, nimbly hopping from one ledge to another in a way he wouldn’t have even considered possible. Okay, so he had about… ten seconds to figure out how he was going to play this.

At five seconds the Legion member was running straight towards him, knife in hand, and Jake elected to haul ass.

It was a lot harder to run in the snow than Jake expected. Some of it was easy, just a light dusting that made the ground a little slippery but otherwise easier to sprint over. Other parts suddenly sank into inches-thick piles of snow disguised as level ground.

The Legion member on the other hand seemed to be perfectly comfortable. Every time Jake chanced a look over his shoulder he could see them darting back and forth, easily avoiding obstacles Jake wasn’t even aware of.

Jake expected to feel a blade in his side when the killer finally caught up to him. Instead, he was tackled to the ground.

The two of them rolled a few times through the snow and ice and Jake was fully disoriented by the time they came to a stop. The Legion member straddled him, pinning Jake’s wrists to the ground before he could find the sense to fight back.

When his vision cleared he could see the tattoo on the killer’s neck. Of fucking course it was the same one.

Jake pulled his knees up, his boots sliding easily over the ice. He wasn’t used to being held down like this.

After a moment of catching his breath, the killer tightened his grip on Jake’s wrists. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” he hissed.

Pushing back on him did nothing. “You never answered my question,” Jake snapped back.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” The Legion seemed to be talking to himself more than Jake. “Are you dense or something? I’m not answering your fucking question!”

“Then maybe one of the others will,” Jake shot back. He was at the wrong angle to kick, but maybe if he bucked his hips up—

“No.”

Jake blinked, surprised by the sudden intensity in the killer’s voice. “No?”

The killer huffed. “No! They don’t want to answer your stupid question either!”

“How is it stupid?” Jake was getting impatient. The snow was seeping through the back of his jacket and he was sick of this asshole being on top of him.

“Because you’re stupid!” he growled. “I could gut you right now and you think you can just waltz right in asking about our fucking backstory like it’s any of your fucking business.”

“I just–”

“I mean fucking hell, I could kill you right now!” The killer gripped Jake’s wrists tighter, shoving them harder against the snow. “Doesn’t that scare you?”

“Honestly,” Jake said, clenching his fists at the rough treatment. “No. It doesn’t.”

“Why not?”

Jake couldn’t help but laugh. Was he being serious? “I die every day, genius. I’d just come back.”

The grip on his wrists tightened. “And? It would still hurt.”

“I’ve had worse.”

The Legion went silent for a moment, staring down at him through that mask. Jake would give anything to see the look on his face right then.

“Oh. Should I give you a minute?”

Both of them looked up. Another member of the Legion was standing nearby, rubbing his neck awkwardly. Based on his dark clothes and stockier build, Jake assumed he was the one who was typically more efficient during trials and tended to wear a gaiter as a mask.

“What? No, I–” The Legion member with the neck tattoo looked down, processing the fact that he was still straddling a pinned down survivor. Jake was let go almost immediately as the killer practically leapt off of him.

Jake took the opportunity to scramble to his feet, rubbing his wrists to get the blood flow back to normal.

Neck Tattoo looked at Gaiter. “Joey, what the hell are you doing here? I told Jules not to get anyone!”

Joey shrugged. “She didn’t get me, I came on my own. I wanted to see the survivor.”

As much as Jake was glad to no longer be the direct focus, he hated it when people talked like he wasn’t there. “My name is Jake.”

“Shut up,” Neck Tattoo snapped. “I’ve got this handled, alright? Go back to the lodge.”

Joey passed a skeptical look at Jake before turning back to Neck Tattoo. “I know we’re not in a trial right now, but I don’t think what you were doing would be considered handling–”

“Oh my god, just leave.”

“Whatever you say, Frank,” Joey snickered. He gave Jake a friendly wave before taking off towards the resort at a jog.

Jake watched him leave for a moment before turning back to Frank. “He seems nice.”

Frank snapped his focus back onto Jake. “Shut up. I’m not through with you.”

“Oh,” Jake smirked. “Are you going to handle me then?”

The killer was dead silent for a moment.

“I’m going to give you three seconds to start running.”

Jake turned tail and ran.

Chapter Text

Frank was finally back in another trial and he was furious.

Sometimes he felt like the Entity was purposefully fucking with him when it chose who got to go. When he had nothing going on it would put him through the wringer, sending him on back to back trials until he returned to the lodge utterly exhausted. But now that all the shit with Jake had him pent up and frustrated and desperate to take it out on something, he’d been stuck at the resort by himself while the rest of the Legion got to go to trial after trial. Frank was left breaking empty bottles against the wall and carving his name into any surface he could find just to take his aggression out on something.

He wanted to go into another trial. He needed to. But when the Entity finally did scoop him up it its swirl of fog, it deposited him on Lampkin fucking Lane.

He groaned as he looked around, darting to one side of the road to search for survivors. He fucking hated Lampkin Lane. The map was tiny, barely a minute's sprint from one side to the other, and yet more often than not he would lose three generators before he found the shitheads working on them. Every building on the street was a two story house that held enough hiding places for a survivor to camp out until he got frustrated and left, and half the generators would appear in those houses. A trial there was frustrating to say the least.

On top of that, the place also just reeked of middle class suburbia. Every single house reminded him far too much of the lifeless places he was shuffled around in his childhood, from the ugly-ass interior decoration to the sickening white picket fences he always tripped over during chases. Not to even mention the cop cars nearby, still shining their blinking red and blue lights anywhere it could reach.

Frank sighed. Still, it was a trial. A trial on a shitty map, but a trial all the same. He just grit his teeth and moved past an empty backyard, peering into the streaky windows of one of the houses. Eventually he would find something he could sink his teeth into.

Squinting through the glass, Frank could just make out the shape of a survivor bent over a chest. They were pulling at the rusted lock, completely absorbed in the task. He smirked to himself. They didn’t even seem to realize he was there. Frank went into the house, a white-knuckled grip on his knife as he got ready to grab the unwary survivor.

As he stepped into the room poised to strike, he stopped dead in his tracks. It was Jake. Of fucking course it was Jake.

Jake looked up from his task, freezing for a moment as he registered the killer’s presence. For a few long seconds neither of them moved, each waiting for the other to flinch. Then, in one quick motion, Jake broke the lock off and threw the chest open, snatching up what was inside.

Before Frank could react, a flashlight beam hit him directly in the face.

“Shit!” Frank shook his head, blinking the spots out of his eyes as his vision returned. Jake was, of course, gone, but he could still hear the survivor’s footsteps somewhere behind him. He set his jaw and spun around, racing after the little bastard.

Somehow, Jake was always a little too good at dodging Frank’s attacks. He would duck his head or take a sharp turn at just the last second, disorienting Frank as he thrust his blade into thin air and his own momentum made him stumble. It was like he had a sixth sense or something. Stabbing Jake was just about as easy as stabbing one of the dozens of crows perched around the trial grounds.

Through it all, through every miss and stumble and growl as Frank pursued him, Jake just laughed. Every second only made the rage burning inside Frank’s chest that much hotter.

Jake ducked around the back of a house just as a generator turned on nearby. Frank stopped in his tracks. While Jake had been leading him on all around the map, the other survivors were getting shit done. Frank clenched his fists. As much as he wanted to smash Jake’s face into the concrete, he needed to refocus his priorities. There were other ways to take out his anger here.

Frank turned around, turning up the music playing from the cassette tape on his hip as he evaluated his next move.

Despite Jake, despite the map, despite not getting to hunt for what felt like days, Frank was a beast in a trial. Survivors scattered from generators as he bore down on them; His knife bit into skin with sprays of blood that painted the walls and fences and speckled his already red-stained mask; Drums followed like a war beat everywhere he went, the blood rushing through his veins pounding in sync with the rhythm as he darted from person to person to person, keeping every survivor he found on their last leg until he finally brought one of them down to their knees.

Frank huffed as he approached them, the adrenaline coming down slightly as he caught his breath. Somehow, this survivor seemed familiar to Frank. He was nerdy looking, with big horn-rimmed glasses and a button down shirt that didn’t quite fit him right, his eyes just a little too wide for the brave face he was trying to put on. If Frank remembered right, his name was something that sounded just as dorky as he looked. Darwin, maybe? Dweeb?

It didn’t matter. Frank grabbed the survivor, carrying him over his shoulder as Frank looked around for the nearest hook. As he turned towards one, he noticed something at the base of it.

It was Jake, knelt down and fucking with something on the post.

Frank narrowed his eyes. “Hey! What are you–”

Clang.

Frank stared in shock as Jake stood up and looked directly at him, the hook falling uselessly to the base of its post. Rage swelled in him and he just dropped the survivor he carried unceremoniously to the ground. “You cocky little–!”

Jake broke into a sprint and Frank gave chase. Fuck the hooks, fuck the trial. He wasn’t going to be satisfied until he landed his blade square in Jake’s back.

Chasing Jake was like chasing a particularly crafty cat. Frank was faster, but Jake was surprisingly light on his feet, racing up the stairs and down the hall of a house just to vault over a window, and landing on the ground below with little more than a grunt and a second’s stumble before he was back up and running again. Frank kept pace easily, but the constant turns and dives gave the survivor an edge. He ran Frank around empty cars, darting off to another each time the killer caught up. Frank would swing and Jake would duck out of the way, leaving him to yank his blade out from whatever wood or metal it had stuck into instead.

Frank’s chest was heaving and his vision was going black at the edges when he saw Jake suddenly stop and turn around to look at him. He scoffed, something like sick relief bubbling up as a manic laugh as he finally started to bear down on the survivor. The adrenaline was making his head swim, but Frank didn’t care. He fucking had him this time.

Jake didn’t move as Frank approached him at a sprint. What, was he tired already? Did he think he could reason with the killer? The idea of it pulled his face into a grin. Frank couldn’t wait to drive his blade right into his–

The pallet Jake stood by came down right on top of Frank’s head.

Stars burst in his vision as he stumbled backwards. What… What the fuck? When did that get there?

Frank leaned forward on the wood board for support as he shook his head, catching the breath that had left him. He looked up and Jake was standing there. He was just standing there. Frank reared back again, slamming his boot down on the pallet to bust it apart. He was going to tear this asshole to pieces. As his foot landed forward onto the wood pieces and grass he looked up and–

A beam of light blinded him. Again. Jake’s enraging laugh ran off in a direction Frank couldn’t tell as he lashed out angrily into the empty air.

Once he could see, Frank spotted two survivors running away from a nearby generator. He didn’t care. They could all escape through the hatch for all the fucks he gave. Just as long as he got Jake. He just needed to catch Jake.

Finding him again after that wasn’t too hard. It was almost as if the fucker was trying to attract his attention. The survivor darted into the building at the end of the road, the garage with an attached cellar. Frank narrowed his eyes as he followed him down. It was a stupid move. The cellar was so small that there was no way Frank wouldn’t be able to catch him.

It was dark. A single bulb lit up the place and shadows flanked every corner. Frank looked around as he slowly paced the area, spinning his knife between his fingers. “I know you’re down here, dipshit,” he growled.

Only the slow chugging of a partially fixed generator nearby broke the silence.

Frank gripped his knife again. “I’m not leaving,” he said, loud enough to fill the space. “You wanted my attention, yeah? Well you’ve fucking got it.”

He walked around a wall partition, glancing past it to check where Jake could be hiding. Nothing moved in the shadows.

Growling, Frank glanced over at the stairs. A lone locker stood next to the wall.

Frank narrowed his eyes, slowly approaching it. “If you’re in there,” Frank said, his voice dangerously low, “You’d better pray to whatever god you still believe in that you bleed out before I’m finished with you.”

He grabbed the locker doors and threw them open, knife reared back and ready to strike at whatever was inside.

Nothing. The locker was empty.

“Wow. That was pretty edgy, I’m not gonna lie.”

Frank spun around. Jake was standing halfway up the stairs, watching him with a smug fucking look on his face.

Rage boiled in him as he sprinted towards Jake, taking a swipe at him and missing as the survivor dodged and ran back up the stairs. “Get back here!”

The moment he left the cellar a loud, thrumming bell chimed across the trial grounds. Jake stopped and looked around, his head swiveling as he looked for which gate had opened. Frank sneered and charged at him. All of that and the little shit still thought he would just let him go.

But Jake didn’t run for the gate. He just stood there, flush-faced and giddy from an adrenaline high as Frank practically crashed into him and grabbed a fistful of Jake’s hoodie. He didn’t struggle against his grip either, aside from grabbing his wrist. Even now the survivor refused to be afraid of him. “You should’ve left when you had the chance,” Frank growled.

Jake snorted and Frank wondered if the adrenaline was fucking with his brain. “I thought I’d stay for a chat,” he said casually, as if his life wasn’t in imminent danger.

I’d just come back. So what? They all did, but Jake was the only survivor to look at Frank with anything but sheer panic and horror on his face.

“You’re not getting a fucking chat,” Frank hissed. He pressed the tip of his knife against a spot right between Jake’s ribs, taking great satisfaction in the way the survivor’s face immediately fell.

Jake’s nose scrunched a bit when he clenched his jaw. Huh. Frank never noticed that before. “I just wanted to know how you got to this place,” Jake said, trying to back away from the knife. Frank tightened his grip and pulled him back in. “That’s all.”

“Why the fuck should I answer that?” Another chime sounded and the trial grounds rumbled underfoot. Frank raised his voice over the din. “It’s not your fucking business!”

The ground began to split around them, embers rising from glowing cracks that pulsed like veins. Jake actually pushed against Frank this time, his movements more frantic and desperate. The survivor wasn’t afraid of him. He was afraid of the Entity. “It is my fucking business! We’re all stuck here and you and your friends are the only killers that aren’t monsters! I just want to know how–”

“I am a monster,” Frank shouted, suddenly thrusting his knife between Jake’s ribs. “And I turned them into monsters too.”

Jake stared up at him, eyes wide in shock. Frank wanted it to feel good. He wanted so badly for the satisfaction of finally seeing this asshole’s face screwed up in fear, not of the Entity or another killer, but of him. Instead, he just felt hollow.

What happened to him?

A third chime sounded and the trial grounds were breaking apart around them. The Entity was getting impatient, but Frank didn’t care. He wasn’t done yet.

Frank pulled out the knife, twisting the blade as he did just to make it hurt more coming out. Jake fell to his knees with a strangled grunt and Frank still felt nothing. No satisfaction, no thrill, just a weight like lead in the pit of his stomach.

Jake hunched over on the ground, supporting himself on one hand as the other applied pressure to his bleeding wound. Even now he made very little noise. It would be so easy to kick him over, to lunge at him and sink his blade in again and again until there was nothing left for the Entity to collect but a bloody pulp. Something in him wanted to, something deep in his chest that burned unending and hidden like an underground mine.

And then Jake looked up at him.

“I’m sorry.”

All of that fire and rage burning through Frank suddenly turned to ice in his blood.

“What?”

Frank stared at him. He wasn’t terrified, saying whatever he could in a desperate plea for his life. This was different. It was a face Frank had never seen directed at him before, something he didn’t believe was possible for anyone else to feel for him.

Remorse. Jake genuinely looked sorry.

A final chime sounded over the trial grounds and the Entity roared. Frank stood there and watched, frozen, as the Entity’s claws burst through the ground beneath Jake, skewering him through his stomach. Appendages like spider legs surrounded him, stabbing into him at once like a mutated fly trap, and Frank felt nausea well up inside him.

Jake was in pain, afraid. It was plain to see from his face and the groans and whimpers that escaped him as the Entity took its price. But that look of remorse never fully went away.

Frank just stood, dumbfounded, as the fog rolled in around them and everything disappeared.

Chapter Text

Frank was on the roof again.

When he had come back from the trial, the rest of the Legion were gone. It figured, really. Frank only ever really got to be alone when he desperately didn’t want to be.

So he was on the roof again, staring up at the sky and wishing the clouds would pass so he could see the stars. Ormond was always like that back home. It would be overcast more days out of the year than not, to the point where actually seeing the moon and stars was a treat in itself. Frank wasn’t sure exactly how the weather actually operated in the Entity’s realm, what with its nonsense geography and purgatory logic, but it at least seemed more or less consistent with what he’d left back on Earth.

He wanted to escape his thoughts, but without anything to distract him the task seemed impossible. He kept thinking back to what he’d said, the look on Jake’s face, the sounds he made when the Entity took him. Those two minutes had felt like an eternity, and they cycled through his head over and over unbidden, new details coming to mind with each run–The gargle in Jake’s throat as he tried to breathe through a punctured lung; The blood that sprayed onto Frank’s jacket as the Entity tore into him; The startlingly genuine sympathy in his voice when Jake said sorry, sorry, sorry.

Frank sat up, rubbing his eyes hard enough for color to explode behind his eyelids. He should listen to his music, but the only tapes he had were loud and angry and it was just making him anxious. Which was just stupidly typical, really. His music was his escape, and now all it did was remind him of how fucking weak he felt.

Maybe it was for the best that his friends weren’t there.

A small spot of cold landed on his cheek and Frank looked up. It was snowing. Grumbling, he stood up and hopped back inside the resort.

The place was always a little too dark. The lights barely worked half the time, and when they did the light they produced always seemed a little more dim than he remembered. The floorboards creaked under his boots as he walked to the main lobby, figuring he would get in front of the fire before the chill started getting to him.

Frank was about to flop down on the couch when he heard a crow take off outside.

He paused, listening. Even outside of the trials, where the birds seemed to flock en masse, they were a useful tool for knowing when someone was around. It wasn’t one of his friends; They weren’t particularly quiet and he would have heard them by now.

That left two options, and Frank wasn’t in the mood to deal with either of them.

Grabbing his knife, Frank made his way outside. The snow was coming down in full force now, obscuring the environment in a veil of white. Theoretically he would have been able to spot Ghostface if he was around–the all-black outfit didn’t exactly make for good camouflage in Ormond–but when the creep didn’t want to be seen he had an irritating way of staying invisible.

The cold got to him after a few minutes of standing outside and staring and Frank finally went back inside, deciding that if Ghostface wanted pictures of him that badly he could go ahead and get hypothermia for them. He headed back inside, considering grabbing a blanket from one of the rooms upstairs (not to cuddle up with it or anything, especially with that creep watching, but maybe just to have in case it got cold), before stopping in his tracks.

Jake was sitting on the couch, staring into the fire.

A dozen emotions ran through him in that moment–Surprise, confusion, anger, bitterness, resentment, even something that clutched in his chest in a way that felt too much like fear (for what, he didn’t know)–but they all passed quickly enough and left him with something that was just tired and numb.

The survivor apparently hadn’t seen him yet. Frank put on his mask, wanting to at least keep that part of himself hidden from the nosey prick, before sitting down next to him with a heavy flop.

He smirked to himself as Jake startled. It was kind of cute. “What are you doing here?” Frank said, keeping his tone neutral.

There was a moment of silence before Jake responded. He was looking Frank up and down, probably trying to see if he was about to be killed. Apparently he was satisfied enough to relax. “I wanted to talk.”

Frank groaned. This again. “Look, I don’t know how many times I have to tell you that I’m not–”

“No, not about that,” Jake said, cutting him off. Frank looked at him. He was still pretty tense in his shoulders, picking at the calluses on his hands and looking at the fire instead of at who he was talking to. By all appearances, he seemed like he wanted to be anywhere but here. “I wanted to apologize, I guess.”

Huh. Frank looked at the fire, letting that hang in the air for a minute. Nothing about this made any sense. “Why?”

Jake shifted on the couch. “I just,” he started and paused again. His voice was strained, like talking at all was painful. “I was thinking about it and. You were right. It’s none of my business.”

Frank thought about that, idly spinning his knife in his hand. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had genuinely apologized to him. He didn’t trust it. “Sure. So why are you really here?”

“What?”

“Why are you here,” Frank repeated. He squinted at his knife. There were flecks of blood stained on the ends. He would need to clean it. “You didn’t come here just to say sorry for pissing me off. What’s the agenda?”

Jake furrowed his brow. “I don’t have an agenda.”

“Sure you do.” He leaned forward on the couch. “So, what, you want me to go easy on you in trials? You want me to tell the others to lay off?” Frank tried to think of what else Jake could possibly want. Despite how often they had interacted recently, it wasn’t much.

Frank looked at Jake, surprised to see how offended he looked. “Even if that’s what I wanted, why would I think you would do that for me?”

He shrugged. “I dunno. You survivors are pretty stupid.”

Frank wasn’t prepared for the couch pillow that hit him in the face.

Luckily he’d managed to keep his mask on, but it was a near enough thing to piss him off all the same. “Hey!”

“I don’t have an agenda,” Jake said. His tone was firm and insistent, and Frank could swear there was anger like gravel in the back of his throat.

He huffed, tossing the pillow back onto the couch between them. “So why are you here then?”

Jake paused, the crackling of the fire filling the silence between them. Frank just sat there and bounced his leg, waiting.

“I don’t really know.”

Frank leaned back again. He was used to being able to read people, to understand their motives. It was a survival skill more than anything, and one that came in handy when he needed to get something from others. And yet despite that, he couldn’t get a solid read on Jake.

He pulled one knee up to lean on. Conversations always made him fidgety, especially the ones he didn’t want to have. “Why do you want to know, anyway?” Frank asked, turning his head to look at Jake. “How we got here, I mean. Why does it matter so much to you?”

Jake didn’t answer for a long time, just letting the question sit heavy in the air between them. Frank waited.

“Because,” Jake said hesitantly, “I need to know what’s possible here. What the rules are, what makes one thing become one and another become something else.” He shrugged his shoulders, not in a dismissive way, but in a distinctly uncomfortable way. “I don’t like… not knowing.”

Not knowing. That was something Frank was more than used to. He never knew where he was going or why, where he would be tomorrow, what would happen to him next in life. He’d gone so long having other people dictate his life for him that he’d just stopped caring about what he didn’t know.

But still… Even when he stopped caring it was something that nagged at him, a tugging in the back of his mind telling him that someone was lying or hiding something from him, that there was a bit of control he needed to take back.

Maybe that’s what it was. Control. Even under the Entity’s influence Frank had far more control here than he ever had in life, but Jake… Jake was a survivor. Survivors had the least control out of any of them.

Frank spun his knife between his fingers, letting the shifting weight and cool metal against his skin keep his focus. Jake was looking for answers, and he thought the Legion had them. But even if they did…

“Then what?”

Jake looked at him, surprised. “What?”

“Let’s say I give you my whole tragic backstory and all your questions are answered. Then what? What’s your next move after that?”

The survivor paused. Of course he hadn’t thought of that.

“Right.” Frank easily passed the knife from one hand to the other and held his arm out to the side, pressing the blade against Jake’s neck. The way the survivor immediately tensed nearly made him laugh. “So you have two options. You can either sit right there like a stubborn ass while I cut your throat, or you can start running and hope I don’t catch you.”

Jake glared at him from the corner of his eyes. “Just the two options?”

Frank nodded, grinning under his mask. “Your choice.”

A moment passed as Jake looked up, clearly considering his options, before he shoved Frank’s arm away and leapt to his feet, sprinting out of the lodge.

Fucking finally. Frank laughed as he got up, chasing Jake out into the falling snow.

Chapter Text

Jake couldn’t say with complete honesty that he hated this new dynamic.

Of course Frank was still a complete ass. He was unpredictable, violent, and prone to giving chase after Jake for seemingly no reason other than that he just liked to make him run. During trials he would focus on Jake to the complete neglect of the other survivors, and outside the trials Jake started seeing him more and more as he searched for offerings in the fog. At first Jake was worried that the killer would somehow make his way to the campfire, tormenting the others during their only time of refuge between the terror and pain, but Frank never seemed to venture that close.

The first few times they happened Jake told Dwight about these encounters. He quickly learned not to. His friend would freak out, fretting about Jake’s safety and trying to make him promise to stay at the campfire.

Jake couldn’t promise that. His walks in the fog were more than offering hunts; They were a sanctuary. The fog was cold and quiet but it was calm and familiar, something that felt more like home to him than anywhere else he had ever been. So instead, he promised to tell Dwight if anything else happened that he needed to know about.

Dwight didn’t need to know about Frank.

Frank was an ass, but there was something about him that felt genuine. He wasn’t as sadistic or cruel as some of the other killers. Sure, Frank did his damn best to try and freak him out, but it really came across as more of a game than an actual desire to see Jake in pain.

Besides, Jake could take care of himself. He always has.

Jake offered another shiny coin to one of the crows in the fog. The birds seemed to like the offerings just as much as the Entity did, and even if they didn’t give him any direct benefits in turn he still liked to watch how they would puff out their feathers and croak gleefully at him when they accepted his gifts.

Ever since his first venture into the outer fog, Jake had been spending a lot more of his time between trials in the pseudo-wilderness between the killers’ realms. It felt far more like home to him than any of the other places he’d found, and he was much less likely to run into anyone else.

“Hey dipshit!”

Well, almost anyone.

Jake looked up as the crows he was sitting next to flew away. Frank was perched on a stone outcrop nearby. The killer was wearing a new mask, one streaked with a bloody handprint on half the face. He thought it was a bit much. “You know my name, asshole,” he shot back.

Frank tilted his head to the side, spinning his knife between his fingers. Jake used to think he did that as an intimidation tactic, but looking at it now it almost seemed like he was just idling, like a bored student twirling around a pen. “Do I? Y’know, I don’t think I recall.” He hopped down from his perch and approached Jake. “Maybe you can jog my memory.”

He’d been doing this more often. The killer seemed to like pretending they didn’t know each other as well as they did. Maybe it was part of his game. Jake rolled his eyes. “I’m not running, if that’s what you mean.”

The killer actually paused. “Why not?”

Jake snorted. “Because I’m not scared of you.” The sound of offense that came from Frank nearly made him laugh. “Besides, I was in the middle of something.”

Frank glanced around before looking back at him. “In the middle of what?”

He gestured to one of the crows nearby. It was perched on a branch, watching Frank with a wary gaze.

“Huh,” Frank said, like he didn’t really understand.

Jake stood up, walking slowly over towards the tree. He held out his hand, and after a moment of consideration the crow swooped down from its branch, landing easily on Jake’s arm.

Frank just stared at him. “What the fuck?”

The crow cawed at him and Jake smiled, scritching his finger under the bird’s chin. It stretched out its neck, the soft feathers underneath fluffing up with a contented warble.

The moment didn’t last long. It quickly pulled its head back as Frank took a step towards them, the bird flaring its wings with a warning call directed at the killer.

Frank stopped and the bird relaxed again, if only slightly. “How did you do that?” he asked.

Jake gently stroked the bird’s head, trying to soothe it again. “Do what?”

“That.” Frank gestured at the crow. “Like, what, did you train them?”

He thought about it, wondering if the gifts he offered up would count as training of some kind. He decided it didn’t. The crows always seemed to be more relaxed in Jake’s presence, even before he started offering them things. Jake shrugged. “Not really.”

“Bullshit.” Frank looked around, as if checking for anyone else in the area. Apparently he saw nothing. “What are you doing out here anyway? Was there really nothing better you could be doing at the campfire?”

Jake furrowed his brow. The other survivors had been sitting around the campfire, listening to Kate’s singing as she played the guitar the Entity had granted her after a slew of escapes. Jake had tried to stay, tried to sit there and listen with the others. Tried not to shy away from Dwight’s hand as it brushed against his own. Tried not to leave too quickly when he excused himself, offering a flimsy explanation about wanting to find an offering. Tried not to let the face his friend made as he walked into the fog eat at him, those confused eyes and downturned lips burned into the back of his mind.

“Not really.” Jake straightened his arm again and the crow flew back to the tree. He turned back to the killer. “What about you? Are the others all off on trials?”

Frank shrugged his shoulders and looked away, twirling his knife. “Yeah. Honestly it gets pretty boring when nobody else is there.”

“I guess it’s more fun to chase me around?”

The killer looked back, tilting his head again. Maybe he just wasn’t used to it or maybe it was all the blood it was painted with, but this new mask sent a shiver down Jake’s back. “Got anything better to do?” Frank said.

Jake shifted his weight onto the balls of his feet. He could tell where this was going. “Guess not.”

The handle of the knife snapped back into the killer’s palm as he stalked forward, the emotionless mask staring him down. Jake took a light step backward, his heart rate picking up despite the way he tried to tell himself that he was safe, that this was just a game, that he could make it back to the clearing if he wanted it to end.

But that wasn’t right, was it? Frank might be human but he was still a killer. Jake wasn’t in control here. He never was.

The killer darted towards him and Jake ran, some sick exhilaration pulsing through him as those conflicting thoughts melted away into a storm of adrenaline. It didn’t matter whether he was the hunter or the hunted, whether death meant something or nothing at all. He was human and animal and mortal and eternal and all that mattered was the pounding of his feet on the forest floor and the snapping of twigs and branches against his arms as he raced through the trees.

There was no music when Frank chased him in the fog. In trials he would always know how close the killer was by the bass of the drums trailing behind him, but out here Frank left his cassette tape behind. Jake suspected he did it to freak out the survivor more, using the inherent disorientation the lack of sound cues created to boost his stealth. The tactic certainly worked if that was the case. Between the blood rushing in his ears and the sound of his own quickened breaths as his lungs worked overtime to keep his muscles pumping, every bite of Frank’s blade or sudden appearance to his side to drive the chase in a new direction made Jake’s heart leap into his throat.

His wide-eyed animalistic panic never lasted too long. Frank seemed to understand that the chase would run Jake out of steam too quickly if he wasn’t afforded breaks to sit down in a hidden alcove and catch his breath. Jake knew it wasn’t true kindness–it was just a method to keep the game going as long as possible, to savor as much of the survivor’s fear as could be wrung out of him–but he couldn’t help but appreciate it all the same.

These breaks allowed him brief moments of clarity through the haze of endorphins. Jake could sit and listen to the forest around him, try to determine where Frank might be coming from next and whether there were other dangers around he needed to be aware of.

Dangers like a glint of metal hidden in the foliage, mere meters away from where he sat.

Jake froze as his eyes locked onto it. He could have missed it–probably would have, if he hadn’t been paying attention just then. From what he could see the metal was rusted, dull enough to blend into the shaded dirt it sat on, and the fern draped over top did an excellent job of obscuring it from view.

His whole body tensed. There was no mistaking it–a bear trap was set up here, deep in the fog. Jake’s mind started racing. Did their chase accidentally bring them onto the MacMillan Estate? The forest around him didn’t seem much different from the outer fog he’d been exploring, but it wasn’t out of the question. Or was this just a free-for-all territory, and the Trapper always had traps set up where survivors and killers alike could step into them?

More importantly, did this mean the Trapper was here somewhere? And if so, where was Frank?

Something rustled in the trees nearby and Jake pressed himself further into the shadows of the alcove. His mind raced as he tried to figure out what was making the sound. If it was Frank or another survivor, he needed to warn them about the trap before they got caught in it, but if it was the Trapper…

The image of the last time he saw the killer came to him unbidden: The silent, simmering way the Trapper watched after as he and his teammates escaped, and the sick feeling in his stomach as he knew that trial would come back to haunt him.

Jake’s blood went cold. He couldn’t risk drawing attention to himself.

So he waited, listening to whatever was moving through the forest nearby. The steps were heavy but confident, the steady rhythm of footsteps crunching through dead leaves and twigs never faltering or hesitating as they went. It was the movement of someone practiced and confident, with the patient inevitability of a hunter who didn’t have to worry about scaring off their prey.

Jake didn’t need to see who it was. He knew then it wasn’t Frank.

It was a long few minutes as Jake waited, his muscles aching from staying so still. He wouldn’t be comfortable breathing normally until the footsteps faded into silence. He wouldn’t be comfortable leaving his hiding spot until a few minutes after that.

Venturing into the forest again was a task in itself. His limbs shook as he brought himself back into motion, trying to push the adrenaline and fear back down into something more manageable. He couldn’t afford to run blindly now. He needed to watch the ground, taking careful steps on clear flooring. He needed to find Frank.

A cold snap echoed through the trees, followed by a growling shout of rage and pain.

Shit.

Jake was significantly less careful after that. He moved quickly through the forest, trying to make his way towards the source of the sound before someone else could. He didn’t know exactly what kind of relationship the killers had between one another, but if anyone felt similarly about the Legion as the Trapper did…

It was stupid, he thought distantly. He shouldn’t care what happened to any of the killers, especially one that seemed to make terrorizing Jake his life purpose. If anything, it would be better to take advantage of the distraction, get back to the campfire and forget any of this ever happened.

In the end it didn’t matter. Jake stumbled to his knee as a trap clamped shut around his leg.

Jake clenched his jaw, prepared for a rush of pain to flood through him. Seconds passed and it never came. Looking down, he saw the trap that held him in place. Where the blades should have been, a thick leather padding was attached by bolts to the contraption’s jaws. The result was painless, but no less tight than the real thing.

That… didn’t make sense. Why would the Trapper set a harmless trap?

Despite the padding, the trap proved to be harder to remove than usual. The metal was coated in some kind of wax that made getting a solid grip on the jaws near impossible. As his hands slipped off the metal again, Jake heard the footsteps returning.

Nausea welled up in the back of his throat. He was caught, alone and helpless and waiting for a killer with a grudge to find him.

It didn’t take long for him to arrive.

The Trapper approached him from the shadows of the forest, hulking and massive and terrifying as ever, if not more-so just based on Jake’s position on the ground. He looked down at Jake and gripped the handle of his machete tighter.

“Saboteur.” It sounded as much like an accusation as it did a greeting.

Jake never fully understood why the Trapper gave him that name. On one hand, yeah, it had been earned. He spent most of his first hundred or so trials against the Trapper breaking as many traps as he could get his hands on, only switching over to hooks when his fellow survivors were being carried. But he did that to all of the killers, and none of them seemed to find it important enough to refer to him in that way.

He wasn’t about to question it, though. Not when he was in this much of a compromising position. Jake said nothing as he stared up at the Trapper, waiting for the blood-stained machete to come down on his head.

It didn’t happen. “You’re getting careless.”

Jake stayed silent, processing that for a moment. Was the Trapper mocking him, holding his current position over his head before cutting him down? That… didn’t seem right. The Trapper could be a brutal killer, but he was efficient. He didn’t spend unnecessary time gloating.

“What?” was all he could find to respond with.

“You’re getting careless,” the Trapper repeated, as if Jake simply hadn’t heard him. “You shouldn’t be here.”

In the absence of knowing what to do, Jake stole a glance around the area. He couldn’t see Frank.

He turned his head back as the Trapper knelt down in front of him, meeting his height. He had to hunch over to do it, and Jake couldn’t help but wonder why he even bothered. “Go back to the fire,” the killer growled, his voice sounding raw and full of grit. “Stay with the others. Don’t allow yourself to be the last one alive. Don’t take risks. Understand?”

Jake just stared at him, frozen in disbelief. Was the Trapper giving him… advice? Was this his way of telling him to stay safe?

Why the hell would he do that?

The Trapper grunted with something that sounded like annoyance. “Just nod if you understood me. I won’t repeat myself.”

With nothing else he could think to do, Jake nodded.

“Good.” The Trapper stood back to his full height.

Jake just watched him, curiosity bubbling up inside him before he could stop it. “Why are you telling me this?”

There was a pause, and Jake could have sworn the killer was trying to figure it out for himself. Finally, he answered. “Because I don’t like to take orders.” Another pause before he added, “And this way you owe me a debt.”

The words spun around Jake’s head enough to make him dizzy. “A debt?”

Despite not being able to see the killer’s face, he could still tell how hard and threatening his expression must be. “You cost me a trial,” he said, his voice much lower and more threatening than it had been a moment ago. “The next time I see you, I want you gone first.”

Defiance beat in Jake’s chest and he had to bite his tongue to stop a snide response. He didn’t want to provoke the Trapper, not with the position he was in, but the killer was demanding him to sacrifice himself to the Entity. The idea made his flesh crawl.

“No,” he finally said, a little louder than intended.

The Trapper was silent for a moment. He didn’t seem… angry, exactly. Maybe disappointed, but in the way someone who asked the sky to stop raining would be disappointed when it poured on.

“Fine,” the Trapper said, bitter resignation clear in his voice. “I’ll just do it myself.”

Jake didn’t have the time to argue before the Trapper raised his machete. All he managed was a surprised yelp before the blade came down on him and he was gone.

***

When Frank finally got his leg free from the trap, he was more than angry. He was downright furious.

There was no goddamn reason in hell for there to be traps here. They had to be miles away from the MacMillan land, Frank had made sure of that. He’d wanted to have as much room to move around in when he chased Jake around the fog, with as little interference from outside forces as possible. Including other survivors, including the rest of the Legion, and especially including that trap-happy bastard.

He had to find Jake. If the survivor stepped into one of those god awful traps he would be crippled at best, maybe even bleed out at worst. It was bad enough that Frank found himself limping slightly, even with the increased resilience the Entity granted him.

Finding Jake, however, was easier said than done. It was one thing when they were in a trial and there were limited places for him to hide, or when he was running through the forest and breaking every single branch in his path, but the little shit could be quiet when he wanted to be, especially if he wasn’t ready to be found yet.

Not to mention, he had to watch his step as he went. He was going to kick MacMillan’s ass when he found him.

The forest was too quiet as he walked. The crows had all flown away from the racket he’d been making, and he couldn’t hear a single sound that wasn’t his own footsteps or breathing. In the silence, something clawed at his chest. Something bitter and cold that he hadn’t experienced since he was taken into the fog. Frank pushed it down as best he could, but it lingered like a block of ice in his stomach.

That feeling grew as a familiar scent hit him, something metallic and heavy and far, far too pungent.

A single crow cawed somewhere nearby. Frank paused for a moment, that feeling growing just a bit stronger, before following in the direction of the sound.

When he finally found the crow, the sight that met him sent that feeling shooting through his blood, freezing him in place. The bird was standing in the grass, pecking at limp strands of soft black hair that fell over a strikingly pale face. The dirt below his feet was sticky with far too much still-hot blood, pooling out and away from Jake’s crumpled body.

The survivor’s throat had been slashed, a wound thick and deep enough that he couldn’t have been alive for more than a few seconds after it had been made. Frank looked around for traps, even checked Jake’s legs for tell-tale signs of serrated blades, but there was nothing.

Frank stood there, completely speechless, as Jake’s blood cooled on the soles of his shoes. He was still standing there as the fog swirled around Jake’s body, dissolving it in its cloying grasp until there was nothing left but dark stained dirt left behind.

With nothing left for him, Frank numbly made his way back to Ormond.

Chapter Text

The stars were different here.

Jake stared up at what little sky was visible past the canopy of the trees in the fog, the skeletal branches grasping towards each other. When he had first arrived in the Entity’s realm he hadn’t thought to check if the constellations had changed. He was so busy looking at the ground–Watching for traps, working on generators, searching for offerings, ensuring steady footfalls as he ran.

Over time he gained confidence and eventually even allowed himself moments of peace enough to return to a favorite hobby of his. Before the fog he’d had more than enough time to gaze at the stars, mapping the constellations for himself. It began as a navigation tool, but the beauty of the stars always captivated him in such a way that he would spend hours watching them, sitting in silence with his eyes to the sky.

Eventually he noticed that his usual favorite constellations were missing. Orion was nowhere to be seen. Neither was Ursa Major or Minor, Auriga, Canus, or any of the Zodiacs. Even the Milky Way was different, shaped all wrong from how he remembered it.

At first he had been devastated. Jake had so little in this new place and still even the stars had been taken from him. But time passed and eventually he took it upon himself to chart out this new sky, to make his own constellations.

This was how Jake made his way through the fog, miles away from safety. Every time he felt lost or turned around he would look up, spot a collection of stars in a pyramid shape in the sky, and know that was the direction of the campfire.

Jake had named that constellation Hearth–The fire of the home.

Recently, he’d been using this form of navigation to help him find his way from the campfire to the outer fog, and even to Ormond. Geography didn’t make any sense here, but the sky seemed to be at least somewhat consistent no matter where he went.

The sky was where his focus was the next time Frank found him in the fog.

Jake heard him approach, but by now he was familiar enough with the killer’s distinct gait and light steps that he didn’t bother to look down. He was perched on a rocky outcrop himself, head tilted up as he watched some clouds move across the sky.

He heard the footsteps slow to a stop nearby, pause for a moment, and then rustle the dry undergrowth as they landed on the rock behind him with a soft grunt.

“What are you doing?” Frank’s voice came from behind him. He was close enough to put Jake in a compromising position if he decided to, but Jake found that he wasn’t particularly worried about that. He was just there, sharing the space.

Jake didn’t answer immediately, still focused on the sky. The clouds had passed enough for him to make out a few of his new constellations.

A cloth-wrapped hand waved in front of Jake’s face and he finally looked down with some annoyance. Frank was still in his new mask, a red bomber jacket he recalled seeing in the lodge replacing his usual leather ensemble. It honestly looked pretty good on him.

Frank sat down next to him, crossing his legs as he did. “What are you looking at?”

Jake just shrugged and pointed up at the sky. It was perfectly clear now, the stars twinkling slightly when he stared at them for long enough. Frank looked up, following his gaze. “Oh.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes, something that Jake more than welcomed. From his spot he could see the constellations that typically pointed towards Ormond, one forming a sharper oblong shape and another forming a more complex shape that Jake had decided looked like a running wolf. It seemed appropriate.

Eventually, Frank seemed to run out of patience for staying quiet. “So what brings you out here again?”

Jake hummed quietly. After he’d been sent back to the campfire, still shaken and wheezing from the Trapper’s attack, Dwight had taken to keeping a much closer eye on him. It was appreciated… to a point. But Jake never liked being around people for very long. “I just needed some time to myself,” he settled on after a few seconds.

Frank hummed back. He was bouncing his knees, tapping away at the rock with his knife.

The sound wasn’t even noticeable at first, but it started getting to him after a minute. “Do you want something?” Jake asked, not bothering to hide the annoyance lacing his voice.

“Not really,” Frank shrugged. He continued tapping.

Jake narrowed his eyes. “Then why are you here?”

“What,” Frank said, feigning offense, “Can’t a guy watch the stars in peace?”

“Don’t you have somewhere better to do that? The lodge, for instance?” Frank was still tapping and the sound was grating on Jake’s nerves.

“Yeah, but I’d rather do it right here.” Frank was definitely doing it on purpose by now.

Jake stared at him for a moment before standing up, hopping down off the rock and searching for a new place to sit.

As expected, Frank followed.

A few minutes passed as Jake walked in silence, pretending he didn’t notice the killer trailing behind him like a very dangerous puppy. He was of two minds about it, honestly. On one hand, he was grateful that he could even be near Frank now without being immediately met with a painful death. On the other hand, the possibility was still there all the same, breathing down his neck with that sharp caress of a steel blade, and now Jake couldn’t seem to get rid of the guy.

Eventually the clouds covered the sky again and Jake turned back to face the killer. “Am I really that interesting?”

Frank nearly crashed into him, backing up a step as Jake stopped. “What?”

“You haven’t left me alone since I started coming out here.” Jake kept his tone even, non-accusatory. “Is there something you want from me or is there genuinely nothing better for you to do?”

The killer’s mask just stared back silently, his shoulders distinctly more tense now. Jake held his gaze, waiting for a response.

Finally, he got one. “You’re one to talk.”

Jake rolled his eyes. He knew that was coming. “Sure, but at least I was up front about it. I have no idea what you want.”

“Maybe I don’t want anything.”

“Then why won’t you leave me alone?”

The mask still obscured his face, but Jake swore he could almost hear the grin in Frank’s voice. “Because it pisses you off.”

Of course that was the reason. Jake just turned around, going back to walking with a killer following close behind. “In that case, mind if I ask a few questions?”

“Yeah, I do.”

Jake glanced back over his shoulder. Frank’s posture was casual, his hands tucked in his pockets as he walked. If it wasn’t for the bloody mask, he’d look perfectly content. “Well,” Jake said, returning his gaze forward. “Feel free to leave whenever you want, but I’m going to ask anyway.” He heard the killer grunt behind him but the footsteps didn’t stop. Jake took that as all the permission he needed.

“So you don’t want to talk about how you got here–”

“I’d rather choke on glass, yeah,” Frank interjected.

Jake shot a look back at him. “Why?”

Frank hunched his shoulders. “Why what?”

“Why don’t you want to talk about it?”

“Didn’t we already have this conversation?”

Not that it was much of a conversation, but Frank had a point. He’d made his point loud and clear in Haddonfield. It still nagged at him, though.

“Fine,” Jake said after a few seconds. He needed a new direction to take. “Did it give you a choice?”

Frank didn’t respond at first. Jake was about to ask again, if only to confirm that Frank was willfully ignoring him, when he responded. “I’m not answering that.”

Great. Very helpful. Jake looked up at the sky, or at least what little of it was visible beyond the treeline, but clouds still covered the stars.

Okay, new direction. “What was it like when you first woke up here?”

Another long pause. “That’s none of your business.”

“Did the others have a different experience?”

“You have no right to ask that,” Frank snapped. That got more of a reaction, but not the one Jake wanted. It was a start, though.

“Why not?” Jake pressed. “Aren’t you their leader or something? You’d know all about—“

“I don’t care! You don’t get to know about them.”

Jake glanced back at him and stopped.

Frank was in a battle stance by now, his shoulders hunched and weight shifted onto the balls of his feet, gripping a knife Jake hadn’t even realized was on him. His mask revealed no more information than it already did, but it still managed to radiate an aura of rage and malice. His entire body seemed to challenge Jake. Daring him to ask one more question, to poke the wolf one more time.

Survival instinct superseded curiosity.

“Fine,” Jake said. The word tasted bitter. “Fine. If you leave me alone, I’ll stop asking.”

Frank didn’t relax. He stalked forward, his movements setting off alarm bells that until now had been dormant in the back of Jake’s mind.

“Or,” Frank said, his voice cold like iron. “I can cut your throat and you’ll stop asking anyway.”

Something about this–the way Frank stalked toward him, expression unreadable but body coiled in rage, not quite hunting but not willing to back down–struck Jake as terrifyingly familiar. It wasn’t until he turned and ran, panic overwhelming him, that he realized what it was.

Mountain lions.

Jake was lucky enough during his time living off the grid in the Appalachian forests to never directly encounter one, but during his limited exposure to some of the rangers that worked along the trails he’d gotten some advice for if he ever did. Mountain lions are ambush predators; They sneak up on vulnerable prey and attack with a lethal hit. If necessary, they are powerful sprinters and can run their prey down at the speed of a car. However, they don’t often see grown humans as prey, and most encounters happen because the big cats are trying to defend something. The best defense, the rangers had told him, was to maintain eye contact and back away slowly.

But more than anything, do not turn your back and do not run. Doing either of those would trigger its instinct to chase.

As Jake ran through the forest of the outer fog, Frank following a few steps behind, he couldn’t help but feel like a fucking idiot.

***

It was a long few hours of running, hiding, catching his breath, and running again before Jake finally felt safe.

Well, safe wasn’t exactly the right term, was it? There was no real safety here, especially out in the fog. But he hadn’t seen a flash of red or heard the rapid pounding of feet on the ground in a while, so that would have to do.

Jake allowed himself to settle against the base of a large oak, inspecting the injuries he’d collected during the chase. As usual, there were a few cuts and scrapes from near misses, but the thing that really worried him was an aching slash on his arm.

It wasn’t enough to be debilitating, but he was still bleeding. He shuffled out of his jacket and tied it around his waist for safekeeping before cinching his scarf around the injury as a makeshift bandage. It wasn’t the most hygienic option, the fabric would be ruined, and Dwight was bound to give him hell about it if he caught him in this state, but it was a good enough fix for now.

Good enough. That was all he had for the most part these days. Just good enough for now.

Once the injury was taken care of, Jake folded up his knees and buried his face in his arms. It had been a long time since he’d had a decent fucking break and the constant building pressure was weighing on him.

Maybe he was chasing a dead end. All this time, all this pain and fear and stress, and he was still no closer to understanding anything. Every single time he thought he’d made progress it would slip away, like trying to dig a hole in sand. Maybe the trouble just wasn’t worth it. Maybe he was just doomed to fail. Maybe–

“Do you need some help?”

Jake nearly fell over as the voice in his ear startled him out of his thoughts. His heart was racing and he was running on instinct as he scrambled away from the figure crouched next to him.

A ghost-white plastic mask tilted at Jake as his eyes went wide. “Oh, sorry. Did I scare you?”

Jake didn’t respond, just tensely staring at the killer mere inches from him.

Ghostface propped his chin on his arm, not making any move to change his current position. “Y’know, most people scream when they see me. It’s sort of impressive that you didn’t.”

“What do you want,” Jake asked tersely. The last time he saw the Ghostface ended painfully and he wasn’t eager to repeat the experience.

“Straight to the point, then.” The casual way the killer spoke made Jake’s skin crawl. He could almost hear the coy smile in his voice. “Fair enough. I can respect that kind of inquisitive mindset.”

That gave Jake pause. The killer was… flattering him. “What?”

“I couldn’t help but notice you’ve been doing some digging.” Jake looked him over as he spoke. He didn’t seem to have a weapon on him, but then neither did Frank. Distantly he wondered if they could just materialize the things right out of the fog. It wouldn’t surprise him.

When Jake didn’t respond, the Ghostface continued. “You know, I was a reporter myself before all of this. I know a thing or two about finding answers.” He tilted his head the other way, letting his arm drape over his thighs. “I could help you.”

Jake narrowed his eyes. Killers didn’t offer help to survivors. He’d heard of them making deals, sure, but there was always a catch. “Why would you want to help me?”

The killer chuckled. It wasn’t as dark as Jake felt like it should have been. “You’re clever. That’s exactly why I think you could use my help.” The Ghostface stood and Jake hurried to his feet in case he needed to run, but the killer didn’t give chase. He just stood there, leaning blithely against the tree and steepling his gloved fingers. “You’re looking for information about killers–Specifically the ones who used to be human. Do I have that about right?”

Another once over didn’t reveal anything new to him, but Jake was still tense. “Something like that.” He paused as a thought occurred to him. “You… Wouldn’t happen to be human, would you?”

The Ghostface tilted his head. “What a fascinating question.”

The hair on the back of Jake’s neck stood up and he resisted the urge to rub it back down.

“If you were hoping I could answer your questions, I’m afraid I can’t. I was about as monstrous as they come.” Something dark came through in his tone, a glimpse of the underlying shadow bleeding through with expert control.

It set Jake’s teeth on edge. “If you can’t help me, why bring it up?”

“I can point you to someone who can.”

Jake paused, staring at him. He didn’t trust anything about this. Even setting aside the danger the killer represented to his immediate safety, he recognized the kind of man that hid underneath that mask. He’d been around plenty of them growing up through the people his parents operated with–Flattering words and bold claims, blatant manipulation shielded by charming smiles and false promises. He knew what kind of monster this was.

But…

Even still. If there was any chance that he had access to the kind of answers Jake was looking for, he wasn’t sure he could refuse. Doing so would mean letting go of the best chance he’d had. And Jake was just so tired of being let down.

“Alright,” Jake said hesitantly. “Let’s say I take you up on your offer. What’s in it for you?”

The Ghostface waved a hand dismissively. “I might’ve changed job titles, but I’m still a reporter at heart. All I want is for you to come back and tell me every little detail of what you find.”

It was stupid. It was stupid and dangerous and had almost no chance of going well for him.

But he’d done worse. If this was the lead he was looking for, Jake didn’t have the option to turn it down.

“Deal,” Jake finally said, straightening his back. “Who is it then?”

The Ghostface crossed his arms, tilting his head the other way. “I’m sure it doesn’t seem like it, but the Trickster also used to be human.”

The Trickster. The killer that spoke fluent Korean and had a thing for knives. Jake winced at the thought. “Ah. And why would he talk to me? The Legion–”

“Are very private about their personal lives,” The Ghostface finished. He sighed with just a touch too much embellishment to feel completely genuine. “Teenagers. You know how it is. But the Trickster loves to talk about himself. Absolutely adores it.” He nodded at Jake. “You get him talking and he’ll tell you everything you need to know.”

It was… doable. Jake had never heard the Trickster speak anything but Korean, but he remembered enough of his native language that it wouldn’t be a problem. The challenge would be getting his attention without getting killed in the process.

Jake had done worse.

He looked at the Ghostface, trying not to show the anticipation swelling in his chest. “Where do I find him?”

The Ghostface eagerly shared.

Chapter Text

This was a bad idea.

This was a bad idea and Jake knew it was a bad idea, but something kept him moving regardless.

Apparently, the Trickster didn’t have a realm to call his own. For whatever reason the Entity never saw fit to gift him one like it had the others, so instead he took up residence in the realm of one of the other killers. Specifically, the Groaning Storehouse of the MacMillan Estate.

When Jake first found out that the Trickster could be found on the Trapper’s property, he nearly walked straight back to the campfire without another word. Everything about it, from the killer in question to the place Jake would have to navigate to get to him, absolutely screamed painful, imminent death.

But he also knew that if he didn’t follow this lead, that if he just took this information and did nothing about it, that it would eat him alive until he did. Knowledge was a lot like a curse in that way. Once he was made aware of possible answers waiting to be found, it only ever bit and gnawed and tore at his chest until he gave into the impulse to find out for himself, even to his own detriment.

Often, it would seem, to his own detriment.

The moon was full and bright in the sky as Jake made his way into the Trapper’s realm, clutching the MacMillan Estate offering—a tiny white bone—tight in his fist. He kept his eyes on the ground as he walked, taking small comfort in knowing that any metal in his path would glint in the pale light. The memory of encountering the Trapper in neutral territory still stung at his throat. He wasn’t eager to find out what the killer would do if he found Jake actively trespassing on his land.

It didn’t take long for Jake to find his way to the Groaning Storehouse. It was hard to miss–the building loomed ahead, much larger than he had remembered from trials. The warehouse stood at least three stories tall and was just as wide, though its deteriorated condition seemed about the same.

It wasn’t like the Ormond resort, which was mostly intact in the Legion’s realm where it was practically destroyed in trials. The warehouse here seemed more or less just as ruined. The windows were shattered and boarded up, the concrete crumbling or covered in a layer of creeping moss. It seemed just as abandoned as in the trials, and for a moment Jake wondered if he was misled.

But then, as he drew closer to the building, he heard music.

It wasn’t the same music as what followed the Legion in their chases. The Legion’s music was loud, chaotic, with heavy drums and guitars that sounded like rage put to rhythm. This music in comparison was a lot more melodic, electronic. It was much closer to the kind of pop music his friends in university would play during study sessions.

But there was something in the background of it, too. Something he couldn’t quite make out past the snares and Korean vocals, but that made the hair on the back of his neck rise all the same.

Jake took a moment to brace himself before making his way inside the warehouse. He was there for answers and nothing was going to stop him from getting them.

While the outside of the warehouse looked much the same as in trials, the inside was… different. The shelves and boxes that created obstacles during trials had been shoved to the sides, leaving much more space in the main area of the building. The catwalk that was normally half broken and rusted beyond repair was practically brand new and easily accessible from the ground floor. One wall that should have been plain rusted metal was instead covered in an enormous spray painted mural of the Trickster. That, at least, told him he was in the right place.

The only thing missing from the whole scene was the killer himself. Jake walked around the warehouse, glancing over his shoulder every now and then as he did. Regardless of how the encounter went, he wanted to have a good idea of where exactly he was at all times; Where the exits were, where he could grab an improvised weapon if necessary, where he could hide if he needed to.

There wasn’t much.

Jake had gone back to staring up at the mural when he heard footsteps approaching behind him, easy and casual and lacking in any kind of stealth.

“You’re a brave one, aren’t you?”

The fluent Korean told Jake who it was before he even turned around. Still, he was never quite prepared to see the Trickster in person. He was tall, standing at least a head above Jake, and had unnatural yellow eyes that seemed to glow in the dim light of the warehouse. The spatters of blood on the killer's bare chest and face certainly didn’t help his unnerving appearance.

This wasn’t the time to show fear. He’d been against this killer a few times, and showing any kind of fear only encouraged him. Jake kept his expression and tone neutral as he responded. “I wanted to ask you some questions.”

“Ah.” The Trickster grinned, his teeth too white and too sharp to be human. Jake resisted the urge to back up a step as the killer moved towards him. “You’re a fan, are you? I should have expected as much.”

“Something like that.” Jake could feel his pulse rising and took a slow breath, trying to calm it down. “You used to be human, right?”

“Something like that,” the Trickster echoed. He was looking Jake up and down slowly and Jake felt ice crawl down his spine. “You’re the one who doesn’t scream in trials, aren’t you?”

Jake set his jaw. He knew he’d gotten a reputation for his refusal to make noise when he was in pain, and the Trickster wasn’t the first of the killers to try to force something out of him. It never worked, but it wasn’t exactly pleasant either.

“I’m not here to talk about me,” he tried. “I want to talk about you.” Appeal to his narcissism, get him focused on himself. Anything to take the topic off of Jake.

Suddenly the killer was too close, reaching a hand up to cup Jake’s cheek. The touch should have felt gentle, almost loving, but it was too cold and the Trickster’s long nails pressed into his skin. Jake stared up at him as yellow eyes bore down at him, something sharp and twisted behind them. “Of course,” the killer purred, his voice as melodic as it was threatening. “But I want something from you, first.”

The grip suddenly tightened and Jake’s head was slammed backwards against the concrete wall.

***

The first thing Jake felt as he came back into consciousness was his pulse pounding in his head.

It was a heavy, dizzying sensation that made his entire skull feel warm. The dull pressure seemed to radiate from the back of his head, and as he noticed this the pressure formed itself into a sharp ache that made him groan.

The second thing he felt was a soft, manicured hand smacking repeatedly on the side of his face.

“Wake up, beautiful. We’re not done here yet.”

Jake frowned and turned his face away from the touch, trying to swat the hand away only to find that his own arms wouldn’t move.

The Trickster stepped away as Jake came fully into his surroundings. He was upright, his shoulders straining from holding up his own weight. His wrists were tied with ropes, attached to a pair of hooks that kept his arms spread out above his head. His feet just barely laid flat against the floor, the only thing keeping his shoulders from pulling out of their sockets.

Jake clenched his jaw as the reality of his position sank in. He’d heard plenty of horror stories about the Trickster; How he would abduct unwary survivors and torture them to hear them scream. He shouldn’t have expected any less just because he came to the killer willingly.

But he knew what he was up against now.

The killer watched him with sharp eyes and a sly smile. He twirled a bat casually around in his hand. Jake suppressed a wince at the sight of it, far too many memories of head trauma during trials coming to meet him.

Instead, he kept his gaze firm and neutral, waiting for the killer to break the silence first.

The killer, for his part, almost looked disappointed. “Somehow I was hoping you would start begging. I set this up special for you, after all.”

Jake didn’t like the implications of that. He just scowled. “I’m not afraid of you.”

That was the wrong thing to say, apparently. Something dark flashed across the Trickster’s eyes before he walked up to Jake, grabbing him by the jaw in one hand. “Not now, maybe. But you will be.” He smiled, his voice dripping with malice. “I know how to get what I want, beautiful. And we have all night here.”

The killer let go of his face as Jake bared his teeth, prepared to bite. The cold touch on his face lingered long after his hand was gone and it made his flesh crawl.

The hand moved to Jake’s hair, stroking it out of his face. “I love the ones who fight back,” the Trickster muttered, just loud enough for Jake to hear. “Those are the ones who always scream the loudest when I break them.”

Every small touch made Jake’s blood boil. Every false kind gesture, every word of praise and excitement only made him want to stay silent out of pure spite more than anything else.

So he said nothing, just glaring up at the Trickster and waiting for him to get on with it.

“Eager to get started? Fine, then.” The killer pulled his hand away and moved out of sight. Jake closed his eyes, tracking his footsteps as he walked somewhere behind him, waiting for the sound of knives being drawn or a tool being picked up–

Crack

Jake gasped in a sudden breath as the bat slammed into his side. His eyes went wide as he wheezed, two of his ribs shifting painfully out of place as his lungs expanded against them.

He strangled a cry in his throat as the pain built in his ribs, trying to keep the red-hot fuzziness out of his vision so he could stay in the moment.

Staying in the moment was all he had to handle pain. It was something he had picked up a few months into his time in the forest. He’d been dealing with a badly treated knee injury, the stabbing ache of hunger, and the crushing loneliness of isolation for the first time in his life. At some point it had become so much that he’d just… left.

At the time it was frightening. He was floating in his own mind, still there but not really connected to anything. Out in the wilderness, where survival instinct overtook everything else, he quickly learned how to hone it into a skill. Instead of dissociating from the world he could connect to it, blocking out some things and focusing on others with purpose.

For a short moment, Jake was able to breathe through the pain. The ropes chafing against his skin and concrete floor against his feet gave him something to focus on, sensations he could stick to as the heat radiating outward from his ribs, pulsing out with every breath, became just another sensation in his body. He was tense all over but he was quiet, allowing the pain to move through him as he breathed.

He was ready for it this time. He knew what to expect from a break.

He thought he did, anyway.

“Impressive,” the Trickster’s voice came, inches from his ear. Jake shuddered as the sound of it slithered into the sensations he was trying to ground himself in. “I expected something from that, at least, but perhaps it’s for the best. I have a lot more planned for you anyway.”

Jake shrugged his shoulders, shutting his eyes tight. He just needed to ignore it. He could take whatever the killer threw at him. It was just pain, it was all just more pain–

A strangled yelp escaped him as the bat slammed into his back and he felt the distinct sensation of his shoulder blade shattering. His breath came out in quick succession, each inhale delivering another stab from his ribs. Agony washed over him and he forced himself to relax his shoulders, black stars exploding in his vision as the bones moved.

“Better,” the Trickster hummed. “But not quite there. You certainly are stubborn, aren’t you?”

Jake didn’t respond, all of his energy going into keeping himself as silent as possible. He wasn’t going to break. Not for this killer, not for anyone.

He didn’t see the Trickster moving around to his sides, but he felt the bones in his upper arms snap with two efficient swings from the bat. As bad as his shoulder had been, this was a thousand times worse. The weight of his own body pulled on his arms, continuously pulling the shattered pieces apart.

His brain was on fire now, the breaks in his body pulling against his muscles and tendons with every small movement, every sharp breath. Blood rushed in his ears and drowned out all the sound around him, and the only reason he knew he hadn’t cried out was because the vibrations in his throat never raised above a whining growl.

The Trickster said something else but Jake couldn’t understand him. He was flushed, his eyes watering and blurring out whatever vision hadn’t tunneled to black yet. But he was alive. He was alive and he was there and he could fight it.

Another strangled cry left him as the bat swung into his stomach. Two more ribs cracked and his arms pulled with a fresh agony against his restraints as he doubled forward from the impact. His ears started ringing.

A sharp tug on his hair and his face was brought up, and Jake could see the manic rage written across the Trickster’s face. Some deep part of him under the pain took pleasure in that look. It meant he hadn’t broken yet.

He opened his mouth to speak, only just noticing the metallic taste of blood in his mouth and a pulsing pinch on his tongue. When had that happened?

The Trickster said something else before letting Jake’s head fall again. The world spun around him and he closed his eyes. The ringing in his ears got louder.

A long moment passed before a new pain exploded in his thigh and Jake let out a cry, strangled just short of a full scream. He could feel his femur shift on itself, the two pieces grinding in a way that made his blood ache, and every ounce of weight he didn’t put on his leg was weight that pulled on his shattered arms.

His face was wet. Was he crying?

Jake’s body shook as he tried to balance his weight on his one whole leg. Exhaustion was overtaking him. He could feel his throat vibrating with each breath he hissed out, his pain coming out in moans and whines he could no longer suppress.

He would die soon, he thought blearily. Or go unconscious. Maybe he could take the pain, but there was only so much the human body could handle before it shut down from pure stress. He clung to that idea, using it as his one last anchor to keep himself still in this sea of pure agony drowning him.

It wouldn’t last forever. Pain never lasted forever. He just needed to hold on a little longer.

Jake choked as the bat slammed against his upper chest, his collarbone shattering into three distinct pieces. He opened his eyes wide against the stars bursting like fireworks in his vision, heaving breaths as he forced himself to work through the pain, to feel the dense ache in his body and push it out and away.

Then the Trickster put his hands on either side of Jake’s neck, pushing both thumbs down against his collar and sending pain like lightning bolts through his body, increasing in pressure until he felt the pain blossom in the farthest depths of his mind.

Jake’s resolve finally cracked and he let out a scream.

For a few moments afterwards, nothing happened. He wasn’t quiet anymore, he found as the ringing in his ears dulled with the rest of his pain. He could hear the sound of his own moans and whines coming out with every labored breath, his throat raw and rasping. His hands had pressed themselves into fists so tight he could feel blood welling up in the crescent moon indentations where his nails bit into the skin of his palm.

Two soft hands cupped his face gently, almost lovingly, and tilted it up to meet the Trickster’s eyes. He looked elated, a genuine smile warping his face in a way that shot ice into Jake’s blood.

“That was beautiful,” the Trickster crooned. His yellow eyes went half-lidded and something horribly dark washed over them.

Jake felt tears well up in his eyes as dread sank into his burning chest.

“Let me hear it again.”

Chapter Text

Jake didn’t speak when he made it back to the clearing.

It wasn’t for a lack of trying. The fog had reformed him at the campfire once his body had finally given out. He was trembling, aching all over, and gasping for breath. When Dwight came over, kneeling in front of him and placing two concerned hands on his shoulders, Jake had flinched away from his touch. And when Dwight asked what happened, he couldn’t form the words.

He wanted to, on some level. He wanted to release all the torture he had just been put through, exorcising it from himself so it would stop running on a vicious loop in his mind. But when he opened his mouth to speak, his throat closed up.

Jake just sat there at the edge of the clearing, curled up and holding himself and just feeling so damn weak.

He couldn’t ground himself. He tried. He tried to feel the heat of the fire on his skin and the grass underneath his palm and the air in his lungs, but they only lasted a few seconds before he was lost again, separated from his own body but trapped inside his own head. Once Dwight had finally given up on comforting him Jake was left to himself, staring into the fire and trying to put the experience out of his mind like a bad dream.

If the Entity was at all capable of mercy, it seemed to show what little it had to him. As others around the campfire were swallowed up by the fog a few at a time, Jake was left alone.

And he was so terribly alone.

***

“Don’t worry, Jake,” Dwight said, offering his friend a reassuring smile. He was futzing with his own shirt, doing something with his hands other than touching Jake.

Jake looked at him, trying to reflect the confusion he felt onto his face. He’d never been particularly good at facial expressions or body language, but his voice hadn’t come back to him yet so he made do with what he had.

Dwight continued to mess with his shirt. Despite his tendency to comfort others with touch, he’d been doing really well about not touching Jake. Part of him wished he could express how much that meant to him.

“I’ve been talking to the others,” Dwight continued, looking away. “They all pretty much agreed. Or, most of them anyway. Enough of them.”

Agreed? Jake raised an eyebrow.

“We’re doing a buddy system,” Dwight finally said as he looked back at Jake. His face was lit up in a way that Jake hadn’t seen since he last came back from the fog. “All of us! Every trial we’ll each find someone to pair up with. That way nobody has to worry about, y’know. Getting caught alone.”

Jake furrowed his brow, turning his gaze towards the fire. The bone-deep aching from his last death in the fog had finally subsided, which likely meant he’d be going back into trials soon. It wasn’t… a bad idea, exactly. But it meant someone else would always, always be relying on Jake for their safety.

He tried to push down the panic that threatened to well up in his chest.

Dwight chewed his lip, watching Jake’s reaction. “I’m just worried about you,” he said after a few long seconds of silence. “The last time you went out there by yourself you came back really messed up and… And you haven’t been yourself.”

He hasn’t been useful, Jake mentally corrected. He pulled a knee up and leaned forward on it, hugging it loosely and looking pointedly away. There had to have been easily a dozen trials since the last time Jake entered into one, and in that time someone else would always have had to pick up his slack.

The entire situation made him feel ill.

Dwight took a deep breath, drawing Jake’s attention back towards him. “Look, I know you’ve always been kind of a loner, and I know you’re probably still hung up about the whole Legion thing–” Jake chafed visibly at that. “–But being alone all the time isn’t good for you! It clearly isn’t safe. And this way, you won’t have to be worried about being… Ah…”

Being caught with a killer during endgame. The way Jake had been a lot recently, especially when he went against Frank. He closed his eyes, listening to the fire crackling nearby. The sound had slowly become more of a comfort.

“Yeah,” Dwight said, looking away. “You know.”

They both slipped into mutual silence.

It was nice, sitting there with Dwight. When Jake had first come into the fog, Dwight was easily his first friend. Jake had been fresh from the wilderness, frightened and suspicious of everyone, but Dwight’s relentless drive to connect gradually broke through his barriers. Jake was lost in the sea of the fog and Dwight was an anchor.

Part of him wished that translated to other feelings, feelings that Dwight seemed to feel for him. He wasn’t completely oblivious to the signs. He just… didn’t know what to do with them.

But it didn’t seem to matter, either. They cared for each other, Dwight cared for him, and Jake didn’t think he would ever really be able to repay that kindness.

Guilt gnawed at him.

Finally Jake tapped the ground to get Dwight’s attention and nodded.

Dwight lit up. “You’ll do it?”

Jake nodded again, offering his friend a small smile.

It was the least he could do.

***

Maybe he’d gone too far this time.

Frank wandered the fog as far as it would allow him to go, searching for any sign of Jake. It wasn’t like he missed the nosey bastard. He was glad to not have to defend himself for not getting into something as deeply personal as…

No, that’s not right. It’s not like it was that personal. He just came to the fog of his own free will to escape their shitty small town, and he brought his friends along to escape as well. It’s not like he did anything wrong or…

No, wait. That’s not right either. The simple fact was that none of it was that big of a deal, but survivors just didn’t have the right to go asking killers about stuff they’d be better off leaving well enough alone.

Frank frowned. That didn’t feel right either.

Nothing about this felt right. Even if he’d been pissed off at the guy, it was just weird for him to suddenly disappear like that. They’d been chasing each other around the fog between trials for what felt like weeks. One little threat couldn’t have been enough to scare him off for good, could it?

Maybe. What did he know?

Frank cycled these thoughts around his head as he walked, not really paying attention to his surroundings. It didn’t really matter if he did or not. Aside from some of the bigger killers he could hear coming a mile away, there wasn’t anything for him to fear out here.

He didn’t come to his senses until the fog suddenly thickened at his feet. He looked up, seeing the warm glow of a campfire about a hundred feet ahead.

Frank squinted into the fog. He’d been around here a few times before. The first time was when the Legion first arrived in the fog and Frank had taken it upon himself to explore the area. There wasn’t much around other than forest and he got lost fairly easily, and eventually he’d seen a clearing that he somehow couldn’t get any closer to.

It wasn’t like a physical barrier. It’s just that for every step he took forward, the clearing seemed to be another extra step further away. It was like dream logic; No matter how long you walked or how fast you ran, you would never get any closer.

For the first few days (if this place could be considered having days) he just watched. He watched from his spot just out of reach, just out of sight, at the survivors sitting and talking and sometimes even sleeping in the clearing.

Something about it bothered him, but he couldn’t quite pin down what it was. Eventually he just went back to his realm and never came back.

Until now.

Frank watched the clearing again, this time looking for someone specific. A fluff of black hair peaked out of a scarf, the survivor it belonged to familiar from that worn forest green jacket. He narrowed his eyes as he watched, expecting the survivor to turn around and see him.

There was no reaction.

Long minutes passed silently as he watched Jake sit by the fire with his friends. They seemed to talk to him, chatting and laughing easily enough, but with Jake’s back to him he couldn’t see what he said back, if anything. He spotted that one dweebish survivor from Haddonfield, the one Jake had broken a hook for, and something cold and sharp gnawed at his stomach as the survivor moved closer to Jake.

Wait, that wasn’t right. Why should he care?

Frank stuffed his hands roughly in his pockets and turned around, deciding he’d seen enough.

***

Frank started seeing Jake in trials shortly after that, but only in small glimpses.

He always seemed to be with another survivor. Jake would be working on a generator, oblivious as always, when a girl with short black hair would call out Frank’s presence and they’d both go running. Jake would be pulling someone off a hook and when Frank came close an older man in a trench coat would block off his path, allowing Jake to escape. Frank would spot Jake hiding behind a tree, and when he charged a smaller girl with pigtails would appear out of fucking nowhere to lead him away.

Jake was never alone anymore. He was always with someone, always protected by someone. The rare times Frank even found the guy he never had a chance to talk to him, to ask what happened, to find out what the hell was going on.

Maybe it was for the best.

But Frank still wandered out into the fog between trials, hoping to find Jake again. He still found his way to the edge of the fog. He still watched as Jake sat by the fire, content and surrounded by friends and just a bit too far from reach.

Chapter Text

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

Jake caught his breath, his head tilted back against the cold metal grain of the Coal Tower floor. Frank was straddling his waist, pinning his arms down with a grip far tighter than necessary, and Jake was too exhausted to fight back anymore.

“I wasn’t trying to,” he said once he could breathe normally again. Even now that talking was a possibility for him again, it was still difficult to push out his words. His voice was rusty, strained, and it reminded him too much of how it had been when he first came to the fog.

In some ways he was glad to see Frank again. Out of all the killers he could encounter during a trial, at least their strange relationship meant that he wasn’t immediately about to be eviscerated. Granted it was still a possibility, but it was a small comfort all the same.

“Bullshit,” Frank said, his tone not nearly as angry as he was probably trying to make it sound.

Jake wasn’t sure what to say to that. Really, what could he say? That he had gone looking for the Trickster? That it had gone so badly for him that he was put out of commission even by the Entity’s standards? That Dwight was using his leadership skills to shockingly great effect in order to keep Jake from ever getting a moment of peace? That Jake had been thrust into a position of others relying on him so heavily that every trial was grinding him down inch by goddamn inch?

He just turned his head away, staring across the room at the freshly sparking generator. He’d finally, finally gotten a spare minute to himself away from his assigned trial partner, so of course that was when Frank had managed to catch him.

“Look at me,” Frank growled. Jake could feel anger and frustration building in his chest like a kindling fire, but he pushed it down. Now wasn’t the time to start a fight. “Why are you avoiding me?”

“I’m not,” he said, tension forming in his jaw. Frank clearly wanted an answer and Jake was too tired to come up with a suitable lie, so something close enough to the truth would have to do. “The others won’t leave me alone.”

It was mostly the truth, but Jake hadn’t exactly tried to leave his buddies behind.

Dying in the trials was familiar by now. It was a constant, a process he’d experienced so many times it hardly even phased him anymore. Even if it still left him with the occasional deep-body aches and existential dread clinging to his bones, it was familiar. What the Trickster did to him… That had been something else entirely.

He’d tried to take comfort in Dwight’s efforts. His friend meant well, Jake knew that, and it was actually nice to have others around for a while. The idea of being alone at the time was a torture all its own.

The comfort hadn’t lasted long, though. Now he was just back to being anxious. There were too many people at the campfire and too many ways things could go wrong when he was meant to be watching someone else’s back. He wasn’t meant to be around other people.

Frank stared down at him for a moment. “I should kill you, y’know.”

Right. They were still in a trial.

“Sure.” Jake wondered if Frank could hear the exhaustion in his voice. He wouldn’t be surprised.

The room went silent as the nearby generator finally shut down. For a few long seconds the only thing he could hear was the sound of their breathing. Somewhere outside another generator turned on, its light shining through the window and casting the two of them in stark shadow. Frank made no motion to get off of him.

“I can’t just let you go.”

“I know.”

More silence. The seconds dragged on as they both stayed perfectly still, each apparently unsure of what to do next.

Another generator. Someone would probably be coming soon. Frank still didn’t move.

In all honesty, Jake wasn’t sure what he was hoping would happen. If Frank killed him here Jake would be right back at the campfire, surrounded by people keeping an overly close eye on him while he waited out the aching pain. If Frank left, he would have maybe a minute of peace before he would have to meet back up with another survivor, again ending up right back at the campfire. If neither of them moved they would be found eventually, and whatever happened to the other survivor would be on Jake’s head.

Jake was so fucking tired.

The sound of Frank’s voice breaking through the silence pulled him from his thoughts. “If I let you go, will you come see me?”

That was… unexpected. Jake just opened his eyes, looking up at Frank. All he saw was the mask, expressionless and unreadable.

It could be a trap. Frank could be planning to do exactly what the Trickster did, or something worse. There was always something worse in the Entity’s realm, that he was sure of now.

The more he thought about it though, the more Jake realized he just couldn’t bring himself to care.

“Yes.”

Frank pulled off of him, glancing around once before looking back at Jake. “Don’t forget,” he said, before darting back down the stairs.

Jake sat there for a long moment before returning to his work on the generator.

***

It took a while before Jake was able to leave the campfire again.

The main issue was Dwight. He was determined to stay by Jake’s side as much as possible, as if he alone was the only thing keeping Jake from crumbling. It was endearing and frustrating in equal parts, and Jake knew he wouldn’t be able to go anywhere on his own until he was swept away into a trial that Jake wasn’t part of.

Even when Dwight was gone, he’d had enough sway over the others to keep Jake occupied. Jake had to wait for a moment when just about everyone, save for the few survivors who mainly kept to themselves or didn’t know him well enough regardless, were gone as well.

By the time Jake made his way out into the fog, the silence surrounding him was practically deafening. It was like plunging into water for the first time in years, all the sounds and distractions muted as he fell deep into the calm quiet.

With the stress of others gone, the exhaustion hit him all at once.

He didn’t really pay attention to how far he walked before he decided to settle down into a stone alcove. It was far enough, though. He was well past the mossy, level grounds of the fog just outside the campfire, surrounded on all sides by the genuine forest he’d come to appreciate this far out.

It didn’t really matter where he decided to stop, he figured. Frank always managed to find him, even when he wasn’t looking to be found, and honestly he was too tired to go searching for himself. Besides, the forest was dim and cool and quiet. He wanted to savor the time he had for himself.

So Jake just leaned back, closed his eyes, and waited.

***

Frank wandered the fog, once again searching for Jake.

He knew it was a long shot. Even if the guy wasn’t busy with trials or spending time with his friends, it was entirely possible he’d just decided not to come out to the fog again. By all means, it would make sense. The fog was more dangerous for survivors, especially this far out, and Frank was sure he hadn’t exactly made the best impression on Jake in the Coal Tower. In all likelihood, he probably wouldn’t be out here. Frank still searched, though.

Eventually, he found something that struck him as… odd.

There wasn’t all that much in the Entity’s realm that could really phase him anymore. He’d seen ghosts and demons, enormous monsters dragging heavy weapons and small ones growing out of torsos, creatures made of literal nightmares and the grasping claws of an unseen spider bursting from the ground. He thought he’d be used to seeing weird shit by now.

Then he came across the crows. There were easily dozens of them, all gathered in one spot like some kind of bird goth nightclub, and as Frank walked up they all turned their beaks to look at him at once.

It honestly creeped him out a bit.

“Hey,” Frank said, slowly making his way over. The birds stared at him, but didn’t move as he approached. He frowned. Crows were scavengers, right? He’d seen them gathered like this in Ormond before, usually crowding around some animal that had frozen to death in one of the harsh winter storms. Death was never permanent in the Entity’s realm, but it also didn’t seem that unlikely for this to be some kind of fucked up new punishment.

All of those possibilities were pushed out of his mind as he saw what they were gathered around, though.

Jake was settled under an outcrop of stone, sheltered from view by shadows and moss. Frank’s heart jumped in his throat at the sight, thinking he’d died somehow and the crows were awaiting the Entity’s permission to feast, but a closer inspection confirmed that he was still breathing.

Some of the crows flew away as Frank stepped past them but he paid them no mind. He just crouched in front of Jake’s sleeping form and stared.

Frank had, obviously, never seen Jake when he was asleep before. The survivor’s chest rose and fell steadily, his hair draped over his face almost like a curtain. He was curled in on himself, his knees nearly touching his chest and arms folded around his torso like a hug. His face was the kicker, though. Frank had never seen him look so serene. Even when Jake was at his calmest, watching the stars or holding his hand out to the crows, there was always tension in face. It was like there was always something he was holding back or preparing himself for. Here, he just looked peaceful.

Even the crows that had flown away from Frank came back as he stayed still and silent, unsure of what to do. He should wake him up. The fog wasn’t exactly the safest place to be completely unaware, even for the killers, and Frank had asked him out here to talk anyway. But something in the way Jake looked as he slept stopped him.

Maybe he was getting soft.

The crows all finally scattered as Frank crept over to Jake, taking pains not to wake him as he pulled the survivor into his arms.

Jake’s head rested against Frank’s chest as he made his way back towards Ormond. It would be better that way, he reasoned. There were plenty of soft places for Jake to rest that weren’t the freezing hard forest ground, and the only dangers at the lodge were from himself and the other members of Legion.

And maybe Ghostface, but Frank would love to have a proper excuse to put a new hole in that cheap plastic mask.

Frank tried not to think about why exactly he was doing this for Jake. He didn’t really know, given how much trouble the little shit had been for him lately, and he was sure digging into the matter would only be trouble. It was easier to just do it and figure out the rest later.

And of course, because his luck has always been astounding, Susie was at the lodge when he finally walked in.

“Frank! Oh my god, finally. I swear, everyone’s been gone for ages-” She stopped abruptly as she spotted him, taking note of what was in his arms. Frank cringed at the baffled look on her face. “Uh, Frankie? Whatcha got there?”

He tensed up, ignoring her for the moment as he set Jake down on the couch by the fire. It was probably the warmest part of the building, because why would a perfect recreation of a mountainside ski resort have decent fucking heating. “Keep it down, Suze. I really don’t want him waking up yet.”

Susie tilted her head at him, her brightly colored braids flopping over her shoulder. God, it was like she tried to be adorable. “Why not? Or, y’know. Just why?”

Frank pulled his mask off, running his fingers through his hair. “Because when he wakes up he’s probably gonna panic, and honestly I don’t want to deal with that right now.”

“Why bring him here then?” Susie walked over to get a closer look at the survivor, only stopping when Frank stepped in her path. “I’m not gonna do anything! I just wanna see him!”

Frank just crossed his arms. “He was sleeping in the fog like a dumbass. At least here he’s not gonna get caught by one of the pervs.”

“Right,” Susie said, drawing out the word. “Because of the pervs, and not because you like him or anything.”

He narrowed his eyes. She’d gotten considerably more bold since they came to the fog, and Frank was still of two minds about how much he appreciated her newfound attitude. “Just don’t fuck with him,” he said. “I’m not gonna tell you again.”

Susie scoffed and walked away. “Fine, whatever. At least talk to me! I’ve been alone for hours and I’m bored!”

Frank passed one more look at Jake, ensuring he was still sound asleep on the couch, before walking over to the bar with his friend.

Chapter Text

“Frank, what the hell is this?”

Frank stared up at the ceiling, pointedly avoiding Julie’s eyes. She had just come back from a trial, and apparently it hadn’t gone well. “You’re gonna have to specify, Jules.”

Julie made a sound that wasn’t dissimilar to a cat being strangled and gestured towards the couch. “Why is there a random fucking survivor sleeping in the lodge?”

He took a swig of beer, trying to pretend it did anything to calm his nerves. Somehow he thought the other Legion members trickling in one at a time would make this whole thing easier, but it just meant that he had to repeat himself. “I found him passed out in the fog and decided to bring him here.”

“Why?”

It sounded like an accusation, and Frank imagined she’d taken too many hits from pallets recently. Or maybe she just really hated survivors and Frank just… never noticed.

Explaining himself to Susie had been easy. Once he gave her a half-passable answer, she let it drop. Joey had been even easier, if a little annoying–he hadn’t even asked, just took one look at Jake, gave Frank a smug knowing look, and walked off without another word.

He should have known Julie wouldn’t take it nearly as well. Ever since they came to the fog she’d been a lot more no-nonsense, like she took this whole killing game thing they were doing with a deadly seriousness. It had never bothered Frank before, but clearly there was a first time for everything.

Frank just groaned. “I don’t know, Jules. Because I wanted to? It’s not really any of your business–”

“Except that it is my business,” Julie snapped. “We all share this place, Frank. You can’t just bring in strays just because you feel like it. You could have at least asked one of us!”

He chafed at the way she said strays, like Jake was some kind of mangy dog he’d dragged out of the gutter instead of a whole person. “You and Joey were gone at trials and Susie seemed fine with it.”

“Susie’s fine with everything.” Julie sat down in the seat next to Frank, staring over at Jake with a venom Frank didn’t fully understand.

Frank paused for a moment, wondering if he wanted to open that can of worms. He decided he probably should. “Do you have beef with him or what?”

Julie glanced at him from the corner of her eye and Frank noticed the smallest twitch in her expression. It wasn’t much; Out of all of them, Julie was the best at masking her emotions, putting on a persona that, when Frank didn’t know her as well, even fooled him. Now he knew what to look for.

She was bitter.

Frank swirled the bottle in his hand, staring at Julie and waiting patiently for her to answer. All he had to do was keep the pressure on and she would break. It was how they communicated.

It took longer than usual for her actual emotions to push through. Her vague annoyance shifted into a barely contained disgust. “With that one?” She finally admitted. “Yeah. I do.”

Of course. Frank’s luck continued to be phenomenal. “Alright, spill. What the hell happened?”

Julie crossed her arms. “Every single trial I have with the guy–every single one, Frank–he manages to break every goddamn hook before I even get there. He’s cost me more kills than the botanist girl, and she’s a fucking medic!”

Frank snorted. “Really? That’s why you hate him?”

That earned him a withering glare in his direction. “Oh don’t act like you didn’t make the guy your personal vendetta for the last few months. I just don’t understand why you suddenly don’t want to kill him anymore.”

He went silent at that, looking back over at Jake. Frank hadn’t really thought about it, but… Yeah. Something changed. He just didn’t know what.

Finally he just shrugged, leaning back. “It’s no fun if he’s not running,” he settled on. It was probably close enough to the truth, and it was easier to swallow than the alternative.

After that Joey and Susie came back over and Julie launched into a rant about her last few dogshit trials. Frank smiled as he listened, comfortable with the sympathetic nods of Joey and playful teasing of Susie, the way Julie flew easily into a rage and sank back into laughter moments later. It was like nothing had ever changed.

But Jake was still there, sleeping on the couch nearby, and Frank felt his presence like an itch at the back of his mind. Part of him wanted to go back to watching the survivor, watching the gentle rise and fall of his chest or the small movements he made as he settled in his sleep.

There was something else there, too. Something colder and harder that lurked just behind. The whims of the Entity were unpredictable–Frank could be pulled into another trial at any moment, and while he had no problem keeping the Legion away from Jake while he was there, he had no idea what they might do once he was gone.

It shouldn’t have bothered him, but it did all the same.

Eventually, Frank excused himself from the conversation. Occupied with their own discussion, none of them commented as he walked over to the couch Jake was settled on and slowly sat down next to his feet.

***

When Jake woke up, he was confused.

First of all, he came to the sudden realization that he had woken up, which meant that at some point he had fallen asleep. The last thing he remembered was being in the forest, and if he had fallen asleep there–

But he wasn’t in the forest. He blinked blearily as he came more into consciousness, noticing the feeling of cushion underneath him and heat from a fire nearby. Had he moved somewhere and just not remembered?

Then he looked up and his heart jumped into his throat. Every member of the Legion was surrounding him and staring directly at him.

“Look, he’s awake!” the girl with bright colored pigtails shouted. Jake recognized her as the one who wore artistic disguises and abstract masks. She was the most unpredictable in trials, and he could never tell when she was going to chase him down or let him escape.

“Ugh, finally.” Another girl was glaring at him. She was blonde and wearing a red flannel. She was ruthless, but also the most predictable of the group. Jake had made a bad habit of breaking hooks right as she walked up to them.

“Hey,” Joey said from somewhere behind him. Jake had to turn his head to see the guy, and despite how nice he seemed compared to the others it still made his hair stand on end that he was essentially surrounded on all sides.

Jake scrambled backwards on the couch, his eyes wide as he stared at the multiple killers standing around him. Multiple killers that, among other things, would probably have a grudge against him.

Then he heard Frank curse and looked over in time to see him rushing to pull his mask on. It was that moment that Jake realized he’d seen the faces of every Legion member except for Frank.

“Goddamnit–Alright, that’s enough,” Frank said, waving his arms at the others. “Get out of here, you’re just freaking him out!”

Jake watched in stunned silence as the rest of the members of the Legion filed out with varying levels of annoyance. Right, Frank was the leader wasn’t he?

Even with the others gone, Jake wasn’t done working through the panic that still raged through his system. He’d still been caught, vulnerable and unaware and deep in enemy territory, and as drowsy as he still was it wouldn’t take much for Frank to overpower him if he chose to.

But he didn’t. Frank wasn’t even getting closer to him. Jake watched him silently for a long moment, waiting for the other shoe to drop–To find out that he’d been kidnapped for torture again or that Frank just wanted to watch the light leave his eyes as he plunged a hunting knife into his chest. Instead, Frank just watched him back.

After a few long seconds, Jake finally broke the silence. “Why am I here?”

“You fell asleep in the fog, dumbass,” Frank said, the abrupt tone surprising him. “I saved your ass. You should be thanking me.”

Jake narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

Frank hesitated a moment too long before answering. “I wanted to talk.”

No matter how many times they went through this same song and dance, Jake never expected that answer. “Talk about what?”

Again Frank hesitated. It seemed like he was just as uncomfortable with this entire situation as Jake was.

“What happened?”

Oh. Jake thought about the time that had passed since he last met Frank out in the fog, the things he’d experienced, and all his nerve endings caught on fire.

He opened his mouth to answer but his throat closed up before he could make a sound.

No, no, no, not now. Not again. Jake clenched his jaw in frustration, looking away as the bridge of his nose filled with pins and needles and tears pricked at his eyes. It wasn’t fair. He had just gotten his voice back, and two words were all it took to set him back weeks.

Jake refused to look at Frank, expecting him to blow up any second. He would be angry. People were always angry when they thought he wouldn’t talk, not believing that he just couldn’t. And even worse, Frank was a killer, and he would probably get violent and send him back to the campfire and then Dwight would be angry, because how long had he been gone–?

“Hey,” Frank said, his shockingly soft voice breaking through the wave of anxiety that was threatening to crash over Jake. “It’s fine if you don’t want to talk about it. I just wanted to know if something happened.”

The anxiety didn’t go away completely, but it lessened. Jake looked up at Frank and he was sitting on the couch, his posture relaxed and easy and looking the most non-threatening that Jake had ever seen him. It was like a heavy weight settled over him, keeping him still and quiet and safe.

His voice didn’t come back immediately, but he no longer felt rushed to speak. Instead he just sat in easy silence, picking at the calluses on his hands as he tried to let his thoughts pass through.

Eventually, Jake just nodded.

Frank nodded back. “Was it something I did?”

Jake shook his head.

“Right,” Frank said, almost sounding relieved. “That’s good to know I guess.”

They fell back into silence, and an invisible tension Jake didn’t know was there released.

It was like a dam broke. The numb feeling that stuck to his chest like syrup melted away and in its place something heavy and overwhelming surged through him. Jake suddenly felt the weight of all the pain and fear and discomfort he’d been carrying with him all this time, and he choked as it all flooded out and through him.

He was crying, clamping a hand tight over his mouth in a desperate attempt to muffle himself as his vision blurred from tears.

Frank clearly noticed, immediately tensing up as Jake doubled over. “What– Shit, what’s wrong?”

Jake shook his head, digging his nails painfully into his palm as white-hot shame settled over him on top of everything else. He shouldn’t be crying. There was no reason for him to be acting like this. He was just embarrassing himself, making him look weak in front of the one person he could actually trust–

He froze. Trust? Where did that come from?

As his thoughts suddenly paused he finally noticed that Frank seemed to be freaking the fuck out. “Hey man, did I do something wrong? Do you need me to leave?” He was waving his hands through the air, as if trying to decide what to do with them. At least he wasn’t trying to touch Jake, so there was that.

Jake shook his head. Even if he could force the words from his throat, he had no idea what he would even tell the guy. He was caught just as off guard by this as Frank clearly was.

In the absence of any actual direction, Frank took to pacing around behind the couch. Jake decided he was fine with that. At least with Frank mostly out of sight he could pretend he wasn’t being seen like this.

He took advantage of the momentary distraction from his thoughts to get a handle on himself again. He took long, deep, shaking breaths and focused on his environment. The fire was bright and hot, the flames inside the hearth licking upwards in a hypnotic pattern. Behind him he could hear the quick, soft steps of shoes on the wood floor. Wind roared outside, making the building shudder with a creaking groan.

Somewhere nearby, between shuddering breaths, Jake heard a camera shutter.

Frank instantly stormed off in the direction of the sound. “Oh hell no,” he growled, sounding much angrier than Jake thought he’d ever heard him. “That is not happening. Not right now.”

The confusion he felt as Frank left the room was more than enough to distract Jake out of his crisis. He wiped his eyes, jaws clenched against the thought of how he must look right now. He could feel the puffiness around his eyes, the way his normally neutral expression was still twisted into a grimace. This was a whole new kind of vulnerability he’d never felt in the Entity’s realm and he hated it.

“Hey. You alright?”

Jake flinched as he heard the voice somewhere behind him, turning around to see Joey watching him from the stairs. He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, trying to hide his face behind it. “I’m fine,” he croaked, at least grateful he could say that much now.

Maybe he could explain himself to Frank now. The way his throat clenched at the thought made that seem unlikely.

Joey crossed his arms, leaning forward on the railing. “I’m here if you need to talk, alright? Frank’s not that great at the whole,” he waved a hand in the air. “Emotion thing.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle at that. The entire situation felt so surreal. “Thanks,” Jake said, trying his best to actually sound grateful for the offer. It’s not that he wasn’t. He just didn’t think he’d take Joey up on his offer anytime soon.

“No problem, man. Take a minute.” Joey nodded as he walked back into one of the rooms.

Calm washed over Jake and he sat back on the couch, staring into the fire.

***

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Frank was furious. Of all the times for this creep to show his ugly fucking mask, of course it had to be now.

He could never see the Ghostface’s actual face, but the cocky bastard was more than expressive enough through body language alone. He was relaxed–too relaxed, given that Frank was actively wielding a knife at him–and casually clicking through pictures on that boxy digital camera he carried everywhere. Pictures of Jake.

Ghostface chuckled in a way that made the blood rush in Frank’s ears and tilted his head obnoxiously to the side. “Do you want that as an itemized list or more of an overview?”

Frank darted forward, slashing his knife clean through empty air as the Ghostface dodged easily to the side. “How many times do you have to tell you not to come here?”

“Aw, and here I was thinking you missed me.” Frank sneered at the sound of his voice, languid and casual and overly familiar, as if he had any right to so much as look in his general direction. “I even brought you a present, y’know.”

Frank was about to tell him to piss off and keep his present, but Ghostface’s posture had changed. It was subtle, probably unnoticeable to most, but he saw it.

When the Ghostface talked shit, he was as limber as a cat; All slow, fluid motions with less intent to them, like he was letting gravity dictate how his body moved for him. But the moment he had an ulterior motive, all that fluidity went away.

To an untrained eye it didn’t look any different from his usual movements, but Frank knew how to read people. He knew the difference between an unconscious motion and one that was planned and acted upon. And he knew how to tell when someone shifted from one to the other.

The Ghostface was planning something, and that never went well for anyone.

Frank decided to humor him. He lowered his knife and forced himself to relax slightly, as if the promise of a gift was enticing rather than the insult it actually was. “Yeah?” Frank said, keeping his tone tense but curious. “What kind of present?”

Ghostface reached into a pocket in his coat and pulled out a small stack of photographs. “The best kind: Information.” He held them out for Frank to take. “You know I like to keep you in the loop, Frank.”

That was a damn lie. Ghostface hoarded secrets like they were made of gold and protected them just as fiercely. If he kept someone in the loop, it was usually only because it benefited him to do so.

Still, information was information. Frank looked down at the photos, trying to make out what they were showing. When he finally figured it out, his heart dropped.

Every single photo showed Jake being utterly brutalized by the Trickster.

Frank looked up at the Ghostface, rage written all over his body. “You saw this happen,” he shouted. “You took pictures! And you didn’t do anything?”

Ghostface held up his hands, shrugging helplessly. Frank wanted to tear off that stupid mask and kick his teeth in. “Journalistic integrity, Frank. I’m here to observe, not interfere.”

“Bullshit!” On some level, Frank knew he was giving the guy exactly what he wanted: A reaction, an outburst, time and energy and attention he didn’t deserve. But all his blood was on fire and he was seeing red and all he wanted to do was dig his blade into something warm and soft and screaming.

To his absolute fury, the Ghostface didn’t flinch away from him. Instead he sighed and shook his head. “Really Frank, he’s just a survivor. Even if I could have interfered, I don’t really care what happens to him.” He turned his head towards Frank, the black holes of the mask’s eyes boring into him. “If you have a problem with it, you can always take it up with the assailant.”

Frank wanted to kill him. Frank wanted to tear off his mask and gouge out his greedy eyes with the curve of his hunting knife. He wanted to slam him against the wall, to beat him senseless, to instill some actual fucking fear in the arrogant bastard that might actually keep him away from Ormond for good.

But he was right. Ghostface wasn’t the one who beat Jake into a bloody pulp. Ghostface wasn’t the reason Jake was currently curled up in the lodge, shaking and sobbing like the world was ending.

Something hot and dangerous welled up in Frank’s chest as he planned his next move.

Chapter Text

“So.”

Jake looked up from his seat on the couch. One of the Legion members (apparently her name was Julie) was leering down at him from the second floor banister.

After Frank had left without so much as a goodbye, the others had been puttering around the lodge, occasionally exchanging glances between one another whenever they weren’t not-so-subtly staring at him. At first Jake had barely noticed. He was still too much in his own head from the shock of waking up in a place he definitely hadn’t gone to sleep in and the breakdown that still made his chest clench with something he couldn’t quite identify. Joey had silently passed him a glass bottle of water from the bar at some point and Jake had taken it with a grateful nod, no words necessary, and he was able to calm down and almost feel a little normal. But by the time he’d settled enough to pay better attention to his surroundings, the uncanny feeling of being treated like a feral cat that had somehow snuck into a building was starting to grate on his nerves.

“So what?” Jake returned. He kept his tone neutral, not really wanting to start something when he was outnumbered (and unarmed for that matter), but his patience was wearing thin.

Julie just stared at him for a moment, sharp eyes analyzing him. She always did seem like the calculated type. The kind of person he’d learned to avoid whenever they came over for a work party or family dinner.

“So what’s with the hooks?” she finally said. Her tone was almost comically casual, like she was making small talk with a friend.

Jake paused. Whatever he’d expected her to say, it wasn’t that. “What?”

“What’s with the hooks?” she repeated. Her chin plopped down onto the palm of her hand, like she was waiting for an answer. “Why break them? The great spider in the sky’s just gonna put them back anyway. What’s the point?”

There was a stretch of silence as Jake stared at her, both baffled by the question and unsure of how to answer. When he first started breaking hooks, back when it was just the four of them against a handful of killers, they stayed broken the whole match. He’d gotten really good at it during that time, going around and sabotaging as many hooks and traps as he could get his hands on (usually right in front of the killer’s face to boot). The first time a hook reset itself he’d nearly fallen over onto his ass in shock.

Of course, that didn’t stop him from doing it anyway. He just learned how to be smarter about it. Figure out what hook the killer was going for, get there just soon enough to give himself time to break it, but just late enough that the killer didn’t just head for a different one. When he did it right he could give whoever they were carrying enough time to wiggle out of their grasp and run away while the killer was still cussing him out. It wasn’t the same as breaking the things entirely, but it was an advantage. And in a trial, they needed all the advantages they could get.

But… That wasn’t all of it. Not really. If he was completely honest with himself, the main reason he did it was just to piss the killers off. If they were going to kill and mutilate the lot of them over and over, any act of rebellion was worth it.

“...I’m good with my hands,” Jake finally said. “Might as well use it, right?”

Julie narrowed her eyes down at him, clearly not believing him. Jake stared back at her.

“That’s all?”

“That’s all.”

“Bull.”

Jake rolled his eyes, taking another sip of the water. Technically he didn’t need to eat or drink in the fog, but it was nice to have something that felt close to normal. Whatever that meant to him anymore. “I don’t know why you’d care anyway.”

“Because you keep fucking up my numbers,” Julie sniped back, her tone a bit sharper than the casual one she’d had before. “Every time I’ve got a good streak going, your stupid little trick fucks it up. I just wanna know why.”

Jake considered that. If she was anything like the ruthless business partners his dad tried to ingratiate him with, she was looking for a weak spot. She wanted to understand so she could figure out how to bypass it or use it against him, work out where the weak spot in his tactic is so she can pry it open and go for the jugular. And there was no way in hell Jake was going to give her that.

For a long moment he considered tossing out this fragile truce they had. Telling her that the ‘why’ was specifically just to get under her skin could set her off, but damn if the look on her face wouldn’t be worth it.

Luckily, before Jake could even open his mouth another voice piped up from inside one of the lodge rooms. “Jules!” The member apparently named Susie poked her head into the hall, her braids swaying with the movement. “Frank said not to bother the survivor while he’s out!”

“I’m not bothering him,” Julie replied. “I’m just asking questions! Am I not allowed to be curious?”

Susie rolled her eyes and walked out to join her on the landing. “That’s not fooling me, Jules. You think it’s gonna fool Frank?”

Jake stayed silent as he watched the two of them interacting. It was so weird to watch the Legion talking to each other outside of a trial. Seeing them outside of a trial at all was weird, but this was… Oddly domestic. Definitely a far cry from the feral rage he was used to seeing flying towards him at full tilt.

“Frank doesn’t have to know,” Julie responded, jabbing her finger at Susie. She wore an expression that Jake could only describe as playfully severe. “Anyway, don’t try and tell me you don’t have anything you wanna ask him.”

Jake narrowed his eyes. Did they think he couldn’t hear him or did they just not care? He took another sip of the water and hunkered further into the couch. If they had questions they could come ask him themselves instead of just whispering about him like high schoolers.

Wait. How old were they anyway?

The movement of Jake suddenly sitting up straight and leaning against the back of the couch drew the girls’ attention even before Jake opened his mouth. “Hey, how old are you guys?”

Julie blinked, looking as if she’d just seen a potted plant grow a hand and flip her off. Susie, on the other hand, simply looked baffled. “Excuse me?”

Right, that was one of those questions you weren’t supposed to ask. Never ask a woman her age or something. Social rules like that never made sense to him before the fog, though, so he just repeated himself. “How old are you guys? Jeff called you kids.” Technically he’d said they couldn’t have been out of high school, but it seemed like it’d been a while since he knew them. He could’ve been wrong. “Are you even old enough to drink?”

Where Julie looked downright offended by the question, Susie’s face lit up with excitement. “Oh, Jeff mentioned us? I haven’t talked to him in ages!” She turned to Julie, her braids whipping over her shoulder. “He was working in that video store last we saw him, right?”

“Something like that,” Julie replied offhandedly. She leaned over the banister and glared down at Jake. “Of course I’m old enough to drink! Do I look seventeen to you?”

Seventeen? Jake raised an eyebrow. “No? You sure as hell don’t look twenty-one, though.”

Julie scoffed as Susie giggled into her hand. “Not everyone’s from America, dumbass.”

Oh. Right. Jake remembered Jeff mentioning something about being from Canada now that he thought about it. “So how old are you, then?”

Just as Julie opened her mouth to, Jake assumed, give him a piece of her mind, Susie chimed in. “I’m eighteen, but Jules and Joey are nineteen! Frank’s twenty-one, though, so he probably could drink in the states.”

“Suze!”

“What? It’s not exactly a secret.”

Jake’s mouth pursed into a thin line. It didn’t sit well with him how young they all were. Granted, he was just twenty-five himself when the Entity took him, but hell… They would’ve been in their first year of college, just starting their lives.

And now they’re stuck here, just like him.

Julie and Susie continued bickering as Jake sank back into the couch, looking over at the fire roaring nearby. The flames weren’t real, he knew. It was no more tangible than the campfire was, or anything else in the fog.

He didn’t notice when the girls went into another room, only noticing the quiet when someone else sat down next to him. Jake looked up, prepared to snap at them for… Something, anything really, but the words died when he realized it was Joey.

“How’s the water?” Joey asked. His voice was a lot quieter and more even-toned than the others’ were.

Jake shrugged with a short hum. He was grateful for the bottle, but expressing that was… hard. It felt like weakness somehow, like he was admitting to not being capable enough to take care of himself and needed handouts from others to get by. At the same time, though, it felt terribly ungrateful not to say something. Jake chewed on the inside of his cheek, searching for something to say.

Thankfully Joey just gave him a knowing nod and leaned back, staring at the fire alongside him. Good, no eye contact either. The tension Jake didn’t realize he was holding in his shoulders eased slightly knowing the killer wasn’t going to start trying to coddle him. Which, knowing the guy was six years his junior, now felt weird on a number of levels.

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” Joey said after a few minutes of silence, “but I wanted to make sure you’re alright.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Jake said. His response was more clipped than he meant it to be, more of an instinct than anything.

Joey didn’t seem too bothered, though. “I’m not blind, man. I know what it looks like when somebody’s struggling. I’m not gonna just sit by and let it happen if I don’t have to.”

It should’ve been a relief, knowing that Jake didn’t have to tell someone to get them to notice, but instead it just sat in his stomach like lead. Was it really that obvious? “I’m not struggling,” Jake said, his voice so low he was practically mumbling. “I’m just–”

Just what?

Joey hummed and let the silence hang for another few seconds. It was like he was giving Jake time to take a few breaths and center himself, and damn if he wasn’t grateful for that.

“You got hurt real bad, didn’t you?” Jake looked up as Joey spoke, anxiety thorning his chest. Joey still wasn’t looking at him, though, like he was talking to the fireplace. Indirect. Easier to swallow. “Frank mentioned it. Not everything,” he added as Jake’s shoulders hitched. “He was vague, but I got the hint.”

Jake didn’t reply. He didn’t know what to say. He still had no idea what his connection to Frank was, had no idea why the guy would even care, and nothing that had happened since he woke up in the lodge did anything to answer those questions. Everything was confusing and vaguely threatening and–

“Look,” Joey said, cutting through his thoughts. “Like it or not, you’re one of the guys at the campfire. You’ve got a lot more to worry about here than we do. And I know what it’s like to feel helpless.”

Helpless. The word chafed at Jake. He wanted to argue, to tell this guy that he wasn’t helpless, that he could damn well take care of himself, that he was sick and tired of people treating him like he was made of glass just because he needed a fucking break–

Hey, you’re getting worked up. Just take a breath, alright?

Jake closed his eyes and took a deep breath, holding it for a second before letting it out. Dwight always had an uncanny sense for how Jake was feeling, even when he hid it under layers and layers of brick walls. It seemed he knew how to help even when he wasn’t there.

Guilt gnawed at him. Maybe he shouldn’t have left.

Joey wasn’t done, though. “I know what it’s like feeling helpless. It’s…” He paused, as if searching for a word. “...Infuriating. It makes you want to tear everything apart, burn it all down. Even more when you know you can’t.”

Jake glanced over at him. Joey’s brow was furrowed, his face tight. He was still staring into the fire, but now it looked like it was just as much for his own sake as it was for Jake’s.

“I’ve got an outlet now,” Joey continued. “And if you need one… Just know I’m here for you, alright?” He looked back at Jake, the tension easing back into calm. “I’m sure we can figure something out.”

Jake looked back into the fire, his fingers running over the glass of the bottle in his hands. Everything was circling in his mind, but nothing was sticking. It was just passing over, like watching smoke rising from the campfire and disappearing into the starry sky.

“I think…” Jake said after another length of silence. “I think I should head back.”

“To the campfire?” Joey asked. When Jake nodded he tilted his head. “You want an escort?”

Jake snorted at the half-joke and shook his head. “No, I can handle myself. I just… Need some time to think.”

Chapter Text

Frank had always been aware that he had shit luck.

That much was clear to him even since he was a child in the foster system. Lucky kids didn’t get passed around from guardian to guardian like a fucking hot potato, constantly moved from house to house and school to school to the point where he was perpetually the new guy no matter where he ended up. Lucky kids didn’t get left to their own devices while their guardians slept off their fifth government-funded pack of beer. Lucky kids didn’t have to teach themselves basic life skills, didn’t have to learn to fight and lie and put on a show to protect themselves from becoming the target of asshole peers with nothing better to do than kick the guy who was already on the ground.

And that didn’t change when he was an adult, finally in control of something for once in his life. After all, lucky people didn’t get swallowed by eldritch monsters, did they?

Still, that didn’t mean it didn’t bother the shit out of him when his bad luck reared its ugly head again. This time it came in the form of the MacMillan estate. Because of fucking course the Trickster would be mooching off of the Trapper. Where the fuck else would he be?

Well… Just about anywhere else, really. The warehouse was honestly a shithole, rusted and half rotten, looking like it’d already been falling apart even before the Entity got its weird fucking claws on it. It was definitely not a place Frank would have expected the Trickster to shack up in. He always saw the Trickster as something of a peacock, constantly preening and showing off his pretty feathers, going off the handle if you so much as flicked a speck of dirt in his direction. The idea of that kind of man willingly staying in a dump like this was… weird.

The whole situation was weird, honestly. He’d been wracking his brain about it ever since Ghostface showed him those photos. Why Jake? Why now? Was this a personal attack, something to get back at a random survivor for some imagined insult? Or did the two of them have history Frank wasn’t aware of?

It was possible. Frank hadn’t exactly made a habit of asking Jake about himself. Hell, maybe they were exes or something and the Trickster was getting back at him for a messy break-up. The idea would have made him laugh out loud if his throat wasn’t already tightened from nausea.

He shouldn’t be thinking about that anyway. Whatever he was imagining, that wasn’t important. What was important was that Trickster hurt Jake, and he was going to fucking pay for it.

Frank was close enough now that the distinct sound of music interrupted his thoughts. At first he wasn’t really sure what he was hearing. It was definitely music–Electronic beats with a bouncy, melodic quality to them, more snares in the percussion than bass, and a distinctly corporate formula to it compared to the messy, garage-made punk he was used to listening to. But underneath was something that sounded shudderingly familiar in a way that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

He’d only heard Jake scream once, but it was distinctive. It was cracked and rough, a voice that wasn’t used to being pushed to its limits, guttural and aching and full of just as much bitter frustration as it was pain. And that was the sound coming through the tinny computer speakers, weaved near-seamlessly in with the notes of the shitty pop music filling the area.

And that made his blood boil more than anything else. The self-absorbed bastard didn’t have the right to that sound. It was like watching someone skin an endangered animal for a designer purse. It was rare and so fucking personal and for that sound to be used like that–

Frank rolled his shoulders as he made his way inside. He was going to make this bastard wish he’d never been born.

The electronic beat vibrating through the air masked his steps as he came up on the Trickster. If the man noticed his presence at all, he clearly didn’t care, simply humming along to the music as he adjusted some settings on his laptop. He certainly didn’t move out of the way as Frank sank his blade directly into the crook of his shoulder, tearing backwards as he yanked it out just to cause as much pain as possible.

Now he had his full attention. The Trickster whipped around in a fury as Frank jumped back again, wide-eyed and shouting what Frank could only assume was Korean profanity that quickly switched to English. “Ssibal- What are you doing?”

The rage was satisfying, but that wasn’t what Frank was there for. There was no way in hell he was leaving this place before he had this bastard begging for mercy, not while the sound of Jake’s screams still played in the background, seeping ice into his bones. “Giving you what you fucking deserve,” he spat as he lunged again.

Maybe it was the momentum giving him undue confidence, or maybe it was the blood rushing in his ears and drowning out rational thought, but somehow Frank hadn’t expected Trickster to be ready for him this time. Instead of landing his blade square into his target’s neck, a flash of movement caught his arm and twisted it with a sharp snap. There was a huff of air that left his lungs, a tripping stumble as his feet fell out from under him, and suddenly his arm was pinned down next to the laptop, an iridescent blade impaled clean through his hand and into the splintering wood of the makeshift table.

Frank screamed. Of course he fucking did. He didn’t give a shit about Trickster’s weird obsession with them, it hurt and he was pissed and it took all of his will power not to just tear his hand through the end of the blade and lunge at him again.

“Mmh. Shame,” Trickster said, sarcastic pity dripping from his words. “Not nearly as much bass as I was hoping for. And far too much gravel.” The Trickster grabbed Frank’s face, tilting it up to look at him (or his mask, anyway. Frank had elected for the classic look for this meetup). The pop star’s expression reeked of cocky pride. “If I had to guess… Cigarettes? Maybe a pack a day?”

Frank shook his head out of his grip, tugging against the sharp pain in his hand as he growled. “Don’t fucking touch me!”

“Hah, I thought so.” Trickster let out a breathy, manic laugh. “Yun-jin never let me get away with that, you know. Not even menthols. Wreaks havoc on your lungs, you know? Makes it hard to breathe.” He glanced down at the laptop and perused the keys with a thoughtful hum. A few taps and suddenly the music stopped, replaced by a new sound clip.

Heaving breaths and a quiet whine accenting them, like the hiss of air from a punctured balloon. At first Frank wasn’t sure exactly what he was hearing, but then a voice joined the audio.

“You’ve made– You’ve made your point. Just fucking–” A pained wheeze. “Just– Kill me already!”

Jake. That was definitely Jake, but it wasn’t the same voice he was used to. It was weak, exhausted, desperate. So far removed from the headstrong man he’d gotten used to.

It reminded Frank of that trial at the asylum. Nausea welled up at the memory, acid rising to the back of his throat.

“A little bird sang to me that you would be coming,” the Trickster continued, turning his attention back to the laptop and fiddling with the commands in whatever music program he had pulled up. “I had no idea you were so enamored with the little brat! The quiet woodsy type just doesn’t fit your brand at all.” Golden eyes flickered back towards Frank, the half lidded expression doing little to hide the malice in them. “I would say you could do better… But I think we both know that’s a lie.”

Frank yanked at his trapped hand, hissing as the blade pulled against his skin and threatened to rip through tendons. “Shut the fuck [em]up![/em] What the hell do you care, anyway?”

“I don’t.” The Trickster’s reply was clipped, like he was answering a question that should have been obvious. But that sick smile was still on his face as he picked up a smart phone from the table and waved it mockingly. “I’ve just been thinking. What this track needs is some genuine [em]rage[/em] in the baseline. I think it would compliment the despair in the foreground quite well, and since you were [em]so kind[/em] as to show up and volunteer…”

Red bloomed in Frank’s vision. This guy was so fucking cocky, so fucking sure that he would be an easy target for his shitty music. But Frank wasn’t some fucking survivor plucked out of the woods and tied up for a beating. He was a killer too.

One quick move was all it took. Frank switched his blade to his off hand, twisting his body to use his own weight to pull free of the knife. There was a sick tearing sound, a wet feeling between his fingers, and a numb tingling sensation in his hand, and Frank ignored all of it. Instead he lunged, using the element of surprise to cut an ugly gash across the Trickster’s face.

That cocky white-toothed smile was gone now, replaced with a look of utter shock. The Trickster’s carefully manicured hand moved up to his face, feeling the gash, and his expression melted into demonic rage. “My face–! You little beast,” he screeched, knives flicking out between his fingers. “Do you even know what you’ve done?”

“Yeah,” Frank shot back. “Fuckin’ improved it.” Frank was ready for him this time. He could see the swing coming, the knives coming at his face like claws. He swerved out of the way easily, backing up a few steps to get into a better stance.

As Frank readied himself for the next attack, he kept his eyes on the Trickster’s face. There was a look of pure outrage, like he’d expected, but there was something else. A sharp, calculating look in those weird yellow eyes of his seemed to bore right through him. Frank had been ready for another lunge, for that utter rage to boil over and send him back into the fray, but instead the Trickster straightened, moving his hand up to fix his hair. God, how did such a primadonna get to be a killer, anyway?

“If you want to dance,” Trickster scoffed, “then by all means, let’s dance. But I think I’ll be the one in the lead.”

With that the idol reached behind himself, not even looking back at the computer screen as his fingers flew deftly over the keyboard. Not a moment later Jake’s scream spilled out of the speakers again, accompanied with an orchestral swell.

Red washed over Frank’s vision as he charged forward. He wasn’t thinking, just reacting to this absolute freak of a man, and that was the problem. Trickster sidestepped him easily, slicing a quartet of knives across Frank’s back as he righted himself. The sting fucking hurt, but it was nothing compared to the way the pain in Jake’s voice made his chest burn with fury. He turned, offering no hesitation as he lunged again.

There’s this thing about fights that you don’t know until you’re in one. You can take as many martial arts and self defense classes as you want, but those things don’t teach you how to fight. They help you build muscle, keep you limber and mobile when you’re in action. But all the fighting moves in the world won’t prepare you for the real thing.

Real fights aren’t choreographed. They’re quick and dirty. They hurt and they’re unfair and they’re over within seconds, no matter how skilled either party is. And when knives are involved, it mostly comes down to who can get in the first hit.

Granted, that was the rule for fights in the real world. Frank had been in plenty, knew what to expect from those. Knew how long they lasted, how much energy he had to put into those precious first seconds to get the upper hand. But here in the fog, killers were much more resilient.

Every hit he got on the Trickster was met with a hit on himself. Every blow to his opponent’s face was met with a knee to his ribs. And every second they both continued fighting with no hint of either backing down, the Trickster’s manic smile grew wider and wider and Frank’s rage burned hotter and hotter.

This wasn’t working. They were too evenly matched like this, and the sound of Jake’s screams drilling into his skull just made him impulsive and sloppy. He needed an edge.

Frank found one. Most of the warehouse had apparently been moved around, boxes and shelves that had previously littered the space shoved off to line the walls instead. It was easy enough to draw the Trickster over to one of these shelves under the guise of withdrawing.

“Backed into a corner?” the Trickster sneered. “How unfortunate. If you sing for me I might be willing to show you some mercy–”

No sooner had the Trickster stepped within range had Frank’s hand closed around some rusted iron piece shaped like a gear and swung it around, sending it careening into the killer’s head with a wet crack.

That had the pop star stumbling back, clutching at the side of his head as blood spilled out from between his fingers. The smug look on his face had been replaced with offended shock, a look that brought a giddy grin to Frank’s face. He could turn this around, he just needed to stick his blade into the Trickster’s gut and twist so he could watch the light fade from–

“Ah…” Frank blinked as the Trickster’s demeanor shifted, a manic laugh bubbling out of his throat. He didn’t look scared. He didn’t even look offended. He looked… Thrilled. “Ah-hah-ha-ha… I should’ve expected something like that, shouldn’t I? You’re certainly scrappier than I thought.”

The song blasting from the speakers hit a bridge, and as the tempo slowed and began to build again the Trickster backed away, his signature throwing knives sliding out from his sleeves and into his palms as his arms splayed out to his sides. It was like the music itself was fueling him, preparing him for the final chorus. Then he swung around, grabbing onto a rusty iron ladder and scaling it to the catwalk above.

Frank broke out of the trance he’d slipped into as he realized what the killer was doing. The catwalk looked narrow, unsteady. It was a rusted sheet of metal ten years overdue to collapse. But the Trickster had range, and if Frank didn’t follow him up there he’d be at an unwinnable disadvantage. With a frustrated huff Frank darted for the ladder, more grateful than ever for the bandages on his hands that would protect them from the worst of the sharp metal.

The catwalk creaked and swayed in protest as Frank took his first step onto it. His gut lurched from the movement, his breath hitching as he shifted his stance to accommodate his balance. Trickster didn’t seem to be having a problem at all, standing straight as an arrow with one arm folded behind his back and one arm holding that fan of blades over his chest like a flamenco dancer. The pop star’s eyes were sharp and his smile was confident as he watched Frank settle into a fighting position, and all at once the battle resumed.

Fighting up here was significantly harder than fighting on solid ground. Frank had to account for the limited space and spent more of his mental energy just on dodging the Trickster’s knives and not falling instead of making hits land. And while the throwing knives that landed didn’t do near as much damage as one swipe of his tactical knife could, the Trickster was able to gracefully dodge and weave away from Frank’s unsteady jabs far more easily than Frank could dodge the blades.

It didn’t take long for the pain to build to an untenable level. All it took was one knife flying inches from a lethal hit to his neck, a startled jolt to the side, and a misplaced step, and suddenly Frank was in freefall.

Crack

Frank heard it more than he felt it. The world sped past his eyes and suddenly he was on the ground, his ears ringing while he processed what just happened.

The pain came in slow, hot at first and then sharp, radiating like ink slowly filling the fibers of a page. And… wet. There was something trickling down his temple. It felt like sweat, but when Frank wiped at it his sleeve came away stained dark.

His mask. Where the fuck was his mask? Frank’s gaze darted around until he saw it on the ground nearby, a large crack having formed diagonally across its face and a piece missing from the corner. He reached for it instinctively, his heart racing as the ice cold feeling of vulnerability seeped into his chest.

Before he could get close enough to touch it, a black boot landed on top of it, the plastic creaking under the weight.

“Mmm… No, I think I’ll be keeping this,” the Trickster sang. “Finders keepers and all that.”

Frank’s hand flew to his face, trying to cover as much of his face from view as he could. His head was spinning and his vision blurred the edges of everything but he could still clearly see the bladed bat now in the Trickster’s hand. When had he grabbed that?

“Give it back,” Frank spat, tasting copper as he did. The dizziness was starting to settle in his stomach now, his brain throbbed against his skull, and based on the sharp pain in his side every time he took a breath he was pretty sure some ribs were broken. “I’ll fucking kill you, give it back.”

“You had your chance to do that already, streetdog,” Trickster purred, poking the blade into the center of Frank’s chest. “And you failed! Truly unfortunate…” He then crouched in front of Frank, his half-lidded eyes still predator-sharp. “But I’m no sore loser. Before you go, I’ll give you a little parting gift.”

Frank shuffled backwards, away from the killer. He didn’t believe a word the bastard said, didn’t expect the sadistic killer to show him any kind of mercy, but letting him talk might give Frank a chance to get a leg up. Maybe he could still win this. “Yeah? What’s that?”

The Trickster’s face split into a wide grin, like Frank had fallen for the easiest trap in the world. “Since you seem to like that brat so much, I thought you should know,” he said, laughter bubbling up behind his words. “Jake Park came to me willingly. He waltzed right in, like a clever little fox strolling into a wolf den, and I simply did as wolves will do.”

Confusion hit Frank like a hammer and froze him in place, staring at the Trickster through his fingers. Suddenly he couldn’t breathe. What did he mean? Frank had spent so long imagining this guy knocking Jake out or dragging Jake kicking and biting back to the warehouse, because why the hell would he have gone willingly?

“Wh-” Frank choked on his words and a little blood as he processed that. “What– He wouldn’t– Why would he go to you?”

The Trickster practically fell backwards onto his heels as he stood to his full height, cackling like Frank had just said the funniest thing in the world. “I have no idea! Maybe you should ask him yourself.”

The bat was raised and settled onto the Trickster’s shoulder. In the shadow of the lights shining behind the pop star’s head, his pale yellow eyes seemed to glow. “And when you do, please give him my gratitude,” he purred. “I would love to collaborate with him again…”

Before Frank could respond, the bladed end of the bat came down on him and his vision went dark with blood.

Chapter Text

“You let him leave?”

“I’m not his keeper, man! I offered to walk him back and he said no. What did you expect me to do?”

Frank ran his hands through his hair. Somehow he half expected the blood to still be there, sticking pieces together in ugly drying clumps, but it was as clean as it usually was. “I don’t know, convince him to stay! Fuck, what if someone grabs him?”

Joey was sitting on the couch, staring up at the ceiling with thinly veiled frustration. “He can handle himself. You’ve been going out there and meeting with him every day for how long now? And nothing ever happened!”

Except when it had. Frank bit his lip, the image of Jake’s limp body and sliced open throat on the forest floor all too clear in his mind. He shook his head and groaned. “You saw how he was, Joey. He was wrecked. How do I know the next time won’t break him?”

“He’s not made of glass, Frank.” Joey draped his arm over the back of the couch and looked back at him. “The guy’s been here longer than any of us, and we’re not the ones getting sacrificed to spider gods.”

A pang of guilt joined the anxiety welling in Frank’s chest. It had taken longer for Joey to get used to the idea of their situation than any of them. The idea of elder gods made of spider limbs and fog that demanded pain and fear. The idea that there was no salvation, just whatever existence they’d landed themselves in. The existence Frank landed them in.

Frank had never been all that religious. Some of his foster families tried to force it, enforcing weekly church visits and gospel, but he was never around them long enough for it to stick. And it was hard to believe in a higher power watching over him when all he could ever rely on was himself.

Joey was different. He just had him and his mom, and where Joey hadn’t exactly been the pious type it was something he could share with her, something that kept him going in the harder moments. And when the full weight of the nature of the Fog finally settled on him it had nearly broken him.

It’s been years since that and Joey had gotten a lot better since then, but it was still something that weighed on him. One more thing Frank had taken away from his friends.

“Frank, hey. Stay with me, man.”

Joey’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts. Right, there was more pressing shit to deal with. “I’m fine. You said he headed for the campfire, right?”

“Yeah. Said he needed time to think.” Joey looked at Frank, meeting his eyes. “He’s been through a lot of shit in the last few days.” Days? It felt more like weeks, but how could they really track time here? “The guy needs time to process shit and I don’t blame him.”

Frank paused, looking away from Joey to stare out the window. It was snowing outside, the wind blowing against the old lodge and making it creak in protest. He sighed and looked back at Joey. “I shouldn’t even give a shit about him.”

Joey cocked his head to the side. “But…?”

“But,” Frank groaned, “I do. Fuck.” He rubbed his hands over his face before leaning back against the couch next to Joey’s arms. “So what now?”

“Now you have to figure out what to do about it,” Joey said, very unhelpfully. Frank must’ve made a face because Joey continued. “I’m serious. You went out and got your ass kicked for this guy, you’ve been pacing around like a nervous dog, you’re wrecked!” Joey smacked the back of his hand against Frank’s side. “You need something productive to do. What’d you find out when you went over there, anyway?”

Frank chewed on the inside of his cheek. “He went there willingly… Whatever that means.” He looked down at Joey, his hand splayed and waving in the air helplessly. “Why the fuck would he do that? Everyone knows that guy’s insane!”

“Do they?” Joey countered. “It’s not like we all interact with survivors outside of trials that much. He might not’ve known what he was like.”

“But why him?” Frank said. “Jake’s been bugging me for the past whenever, why would he suddenly go bother the fucking sadist?”

“Good question.” Joey hummed and turned back around, leaning back against the couch. “Y’know, I still don’t know why he’s been bugging you. You keep dodging the question whenever I ask.” He turned his head to glance back at Frank. “I get that you don’t wanna talk about it, but I can’t help if I don’t know the whole story. What’s been going on?”

Frank stayed quiet for a long time. Answers buzzed around his head; Most were nonanswers, almost all were unhelpful, and only one would actually help here.

He really didn’t like that one, though.

“He had… questions,” Frank ventured, his words bitter and sticking between his teeth. “Got it in his head that… That he needed to know some shit about us.”

“And?” Joey prompted, letting the word trail. He was watching Frank now, his eyes so sharp and expectant Frank couldn’t make himself meet them.

“It’s not…” Frank didn’t want to talk about it. He didn’t want to remind his friends of what he did. It wasn’t important anyway. There was no reason for anyone to go asking around about it.

So why was Jake? What the fuck was so important about it that he had to go get himself ruined trying to find out?

That was what Frank couldn’t figure out. If he was going to find the answer…

He was going to need help. Fuck.

“He wanted to know… How we got to be killers,” he finally said, glaring up at the ceiling. “Kept prodding me about it. Wouldn’t take ‘none of your business’ as an answer. Honestly it’s just been pissing me off.” Now that he’d gotten started, his words just tumbled out. Months of annoyance and irritation and anxiety spilling out like a dam finally bursting through a crack. “It’s not his business, right? Like I don’t need to give him my backstory–our backstory–just because he decided he needed to know. Who the fuck did he think he was anyway–?”

“Okay, okay, chill,” Joey interrupted, holding his hands up as he sat straight. “Okay, so he wanted to know how we got to be killers, and you clearly didn’t wanna talk about it.” Frank chafed and opened his mouth to protest but Joey ignored him and continued. “So let’s say he decided to go ask someone else. Why Trickster?”

“I don’t know,” Frank snapped. “That’s the problem!”

Joey stood up and walked around to the back of the couch, addressing Frank face to face. “You’re not thinking through this right. Jake had a question. You wouldn’t answer it, so he needed to find someone who would. Why Trickster? Out of everyone, why that guy?”

Frank paused, the irritation briefly filtering out as the point Joey was making started getting through. Jake started bothering him after a trial, but he must’ve had hundreds of trials. Did something change?

“Maybe…” Every interaction he’d ever had with Jake started running through his mind, trying to figure out a connecting thread. “Maybe because… He’s just a guy? Not a monster like some other killers.”

“Could be,” Joey mused. “But then why him? Why not one of the other human killers?”

This was getting frustrating. It was starting to feel like getting tutored back in school, feeling like the answer was so obvious but he just couldn’t see it. Frank ran a hand through his hair. “Jesus, I don’t know! He only started bugging me after I talked to him in a trial–”

Joey snapped his fingers. “See, that’s the kind of shit I need to know.”

“What?” Frank blinked. “Why?”

“Context!” Joey was grinning now, and Frank couldn’t help but feel warmth expanding in his chest from how excited he got. “Survivors don’t know who’s human just based on trials. We’re all chasing them around, hitting them with knives and shit. They don’t know what we look like under the mask, right? Everyone’s a monster ‘til proven otherwise.”

Frank canted his head to the side, considering that. “Sure, but… So? You think Trickster said something to him during a trial?”

“It’s possible,” Joey shrugged.

“But that doesn’t explain how he knew where to find the guy,” Frank countered. “Even I had to get directions to his hideout, and it’s in the middle of MacMillan’s place. How would he know where to go?”

Joey rubbed his chin thoughtfully, quiet for a moment. Finally he looked back up to Frank. “Well, how’d you find it?”

Frank shrugged. “Ghostface told me.”

“Ghostface told you,” Joey echoed, his eyes narrowing.

“Yeah,” Frank said. “Why?”

“Ghostface told you?”

Frank blinked, the point Joey was trying to make clicking in his head. “Oh.”

Fuck.

Joey’s brow furrowed, his normally calm, easy-going demeanor hardening into something more severe, determined. “Something else is going on here. Whatever Ghostie’s trying to do, we gotta figure it out before anything else happens."

“Right,” Frank nodded, that flitting anxiety quickly hardening into white-hot anger. And it must’ve been plain on his face, because Joey took his shoulder and forced Frank to meet his eyes.

“We need more information,” Joey said. “The girls and I can take care of that, do some snooping. Julie’s good at digging up dirt. You,” he added, poking a finger into Frank’s chest, “need to keep an eye on Jake. If Ghostie’s targeting him, he’s gonna need backup.”

Frank wanted to protest. He wasn’t stupid, he knew Joey was giving him a distraction. He was too close to this shit, too likely to blow their cover if he lost his temper. Joey was just trying to keep him out of the way.

But… Joey had a point. Right now if Frank saw Ghostface he wasn’t sure he could stop himself from attacking the guy on sight. And if the killer really was targeting Jake…

“Yeah,” Frank relented, clasping his hand around Joey’s and meeting the other’s determined gaze with his own. “Yeah. Alright. Sounds like a plan.”

Joey’s face lit up, now grinning with excitement again. “Fuck yeah. Operation: Ghostbusters is a go!”

***

Walking in the woods had always been a sanctuary for Jake.

The first time he discovered it was during a camping trip with his dad and brother. It was a boy’s trip, something his dad had insisted on taking during one of the few weekends he took off during the year. It was early spring, during the time of year after the worst of the frost but before the mud of the rainy months. The reason for the fight was something lost to memory, but regardless Jake ended up storming off, ignoring the protests for him to stay as the anger swirled in his head like a storm.

He was frustrated, pent up, and sick of feeling that way. He told himself he just needed some time to himself, just needed some air, just needed a way to vent that wouldn’t get him even deeper into shit than he already was. Maybe he was hoping to find a heavy trunk to kick until he broke his foot, or maybe he just wanted to get far enough away to scream as loud and as long as he wanted without being told to be quiet.

But the longer he walked into the forest, the deeper into the trees he ventured, the more a feeling of quiet peace settled over him. The anger fell away in pieces and everything that bothered him felt so small and so far away.

Eventually he made the walk back to his family, calmer and ready to deal with the backlash of just walking away from them, but the experience stuck with him.

Jake had plenty of opportunities to chase that feeling in the years following. As much as his father was attached at the hip to his work, he seemed to value time in the outdoors as a bonding activity. Jake never complained when they packed for another camping trip or hunting party, even when it meant he didn’t get to go to the house parties or on the school trips that inevitably fell on the same days. Because every time they went out into the wilderness of the Blue Ridge Mountains Jake would take every opportunity to go off on his own–following the trail of a deer, going out to forage tinder for the fire, saying he needed to relieve himself, waiting for his dad and brother to fall asleep before venturing out of the tent–and Jake would go walking in the woods.

In the Fog, things were different. That sense of peace wasn’t there, not in the same way it was in Georgia. It was obscured, edged by a feeling of being watched, of being hunted. The mist was too cold, the shadows too dark, and every creak of branches above his head or rustling of leaves below his feet felt like a warning.

That didn’t stop him, though, because underneath it all it was the same: Quiet solitude, a break from the conflict and chaos where his mind can empty and he can just breathe.

Walking in the forest helped him think, too. It slowed down the rushing panic of thoughts into something he could handle, helped make everything seem so much smaller, so insignificant. Insignificant things could be managed, after all. A problem was easier to face when it didn’t seem like it could swallow him whole.

This time the problem was Frank. Not the Trickster, although sometimes memories still crept into stark focus and made him freeze up, simultaneously burning hot and ice cold. Despite everything the killer did to him, that was something he could compartmentalize. It was up there with every other time he’d been torn apart and tortured, something he could at least ignore until the panic welled up again.

Frank was different. He didn’t know how to compartmentalize that. Frank was… A problem, one that Jake couldn’t even see the shape of. He just felt it, felt how overwhelming it was, felt how it made his chest seize up and his heart drop into his stomach. He kept trying to figure out what he was feeling, figure out whether he liked Frank or hated him or was afraid of him–

No, that last one wasn’t it. He should be, logically, because Frank was a killer. That was the whole point, to be afraid of the guy with a knife that could gut him in a moment’s notice without even thinking twice about it. But outside of a trial being around Frank was…

He didn’t know. He knew how he should feel, and the fact that it didn’t line up right felt… Wrong.

Jake climbed up onto a large rock jutting out of the ground, sitting on the edge of it so his legs dangled over the side.

Then there was Dwight. He meant well. Of course he did. Over all the years he’d spent in the Fog, Dwight was one of the few constants Jake was able to count on. He was always there to talk or try and make him laugh or help him through a rough spot, and Jake couldn’t be more thankful for that. But…

God, he was tired. Dwight had gotten more than concerned these past few weeks, he’d gotten anxious. He started treating Jake like he was made of glass, constantly checking in on him even when all Jake wanted was a little bit of quiet. And any time Jake tried to communicate that, tried to so much as imply that he wanted some alone time, Dwight had this look on his face like a puppy he’d just kicked.

He meant well. Jake just kept telling himself that Dwight meant well. But every time he did he just grew more and more resentful of the whole situation.

Fuck, that felt shitty. He shouldn’t be resenting his friend for caring about him. Who the hell does that? It was awful, ungrateful… Jake dragged his hands over his face and leaned forward, his skin prickling with discomfort.

Maybe a better person than him would handle all of this… better. Claudette definitely would have. Even Meg, probably, even if she was just as spiky as he was at times. Pretty much anybody else would handle this better than he was, so what the hell was his problem?

Jake took a deep, rattling breath and dropped down from the outcropping, walking forward to try and shake off the tightening feeling in his muscles. He could feel panic creeping up on him, crawling up his spine and burrowing into his gut like a parasite. He could feel the pulse of blood rushing in his wrists, his neck, his heart racing in his chest.

He knew what it was now. He had years of active danger to teach him what a fight or flight reaction felt like. But there was nothing around him, as far as he could tell. He shouldn’t be panicking. There was no reason for him to be panicking right now.

What the fuck was wrong with him?

Caw!

Jake blinked and looked behind him. As tense as he was, the sound made him jump slightly, but for the moment his thoughts had gone silent, focused on finding the source. And after a moment of looking around, he found it.

There were a couple of crows hopping around a grassy area with a new growth tree, the limbs hanging down in a way that almost reminded him of a willow. As he watched one bird called to the other, as though demanding attention, before flitting up to one of the low-hanging branches and grabbing on with one foot. Its weight bent the thin branch down and the bird flapped its wings as it swayed on the branch like a child playing on a rope swing. The other bird answered its call and hopped in a circle around its friend. The moment the hanging bird released its grip on the branch, tumbling to the ground with a fluttering of wings, the other flew up to take its own turn swinging on the branch.

It was such an odd sight. He’d seen crows playing before, having spent so much time around them, but this particular game was new to him. He just stood there, watching the birds play amongst themselves as calm gradually washed over him.

Now that his thoughts weren’t spiraling around his emotions, Jake could actually breathe. He could think clearly, sort out what he had to do from here.

Dwight wasn’t unreasonable. He was protective and anxious and human, and he was Jake’s oldest friend here. Dwight knew him better than anyone else. If Jake just swallowed his pride and talked to Dwight, maybe they could sort all this out and find a solution that didn’t make him feel like he was suffocating.

He watched as the crows hopped to the ground and looked off into the trees for a moment before fluttering away. Jake started walking again, his chest feeling a bit lighter now. He could handle this. He had a plan and he could handle this.

The plan shattered not five minutes later.

It started with the thick smell of copper in the air. It was a smell Jake was used to, even if really wished he wasn’t. It was a smell he associated with mangled bodies and brutal kills, a smell he followed as nervousness buzzed in the back of his mind. He should just check it out and leave, make sure it was nothing he needed to worry about. Whatever it was could be someone else’s problem, but he needed to know what it was all the same.

What he saw made his heart drop.

It was Dwight. He was sprawled over the ground on his stomach, large splotches of blood staining his white button-up through a constellation of wounds in his back. His glasses were askew, one lens shattered, and his face.

God, his face.

Dwight wasn’t the best survivor at running trials. He did his best and he was an excellent mediator and leader, but even after all this time the poor guy had trouble staying alive. He could never run fast enough or stay quiet enough, and as a result Jake had seen his mangled body plenty of times before. But just because he’d seen it didn’t make it any easier to stomach the sight of his best friend’s face contorted in pain and terror, frozen at the moment of his death.

Nausea welled up in the back of his throat as Jake knelt by Dwight’s body, his hand thoughtlessly moving to his friend’s neck.

“He’s dead, Jim. Sorry to break it to you.”

Jake nearly jumped out of his skin as the voice came out of nowhere behind him. He turned around, staring at the familiar white mask that was peering back at him from behind a tree.

“Did you fucking do this?” The words spat out of his mouth before he could even finish processing the situation. But it was Ghostface, a killer–a killer with a knife--and Dwight dead on the forest floor. It made sense, right?

“Who, me?” Ghostface replied with a sickening amount of levity, like he was being accused of eating the last cookie. “No, no, of course not. I try not to get my hands dirty outside of trials. Don’t want to attract the scavengers, you know.”

Acid rose in Jake’s throat at the thought of other monsters being drawn to his friend’s body. Feeding on it, maybe, or just ripping his limbs off out of mindless bloodlust. He moved around Dwight’s body, standing over it protectively. “Why,” he started, his voice more gravelly than it should have been. “Why should I believe you? You lied to me.”

“Lied to you?” Ghostface echoed, his mask tilting to the side in a pantomime of confusion. “Whenever… Ahhh.” He snapped his fingers, a motion that just made Jake narrow his eyes and clench his fists. “You’re talking about that lead, right? I’m guessing your talk with the Trickster didn’t go as planned?”

Rage smoldered in his chest, not quite hot enough for him to move away from his stance over Dwight’s body. “You said he liked talking about himself. I didn’t get anything out of him!” Nothing except pain and sharp memories, but he wasn’t about to tell him that. He couldn’t show any kind of weakness.

Ghostface held his hands up in exaggerated surrender. “I admit, I’m not perfect. But I didn’t lie. That’s part of the risk of being an investigator, you know? Sometimes you stick your hand in the wrong place and lose a finger.”

Jake didn’t trust that. He wasn’t naive, he knew there was no reason for a killer to give him good information, no reason for him not to lie. No reason then and certainly no reason now. But he also didn’t actually care about that right now. “If you didn’t kill him,” and that was a very big if, “then who did?”

“Hmmmm…” Ghostface moved his hand to the base of his mask, as though he was thoughtfully rubbing his chin. “Well, I can’t be certain, seeing as I was following you, not him.” The hair on the back of Jake’s neck stood on end. Had he? Jake hadn’t even noticed. How long was he being followed? “But,” Ghostface continued. “I did happen to see a red bomber jacket pass through here earlier. Can’t say I recognized it. Ring any bells?”

Ice formed in the pit of Jake’s stomach. Frank? That had to be a lie, right? There was no way…

But. The last Jake had seen of Frank he’d gone storming out of the lodge, clearly pissed off about something. And every time he’d seen Frank actively angry it had ended in violence. He could’ve left, looking for something to take his anger out on, found Dwight…

Why was Dwight even out here?

”I went looking for you!” Dwight said as Jake fitted his arm in a sling. “You keep wandering off–I got worried!”

Jake shook his head. He’d only known Dwight a couple weeks at that point, but it was clear the man was going to be clingy as hell. “I’m fine. I’ve been living in the woods for years, I know what I’m doing.”

“But there are monsters out there!” They were back at the campfire, the light reflecting off his glasses and emphasizing the places where the lens cracked. “If something happened to you–”

“I’d come right back, just like trials.” Jake pulled a leaf out of his hair and sighed. “You really don’t need to worry about me so much.”

“Well,” Dwight shot back, his face an odd mix of indignant frustration and determined pride, “I do. I worry about all of you.”

“Enough to get yourself hurt?” Jake huffed, motioning to Dwight’s arm.

“If it means keeping you safe? Yes! Of course I do!” Dwight put his non-slinged hand on Jake’s shoulder, firelight shining in his eyes. “We’re all in this together, Jake. I’m not letting anyone get left behind.”

Jake’s knees wobbled, the memory hitting him like a truck. He’d been gone too long. Dwight must’ve gotten worried and went out to look for him.

This was Jake’s fault.

“It really is unfortunate,” Ghostface mused, his arms crossed and head shaking slowly. Dwight’s body finally dissolved into the fog at Jake’s feet as the Entity reclaimed his broken form. “These woods are so dangerous for survivors. He should’ve stayed by the fire.”

Jake didn’t respond. A lump was forming in his throat, his breath hitching as his voice threatened to betray him. He turned his eyes to the sky, searching for a constellation, and made a beeline for the clearing.

He needed to talk to Dwight.

Chapter Text

“So.”

Jake was pretty sure he’d never been more uncomfortable in his life.

At the very least it was up there. Right next to the dinner where he came out to his family and the time his mom took him aside to get him to apologize to his father. It was that sort of squirming feeling in his stomach that made him nauseous, made him want to scratch all his skin off and run full tilt in the opposite direction. The kind of uncomfortable where he knew he couldn’t just avoid it, so he just had to sit and bear it and try his best not to retch on his emotions.

Dwight was sitting next to him by the campfire, his knees pressed together and shoes pointed like an arrow towards Jake. He was fingering a string from his hoodie, the best substitute he had when he didn’t have a tie on. The two of them were dancing between eye contact; Jake would look at Dwight until the man’s eyes lifted and he would turn his gaze to the fire, and when Jake looked back Dwight had suddenly found something fascinating in the bushes nearby.

Neither of them wanted to have this conversation, but it was long overdue. Which, really, just made it all the harder to have.

“So,” Jake echoed, wringing his hands together. His teeth itched to chew off the ragged edges of his nails, to try and make them even and smooth, but Dwight always got on his case about it when he saw it. They both had the same nervous habit, but Dwight was always better at looking out for others than he was for himself.

God, and that was the problem, wasn’t it?

After another long silence Dwight straightened his back and took a deep breath. No more putting it off then.

“Jake, you can’t keep running off like that,” Dwight began. His brows furrowed into a frown that made his nose scrunch in a way Jake always thought was a little funny. “I– we’ve been doing a lot around here to– To keep you safe. The buddy system works, but it only works as well as you let it!”

Jake watched Dwight’s hands as he spoke, watching the way they went from twisting the hoodie string to splaying out towards the few others in the camp, then towards himself, then back to the string. He shrugged his shoulders, his own hands busying themselves with picking at his cuticles for lack of anything else to do. He kind of wished he had some wood and a knife about now. “You don’t need to do all that. I’m fine—”

“You weren’t fine,” Dwight interjected. “You were– You were a mess! I’ve never seen you like that before, nobody has!”

Nobody else really cares, Jake thought to himself, but bit it back from being said aloud. He knew how people looked at him after the incident in the warehouse, like he was fragile. Broken. Like he would crumble to dust if they so much as spoke too loudly around him. It’d made him want to scream.

Dwight took his silence as his cue to continue. “Jake, I– Look. I know you value your alone time. Maybe– Maybe we can work something out, right? Find a spot nearby you can go to? You just– You can’t just keep running off!”

Jake rubbed his face, the skin on his shoulders prickling. They were just rehashing a conversation they’d had before. “This is fucking pointless. You don’t have to keep me safe, alright? So I got hurt once, so what? It’s over and done with and I just don’t fucking care–”

“Because I care, Jake!” The sudden outburst nearly made him jump. Jake couldn’t remember the last time Dwight actually shouted like that. The moment it was over, though, a look of regret and shame passed over Dwight’s face. “Sorry, I didn’t mean– Fuck.” He took a deep breath. “Just… I care if you get hurt. I care so much and it– It hurts that you don’t seem to…”

Dwight trailed off, letting the words hang in the air in a way that made Jake’s throat feel tighter. He doesn’t seem to… What? Not care in general? Not care about himself? Not care about Dwight? That last possibility hurt the most, like the thought itself was wrapped around his lungs and growing thorns. The image of Dwight’s body was still burned into his mind.

“I care,” Jake said, his voice so quiet it rasped at the edges. “I do, Dwight. I just… I don’t want you running off after me like that. I don’t want you getting hurt on account of me.” It had hurt when he’d found Dwight’s body like that. Hurt far more than anything any killer had ever done to him, more than getting his bones broken or guts torn out or shoved on a meathook and sacrificed. It hurt because it was Dwight and because it was his fault that Dwight was out there to begin with, that he’d been targeted.

Dwight wrung his hands together, looking over at the fire burning nearby. It illuminated them both with heatless light, the flickering embers making shadows dance around the edges of the clearing. Jake always thought that was on purpose. Made it harder to tell if there was actually something out there or if it was a trick of the light.

Jake was about to say something else when Dwight looked back at him, his eyes sharper and clearer than Jake was used to. “I’m going to follow you, Jake. I don’t care if I get hurt. I– We’re gonna get hurt anyway. That’s the nature of the place, right? So I don’t… I don’t care if I get hurt. But I’m not letting you get hurt if I can help it. I’m not leaving you behind.” Dwight paused for a moment before taking a deep, rattling breath, his fingers digging into his palms. “I love you, okay? I’m not leaving you behind.”

Fuck. Jake set his jaw as Dwight went silent again, his chest tightening with a dozen feelings he couldn’t properly identify. He didn’t want to hurt Dwight. He really didn’t want to lose his best friend. But he couldn’t honestly say he felt the same way.

Love was hard to figure out. It was like one of those math equations he never understood in pre-calc. Everyone acted like it was obvious, acted like it made perfect sense and made everything else in the world line up in clean rows. But while everyone else seemed to just get it, Jake could never wrap his head around it. The best he could do was fake it, but that only worked up until he fucked up his math.

He loved Dwight, he thought. In a best friend way, in the We Have History way, in the You Know Me Better Than Anyone Else way. But was that love? Was that enough to match what Dwight felt for him? What if he started something and it turned out he was wrong? What if he hurt Dwight by trying to be with him and failing? What if he wasn’t enough?

What if Dwight deserved better?

There was a long moment of silence between them, broken only by the murmuring conversation of the others on the far side of the campfire. Jake stared at the ground, not wanting to see the hope or hurt in Dwight’s eyes. Not that it helped much when he could hear the way Dwight’s breath hitched, almost too quiet to hear.

“I know,” Jake said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Snap

The sound was so quiet it was almost unnoticeable, but with how tense he was in the shared silence it seemed like the crack of a gunshot. Jake turned around, mostly out of instinct, and blinked as he saw someone standing just outside of the clearing.

No, not someone. Even shrouded in shadows the smiling mask was unmistakable.

Heat flared in Jake’s chest. Any shock or fear he could have felt in that moment was blunted and washed over with something white-hot and sharp. Frank could hurt him outside of trials all he fucking wanted. He did not get to hurt his friends.

“I’ll be right back,” Jake said, before getting to his feet and walking out of the safety of the clearing.

***

Frank decided very quickly that he actually hated watching the campfire.

He’d only been at it for a few hours so far. It wasn’t boring exactly, or at least not as much as he’d expected. Even if he couldn’t quite hear what any of the survivors were saying, they were animated enough that it was vaguely entertaining. Definitely more interesting than watching snow fall on the Ormond roof, by any metric.

It wasn’t the lack of activity that got to him. No, what got to him was watching Jake talking to that other survivor, Dewey or something. He looked like such a textbook nerd, even wearing jeans and a hoodie instead of his usual geek-chic tie and slacks. He couldn’t see the appeal at all, but Jake was talking to him like…

Well, it was hard to say exactly. Jake was never one to emphasize his words, and even his louder sentences were drawn together with a southern lilt that slurred his words together. It made reading his lips impossible, and he couldn’t exactly get anything from staring at the back of Darwin’s head. Even Jake’s facial expressions were hard to read. He didn’t emote as much as other people tended to, his face usually either completely blank or drawn into a tense frown, like he was concentrating on a frustrating task.

It was something Frank usually found… Endearing, actually. But for now it just meant he had nothing to work with.

It was just like last time and every other time he’d done this. Just watching from the outside, unable to hear anyone or make out anything they were saying, like watching the world turn without him through a foggy window.

He’d had enough of that from his childhood. He didn’t need to keep it up now.

Frank started moving to the side, trying to see if he could change the view, get a better angle on Dingus. If he couldn’t read Jake’s half of the conversation, maybe he could get an idea of it from the other end.

It was working… Sort of. It didn’t work the way it was supposed to, his steps not making as much of a difference on his angle as they should have, but after five minutes of shuffling he was making progress.

And then he stepped on a branch and something changed.

It shouldn’t have done anything. He couldn’t even hear the loudasses around the fire, why would they be able to hear a twig snapping from outside of it? But the second he mis-stepped Jake’s head whipped around, staring over his shoulder and into the trees. Staring directly at Frank.

Frank held his breath. He didn’t know why, but suddenly his heart was pounding in his chest in a way he wasn’t used to. It felt like the heart palpitations he got from Jolt, the way his heart rammed against his ribs like it was trying to escape. He hated that feeling.

Jake’s face screwed up in something like anger or disgust, like seeing a rat scurrying around the kitchen cabinets, and Frank’s throat tightened. The survivor said something to Dweeb and then he stood up.

And he walked away from the campfire. Towards Frank.

Frank didn’t know what he was expecting. He wasn’t expecting anything, still baffled by the fact that Jake was able to just walk up to him in a way Frank was unable to reciprocate. And he definitely wasn’t expecting Jake to storm right up to him, toe to toe, and suckerpunch him straight in the mask.

It definitely wasn’t the first time Frank got punched while wearing the mask, but it always hurt like a bitch. Jake was no weakling. Even under his layers Frank could tell the guy was built, and though he couldn’t match whatever eldritch juice the Entity gave killers it was more than enough to send Frank stumbling backwards. There was a sharp pain in his nose (broken, probably, not for the first time in his life) and the edges of his face where the mask framed it stung. He took a second to right his mask from its off-kilter angle so he could actually see through it, and about that time he realized Jake was yelling at him.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Jake was pissed, a lot more than Frank had ever seen from the guy before. Usually when Frank saw the survivor’s anger it was cold, stoic, bitter ice. Now it was every bit as hot and unpredictable as fire. “What, you didn’t get enough in the woods? Came here to finish the job? Just fuck off!”

“What?” Frank spoke before he could fully understand what the fuck just happened. His words were regretfully nasal–his nose was bleeding, he could feel it spilling into the groove above his upper lip–and his voice cracked at the end. Jesus, he’d never felt less intimidating in his life. “The fuck is wrong with you? What are you t–”

Frank cut off as Jake lunged at him again. He stepped backwards and weaved around the survivor, shoulders tense and arms up like he was ready for a fight. “Dude!”

“Fucking leave,” Jake barked. “Go find someone else to fuck with! Leave us alone!”

Us? Frank was struck silent, baffled by this weird reaction. The last time he saw Jake was in the lodge, and he was… Well, he wasn’t doing great but he hadn’t been this angry. What the hell happened since then?

His immediate thought was the nerdy guy. Did he say something to Jake? Was it possible the guy had a grudge on him or something? Frank couldn’t remember ever pissing him off directly, but in thousands of trials and thousands of deaths it was possible…

“This– Shit, this is because of Dennis, right? Look, I’m not–”

“His name is Dwight!” Frank sidestepped another punch, the momentum sending Jake stumbling forward like an idiot. Jeez, this guy’s never been in a proper fight in his life, has he? “And you–fuck–you don’t get to talk about him!”

God, he really must’ve gotten on Dwight’s bad side. He couldn’t imagine what the fuck he did, but given how often he’s planted that guy on hooks… Damnit.

“Look, I don’t give a shit about that guy! You’re– Dude!” Frank didn’t try to sidestep Jake’s charge this time. Instead he hooked his arm around the survivor’s neck and wheeled him around, using his own momentum against him as he threw Jake on the ground and pinned him down with a foot on Jake’s chest. “Fucking hell, can you let me talk for a minute?”

Frank didn’t get a chance to say anything else when another body slammed into him from behind, knocking him clear to the ground.

“Get off of him!” A new voice, familiar only in how intimately he knew the scream.

Fucking Christ.

Dwight wasn’t exactly skinny, but he wasn’t so big that Frank couldn’t shove the guy off of him. Frank’s jaw clenched as he pushed himself up on his elbows, glaring at the two survivors who were rounding on him like a couple of angry bucks. Survivors weren’t meant to be able to gang up on killers like this, but they weren’t in a trial and Frank didn’t exactly have supernatural bullshit powers backing him up. If they got into a real fight…

There was a brief period in Frank’s childhood when he went hunting on the regular. His foster dad at the time, a sullen older man with a penchant for camouflage and venison, would insist Frank came with him into the woods every weekend to hunt deer. Insisted it built character, that it would make him into a man better than any namby-pamby government-run public school ever would. As far as Frank was concerned it didn’t do any of that shit. All it really did was give him a feel for the woods and a good idea of how much most people valued a life. And, after a particularly bad hunt that ended with his foster dad in the hospital and Frank having to answer questions for a pair of unsympathetic men in uniform, a healthy respect for how dangerous a prey animal could really be.

Frank got to his feet while Dwight was helping Jake to his. Frank kept his shoulders squared and arms up, but he was backing away. He wasn’t here to start a fight anyway, and clearly Jake didn’t need the extra set of eyes. “Fine. I’m leaving. See?” Frank didn’t bother hiding the bitterness in his voice. There was no point to it.

“Good,” Jake snapped, and the utter vitriol he shot at Frank made bile rise in his throat. What had Dwight said? What did he do that made Jake this angry with him?

And why did he care so much?

Frank didn’t respond, instead just turning around and silently running deeper into the Fog, back towards Ormond.

Chapter Text

Tap, tap, tap

Susie glanced around as the trees surrounding her tapered out into the clearing of a realm. The sky was a deep ocean black at the edges, swimming through cerulean and powder as the light of the large full moon permeated into the darkness. It washed the whole realm in dream light, reminding her of her favorite chilly nights in Ormond when the clouds had drifted away, leaving the night clear and full of stars.

In short, she liked McMillan estate. Sometimes, when her newfound confidence started to waver and she needed time away from the pack, she would come out here for some peace and quiet. Despite the reputation of the realm’s denizen, Susie was hardly ever bothered whenever she came by. As long as she brought a long stick with her, anyway.

Tap, tap, SNAP

The end of the skinny branch she’d been tapping along the ground like a white cane came to a violent stop as a bear trap closed around the end. With a practiced motion Susie slammed her sneaker down on the end, right at the point of contact, and thrust the other end downwards. The rest of the stick came away with a satisfying crack and, her stick now a few inches shorter, she went right back to her tapping routine.

Oh, she was sure Evan probably hated cleaning out the splinters and resetting all the traps whenever he eventually found her handiwork, but he never seemed to mind much. At least not enough to deny her the occasional conversation whenever they did cross paths. The killer was grumpy and terse, only ever speaking in short, impatient sentences, but there was a sparkle in his eyes when he did so. Susie could see it, right there behind the holes of his mask. And that’s what kept her coming back again and again.

Tap, tap, tap

Of course, that wasn’t why she was here this time around. This time she was on a mission. And based on the way the trees swayed and creaked around her, she got the feeling that the realm could tell.

“Miss Lavoie.”

Susie turned around and looked up, her abstract mask hiding the huge grin that lit up her face. “Mister Evan!” she chirped, moving her stick behind her back like a child hiding a marker they most certainly were not just using to color on the wall. “It’s so good to see you again!”

Evan hummed noncommittally and looked around, his barrel of a body turning with him as he did so. His mask looked pointedly down at the trap Susie had recently rendered useless before turning an accusatory gaze back down on her. “I wish I could say the same.”

Susie gave an exaggerated shrug and giggled. The Trapper’s machete hung at his side, heavy and stained dark from years of violent use, but his grip was loose and his shoulders relaxed. He wasn’t going to cut her down, even if he made a big show that he very easily could. Would, even, if she pushed her luck juuust a little too far. But Susie knew her limits by heart, knew exactly when to poke the bear and when to run away from it.

For now, she was free to poke as much as she liked. “I was hoping to see you, actually,” Susie continued, pushing right on past the topic of the splinter-ridden bear trap. She motioned to the backpack she was wearing, a plain black cross-shoulder bag that definitely clashed with her own bright and colorful aesthetic. “I brought some tea and cookies with me! I’m here to formally–” she bent down into a curtsy, exaggerating her words with a posh accent “–invite you to a tea party, if you will accept my humble offering.”

Evan snorted at the display, his head tilting lazily to the side. “A tea party invitation. To my own estate, I assume?”

Susie snapped up straight again with a noise of faux offense. “Only if you prefer! I’d invite you to Ormond, but the nicest room there is a bit… Open concept.” She still didn’t fully understand why the Entity decided that the place should be missing a few chunks of the roof, but alas. Beggars can’t be choosers and all that. “So?”

There was a few seconds of silence as Evan drew out the suspense before it was broken by a hearty chuckle. Susie imagined a grizzly bear would sound much the same way, if one could talk. “You drive a hard bargain, Miss Lavoie. My estate it is.” He made a gesture with his weapon for her to follow before walking off at an unhurried pace. Susie smiled to herself as she followed along.

The stick was tossed aside now that she had an escort. Evan knew his property intimately, had a clear memory of where was safe to step and where wasn’t, and as long as she followed precisely in his footsteps Susie knew she wouldn’t have to worry about stepping on any plates.

That was the nice thing about getting friendly with other killers. It offered new paths you wouldn’t otherwise have open to you. Like a path straight to MacMillan Mansion, for example.

The place was gorgeous, a sprawling estate that looked more like a castle than a house, with warm-lit windows contrasting against the cool blue of the moonlit sky. There was no way to get to it if Evan wasn’t leading the way. Something something dream logic… It didn’t matter really. It made sense to Susie—it was personal, so the only way to get there was if Evan wanted you there.

The inside of the place was a bit of a mix of things. On one hand the ostentatious wealth of the place really bloomed on the inside—with large paintings adorning the walls, intricately carved marble over the roaring fireplace, and a crystal chandelier brightening the foyer with dozens of warm little filament light bulbs. On the other hand, it was… Messy. The walls were chipped in some places and stained in others, random piles of assorted objects lay discarded in corners and hallways. It was a dance between shiny wealth and dingy disrepair, one that Evan seemed to either actively contribute to or ignore completely.

Which was fair, really. Susie could understand wanting to separate yourself from the facade you grew up with.

Regardless, Evan led Susie to the dining room. He pulled out a chair for her (ever the gentleman) before sitting down in his own with a heavy sigh. “So why are you really here?” he asked, his voice long-suffering and tired. There was no room for mistake or misunderstanding.

Susie blew air out of the side of her mouth, visibly deflating. “Shoot, that obvious, huh?” The very same reason she had come to the Trapper was also the reason she knew better than to try and bullshit him–He’d been here for far too long and seen far too much to put up with the kind of passive-aggressive dances that people put on to get what they want. It was refreshing. “Well, I did want to visit you for tea. It’s been too long. But I’m also here as—” She put a hand over her chest and enunciated her words with a flourish. “—an unofficial ambassador of the Legion, coming to you, Sir MacMillan, heart in hand, for assistance in this most dire of circumstances.”

Evan watched her with a silent, hidden gaze until she finished speaking, before letting out a hearty laugh. “Cut the crap, Miss Lavoie. Just tell me what you want.”

Susie grinned. “Sorry, Mister Evan. Couldn’t help myself.” She pulled her backpack into her lap, taking out the tin of maybe-just-a-little-stale cookies and tea bags that maybe possibly had been nicked from Yamaoka estate and placing them on the table between them. “I wanted to talk about Jake. He’s gotten hurt real bad lately and Frank wants to know why.”

The jovial air that Susie had worked hard to cultivate soured just a little. It was subtle–A small lowering of Evan’s shoulders, the tense quiet that suddenly filled the air, the clinicality of the way the Trapper collected the tea bags into his hands and brought them to the kitchen to steep. Susie anticipated the minutes of silence that followed as Evan worked on the tea, but it still pulled the anxiety rooted in her chest. Thoughts that he might send her away or bark for her to leave once he reentered the dining room were mentally waved off as she waited. Susie knew Evan, knew that he needed a few quiet minutes to mull things over, decide how much he wanted to give and how much he wanted to keep to himself. She simply had to trust the process.

When he returned with two steaming cups of tea, Susie’s patience was rewarded. “What do you want to know, Miss Lavoie?”

As much as part of her wanted to explode with excitement that he seemed more than willing to share, she forced herself to take a calm sip from her cup to compose herself. Making (and keeping) allies in the fog was all about patience. That much she learned from Jules.

“I thought you might know a thing or two about it.” She broke up her leading question with a delicate sip from her cup (making sure to lift up her mask just a tad first). “Word gets around, people hear things, and I seem to recall you complaining about his antics a time or two. Or three.” Or seven. Or a lot, really. The guy seemed to get on Evan’s nerves more often than anyone else, and despite all their conversations Susie still couldn’t tell if it was genuine hatred or more of a game between the two of them.

In any case Evan knew Jake longer than just about anyone else in the fog. It was a solid bet that the man would keep up with goings ons concerning him.

Evan was quiet for a moment, swirling the liquid in his cup thoughtfully as she waited. “I know some things,” he admitted after a heavy silence.

Oh boy. This was already starting to reveal itself to be a lengthy process. Her patience would be rewarded, she knew, but for now it was about keeping this ball moving until it could really pick up speed. She tapped neon nails against the ceramic of her cup as she considered her words.

“Hmmm… Why don’t you start at the beginning?” Susie offered, leaning forward with her chin in her palm and a slight smile on her face. “After all, we have a lot to catch up on.”

***

For an extradimensional plane of bloodshed and torment, this place didn’t have a whole lot of modern equipment to work with.

Joey had been looking around through the various realms in the past, trying to find stuff he could use to work on his music or download games onto, but aside from the few exceptions he’d managed to scavenge most places seemed to be stuck in the stone age. Sure, there might be broken down cars or busted air conditioners, but there wasn’t all that much that didn’t feel like camping with the family gone all Friday the 13th.

But there were a couple exceptions that he’d found. The alien planet was one, but it didn’t exactly have what he was looking for. The smart phones some survivors had on their persons still were confusing enough, and as much as it appealed to him Joey wasn’t about to go fucking with alien technology from year 3008 or whatever. Not when he had a particular goal in mind.

The Skurchent’s place, though, now that was a gold mine.

Skurchent (the Legion’s agreed-upon nickname for the Skull Merchant, aka stuck-up wealthy lady with the cool tech) had a whole little base on MacMillan’s property. Whether that was with the guy’s say he didn’t know and frankly didn’t care, but this side of things at least had a lot fewer bear traps littered around. And her gadgets were still recognizable to someone from the 20th century. Any upgrades were still comfortably within the realms of contemporary sci-fi imaginings (or at least the kind of sci-fi that didn’t try to be all avant-gard about it). Intuitive enough that he could figure it out without worrying that they’d do something bizarre like turning his intestines inside-out if he pressed the wrong button, which he definitely couldn’t say for whatever Spaceman Spiff and his robo-killer counterpart were working with. In short, it was perfect… As long as Miss Scissorhands didn’t catch him in the act.

It wasn’t theft, exactly. Joey wasn’t opposed to theft, but he knew well enough that he tended to get the shit end of the stick when it came to slipping up. So no, of course he wasn’t stealing from Skurchent, he was just doing some… research.

The laptop casing came apart in his hands with a satisfying crack as he removed the last of the screws, carefully prying it open like a steamed crab. It wasn’t too different from the HAM radios he’d worked on back in the real world, and for the most part it was pretty easy to figure out how the wires and motherboards worked via trial and error.

The main thing that kept tripping him up, in a manner of speaking, was how… Uncanny it was. In a lot of ways some of these computers reminded him of IBM Thinkpads and PDAs, except instead of the green and black blocky text it was… Well, it was pictures. Living pictures and words and videos that he could only tell were made up of hundreds of itty bitty lights if he pressed his nose right up to the screen and squinted. And the information that fit on it was something else; The computing power of machines that fit in huge silos at NASA seemed able to fit in a disc a quarter of the size of his palm. And that was just the portables. He couldn’t imagine what he might find on the too-flat desktop screens staring at the back of his neck as he worked.

The drones… Man, that was something for him to deal with later. He had to take this shit one puzzle at a time before he overwhelmed himself.

Dissecting the laptop in his hands wasn’t too hard, other than the wonder at how much information could possibly fit in such a tiny space. It was incredible, really. The space was incredibly well utilized. Anything that wasn’t directly going into providing information went to the fans to keep the machine cool and functional.

It was beautiful. And Joey was thrilled to start digging into its guts.

He put his headphones on as he picked up a phillip’s head and a magnifier that had a handy little light attached. One ear blasted bass and drums while the other was uncovered to listen for the buzzing of motors or footsteps. If he was lucky, he wouldn’t be bothered at all until he was long gone.

But then, Joey wasn’t exactly the luckiest guy around.

“What do you think you’re doing here?”

Joey jolted as he spun around, scrambling to put down the tools in his hands before lifting them up in a placating gesture. He hadn’t even gotten properly started yet and he was already in the worst case scenario, because of fucking course.

Skurchent was a lot different up close than from the distance he’d always seen her from. Until now, there was no reason to think there was anything more to her than what could be gathered in quick first impressions. Just a wealthy lady consumed with her tech. Up close, though, he could see the sharpness of her gaze, the coiled nature of her posture. Joey had seen mountain lions and wolves before. He knew what an apex predator looked like.

But then, maybe that’s why she didn’t immediately kill him. As much as they were on an even playing field as killers he wasn’t exactly much of a threat to her. Maybe he was stronger if you squinted, but she had to be at least a couple inches taller than him even without the heels, and as much experience as he had she looked like she had more. A lot more. Not even getting into the fire power…

She was calm for the moment, coiled but not about to strike just yet. She was waiting for him to give her a reason. Maybe he could work with that.

“Sorry to intrude, ma’am,” he said, falling back on the manners his mom drilled into him.“I— Look, I’m not trying to steal anything. I just wanted to check it out, right?”

Her gaze on him held and Joey mentally kicked himself for even suggesting the idea that he could be a thief. Of course the thought had crossed his mind, but he wasn’t going to do something that stupid… Without a proper plan, of course.

“I’m just looking,” he insisted, feeling a little like he was just digging himself into a deeper hole. She was still glaring at him, visible eye narrowed and scanning him. Probably literally. “You’ve got really cool tech, right? I thought— I thought I could learn something from it.”

Whether it was his impulsive honesty or the compliment that did it he wasn’t sure, but she seemed to almost relax. No, not relax. She wasn’t letting her guard down, she was… reevaluating. Jules did the same thing sometimes, usually when a conversation was going the way she wanted it to and she wanted to keep it that way. “As you should,” she finally replied. “I only use the best of the best. If you are going to learn from anybody, you will learn from me.”

She strode towards him with such sudden ferocity that for a moment Joey thought she was going to bring up that wicked blade on her arm and gut him right there and then, but instead she took the half-gutted laptop from the table. “Clumsy work,” she admonished. “These components are fragile. A rip here,” she pointed a manicured nail to a thin strip of aluminum, “or a crack there could break the whole system. You won’t learn anything from a bricked computer.”

Joey blinked as she set the laptop down on the table and got to work with the screwdriver to pull the components apart. For a second he thought about running now that she was distracted, but fuck, when was he going to get another chance like this? “So, what does that—”

Skurchent slapped his hand aside and ignored his resulting glare. “Don’t touch, you don’t know what you’re doing,” she said, pulling out what looked like the motherboard.

Her attitude was quickly grating on him. Why was every adult like this? “I know what I’m doing,” Joey snapped. “I MacGyvered half the shit in the lodge to work! We wouldn’t even have a functioning TV if it weren’t for me!”

“Child’s play,” Skurchent replied, but she actually turned to face him. She waved her hand to the now-emptied computer case. “Put it back together.”

The growing frustration in Joey’s chest evaporated as he processed the demand. “Like… Fix it?”

“You started this mess and you sound confident,” she said. “Prove it. Put it back together.”

Joey’s brow furrowed. “I don’t even know what half this shit does–”

“Then figure it out.” Skurchent stood, expectant, as she stared him down with one piercing eye.

He should’ve called bullshit. Should’ve left. Should’ve figured out another way around this tech that didn’t involve getting bossed around by a stuck-up rich lady. But she was offering him exactly what he wanted and… Well. The best way to learn was by doing, right?

Joey elbowed her to the side with surprising ease as he started puzzling out the laptop parts. It wasn’t a fast process. Skurchent was utterly silent as she watched him put pieces together, try to turn on the laptop, come across a problem and start over, try something different. It was trial and error over and over and over until, finally, the screen finally lit up with a soft chime.

“Acceptable,” she finally said with a huff. “You’ve got potential, I will grant you that.” Before Joey could respond to what he assumed was a blatantly backhanded compliment, she continued. “What are you looking to get from this? I doubt you came here just to break my things.”

He took a deep breath, calming himself down long enough to properly negotiate. “Surveillance. I’m trying to get a system in place for Ormand. Hopefully something more… discrete.”

Something like a smile finally reached Skurchent’s visible eye. “Now that sounds like a worthy challenge. I will help you. On one condition,” she added.

Joey braced himself for whatever she would ask. “Yeah? What’s that?”

He could have sworn he could hear amusement in her voice as she answered. “I want to see the fool you’re intending to spy on.”

Now that he could do. Joey grinned. “Deal.”

***

If there was one lesson Julie internalized about figuring people out, it was that men were stupid.

Well, mostly. There were exceptions to every rule. Joey was practically a genius with tech, even if he had a bad habit of being a bit too trusting of people. Frank, for all his blustering and poor decision-making skills, was almost as shrewd as her mother taught her to be. She noticed it the day she met him, that glint in his eyes behind that goofy, disarming grin and the ne'er-do-well attitude. Sharp, searching eyes. Eyes that told her he was seeing people for what they were just as much as she was.

But in general? Men were stupid. It was all about pride, she reasoned. They didn’t have to fight tooth and nail to be taken seriously. They had respect handed to them on a silver platter. Why question it when a pretty girl flashed a smile and spilled her drink? Why think twice when the town’s rich heiress asked you to do her a teeny little favor? Why assume that the ditsy blonde was anything other than what she showed herself to be?

They made it easy. They always made it easy. Even in the Fog.

Julie wasn’t intimidated by Ghostface. He didn’t even piss her off the way he seemed to enjoy doing to Frank. But she knew a performance when she saw one, knew how to spot a manipulative creep a mile away. Knew to keep her emotions locked tight and shrouded by her blank, expressionless mask.

She’d taken the idea from Myers, actually. Where Ghostface’s mask was exaggerated, theatrical even, Myer’s flat white mask let absolutely nothing through but his cold, black eyes. It was one thing to mask behind a clown’s face. It was quite another to mask behind nothing at all. That was the mask she chose when she began her ghost hunt.

Julie already knew the man she would find under the mask—She’d studied him, after all. The Ghostface killer was one of America’s most prolific and well-documented serial killers of the century. She’d been just as obsessed with him as she had been with the others, but aside from the articles that focused oh so much on suburban fear, he was just the same as the others. Vain, dramatic, violent. Probably would’ve gotten caught eventually, if the Entity hadn’t got him first. They always fucked up eventually, always got too cocky, to comfortable for their own good. Too used to society handing them wins on a silver platter.

That’s just what she was banking on.

“You know, when I started this gig I never expected to have fans.”

Julie started at the sudden voice, turning around to face the silent shade. They were in the middle of the Fog, as far out into the forest as Julie could get without stumbling into a different realm entirely. She figured that would be the best place to find him, after all. The Ghostface never seemed to stay in one place too long.

It was a smart strategy, really. But then, that’s how she was able to notice the migrating writing style in his articles.

“With how popular true crime is? I’m surprised,” Julie clipped back. Her long blonde hair hung to the side of her mask, peeking out from her hood and draping over her flannel to the effect of a carefree girl-next-door aesthetic. “Would’ve expected you to be thrilled, actually. You’re a legend, you know?”

There was a moment, a single moment, of stiffness in the serial killer’s posture. Julie didn’t react to it other than to take note: Something about that struck a nerve. Did it stroke his ego, maybe? Or was he the type to take offense to being compared to others of his caliber? Maybe he saw himself as special, one-of-a-kind. Maybe the reminder that he wasn’t the first to do what he did bothered him.

Or maybe he was just resisting the urge to preen.

“Sure,” he responded after a near imperceptible pause. “Of course I would have fans, especially in this freakshow.” He waved a gloved hand around, gesturing to the general idea of the Fog. “I just wasn’t expecting one of you kids to be so brave about it.”

Backhanded compliments. An attempt to make her feel superior while still placing himself on a level above her. Serial killers were manipulative—They had to be, had to take advantage of that notorious charisma to put their victims at ease and keep everyone else off their trail. Luckily, Julie had more than her fair share of male manipulators in her life. The signs were practically neon.

She could play demure, act like his words did the trick, but he might pick up on that too fast. He’d been watching the Legion for who fucking knows how long. In all likelihood he’d know something was up. So instead, she played up the defense, crossing her arms in front of herself like she was guarded and uneasy.

There was more than one way to act like an easy mark.

“Doesn’t take all that much,” she shot back. “You’re always creeping around somewhere, and I’ve got a knife of my own, right?”

The Ghostface chuckled, putting his hands up in a defensive gesture. “Hey– You got me there! You kids can take care of yourselves. You landed yourselves here, after all. That means you’ve got a body count… Right?”

Open ended question, leaving room for doubt, for plausible deniability. He didn’t think they matched up to him, and in fairness he was right. One poor dumbass in the wrong place at the wrong time did not a serial killer make. But he was trying to turn her own insecurity against her, and that was just it—She wasn’t insecure about body count.

Julie shifted her weight, tilting her head: Her body language was purposefully vague, both implying discomfort and relaxed fascination. “We’ve all got a body count here. I’d say between the four of us we’re in the millions by now, wouldn’t you?”

“That doesn’t count.” Ghostface waved his hand dismissively, but was that a hint of annoyance she detected, or just her own wishful thinking? “They all come back anyway. There’s no terror, you know? No lasting image of a gruesome fate in the heads of anyone who sees the news. There’s no worrying about becoming the next sorry bastard to take a knife to the liver when you know you’ll just come back anyway.”

“Yeah?” Julie could sense the irritation seeping out from his easy-going act. The cracks were forming, she just needed to aim a bit more precisely. “Maybe that was your schtick, but we were soldiers of mayhem. We’re in our element every time they see us coming.”

“Anybody could get startled by a stab-happy teen running right at them,” the Ghostface snapped. “You’ve got no style, no finesse.” His tone was playful, but Julie could hear the subtle growl underneath his words. She felt his anger in the way the peach fuzz on her shoulders stood at attention, the way it always did when her father’s eyes darkened in her direction during a cocktail party.

Men. Their anger was always the same, but that made it easier to work with.

“All this time in the Fog and you kids never learned anything new, did you?” he continued. He shook his head in an exaggerated motion and flipped his knife into his hand. “See this? I can cut down a grown man with one swing. I’ve seen your work. You take stab after stab after stab and the most you manage is a bloody wound. In the same time you chase down one of those little shits, I can have one dead on the ground with my own souvenir to boot. You kids’ve got nothing on me.”

Julie squared her shoulders, taking a more defensive and offended stance. She’d definitely hit a chord with him, and now he was trying to take his power back. “We’ve learned plenty,” she snapped back, tone sharp but calculated. “Like how to keep unwanted pests off our turf.”

Ghostface barked out a laugh. “Is that right?” His demeanor instantly shifted, leaning more predatory as he took a few languid steps to invade her space. She had to tilt her head up to meet his mask’s empty black eyes, but she held her ground all the same. “Pest control—Is that what you call it when your little boyfriend starts sucking face with that bird brain?”

Bingo.

It was a lot to keep up with at once, but Julie was making mental notes. The assumption that she and Frank were still in a relationship—or the implication that that’s how it looked from the outside—The jab at Frank’s feelings for a survivor, the insult directed towards the survivor in question. A multi-pronged attack meant to leave her emotionally unmoored, and maybe that sort of thing would have worked on Frank. But in Julie’s eyes, Ghostface had just showed his hand. Not all of it, certainly. Not enough to see the full picture. But enough to have a solid idea of what they were working with.

Julie kept her emotionless mask fixed on Ghostface, letting the silence hang between them for one… two… three… four seconds. Then she tilted her head in a mocking mirror of the killer. “Is this really about Frank? Or is it about the bird brain?”

Ghostface pulled back with a huff. “Who said it was about either of them?” He turned his mask down towards the blade of his knife, acting as though he was suddenly uninterested with the conversation. “I just think it sends a particular kind of message, you know? Who knows how the other survivors will react to Park getting special treatment…”

Huh… He was still focusing on Jake. He could have gone for the gang’s pride, and Julie had definitely expected him to make some comment about their leader looking soft. Why did he go for Jake?

Growing up, Julie was a little obsessed with sudoku. It started out as a good way to numb her anxiety for a bit, just to turn off her brain and think about pure logic. But pretty soon it became a full blown fixation, to the point where she refused to put down a puzzle until she had completed it in pen.

One thing about Sudoku was that eventually she would eventually hit a point when multiple squares could be one of two numbers, and either option had a domino effect that would solve every other square. The problem was that one number would result in solving the puzzle, and the other would result in a mistake that she would have to essentially start over from. Later she would find out that this situation was well known in Sudoku circles, referred to as a Deadly Pattern.

People were sometimes the same way. She could figure someone out up to a bi-value, two equally possible options that would explain their behavior, but where one was the truth of the situation, the other would lead her into a social deadly pattern, often to the point of ruining her own relationships.

In that moment, Julie couldn’t decide if she was Ghostface’s puzzle or if he was hers, but in either case it was clear they both had something to hide from the other. They both had deadly patterns in play.

Jake or Frank. Ghostface was trying to get to one of them through the other, but which? And why did he even care?

“I don’t really care,” Julie finally said, the bite in her tone only a little put on for show. “He’s just another little punk who’s too comfortable in trials. All I care about is keeping nosy creeps out of our territory.”

“Yeah?” Ghostface sounded like she had just offered him a nice juicy steak. “And what makes you think you can manage that?”

Julie tilted her head the other way. He was taking the bait nicely. “Because I’ve got backup. What’ve you got?”

Ghostface got into her personal space again, striding right up to her with all the silent smoothness of a shadow. He hooked the curved tip of his knife under the chin of her mask, as though threatening to lift it off her face. “You’ll find out, Jules,” he said, his voice honey sweet with an arsenic undertone. “Trust me. What I’ve got planned, I’ll make sure you get a front row seat.”

Julie stood stock still as he pulled away and stalked back into the shadows, her heart racing in her chest.

There was nothing, nothing, as exhilarating as being face to face with a real killer.

***

Frank didn’t handle being alone as well as he wished he did.

Growing up he was never alone as much as he liked. Most of the foster homes he got stuck in had one too many kids living under the same roof, so privacy was basically zilch. Sure, there was the occasional single parent who left him to his own devices, but that isolation was pointed, like a punishment for doing… Something wrong. He always tried to enjoy it, but the feeling that he was alone because he was wrong and not because he chose to be always grated at him.

It wasn’t like he was being punished now, though. All four of them decided this was the best option. He was clearly the one being targeted, so he was the one who needed to stay at the lodge and hold the fort down while the others did recon. Which was a great plan, really. But it didn’t stop him from feeling kind of useless.

He’d spent the past few hours pacing around, making drinks at the bar just to pour them down the drain, tossing his knife at the wall to better his aim, and anything else he could do to keep moving. Like a shark, he’d humored himself. He was like a shark, so he had to keep moving to stay alive.

It wasn’t as helpful as he would like it to be.

Julie was supposedly keeping the creep busy, so at least he didn’t have to be quite as on edge as he was. At least, not for that particular problem. Frank kept jumping at every little sound, checking on every little creak of the old lodge settling in case it was Jake coming around to… Yell at him more? Punch him in the face? Frank would even take a fistfight at this point—Fights had always been good for letting off steam. Instead he was alone, every time reminded that Jake probably wanted nothing to do with him anymore. And more than anything, Frank hated that the idea hurt so much.

He was running himself around in circles, coming up against block after block to actually feeling any better. There was nothing to distract himself with that his brain wouldn’t eventually turn against him, nothing to do that would help the situation any or move anything else forward. He was well and truly stuck in every sense of the word.

Eventually something had to break, and that wasn’t going to happen unless he pulled his own damn self out of it. Hours of driving himself insane hadn’t worked, so maybe… Maybe he did have to leave. He didn’t have to watch over the lodge. Maybe he could go check out Trickster’s place again, start another fight and maybe even win this time. Maybe he could go back to the campfire just to see if anything changed, or if Jake was making out with that stupid fucking—

From somewhere outside, Frank heard a yelp followed by a heavy thud.

He was outside before he could even fully process the sound. Was it one of the Legion? An intruder? Jake? Frank’s sneakers sent up a shower of snow as he skidded to a stop over some powdered ice and stared at…

No. Not this fucking guy.

Frank gripped his knife just a little too tight as Dwight pushed himself to his feet, clearly as alarmed to see Frank as Frank was pissed to see him.

“What the fuck”, Frank barked, “makes you think you can just waltz up in here like you own the place?”

“It’s a mountain! You can’t own— Never mind, god.” Dwight used the sleeve of his hoodie to wipe his lenses before steadying himself upright. “I’m just here to talk, alright? Can you manage that?”

With his mask on Dwight wouldn’t have been able to see the way Frank’s face twisted up with indignant rage, but he hoped the dork would at least be able to feel it radiating off of him. “Give me one damn reason I shouldn’t turn you into a bloody stain on the ground right now.”

That got him good and tense. Frank took a bit too much perverse satisfaction from seeing Dwight seize up like he’d only just realized that he’d walked right into the lion’s den. Unfortunately, it didn’t last. “Jake,” Dwight sputtered out. “I wanna talk about Jake.”

Which was probably the worst thing he could have said in that moment. Frank was on him in seconds, one hand curled into Dwight’s graphic t-shirt with the other pressing the blade of his knife to Dwight’s throat. “Don’t,” he hissed. Frank could feel his throat threatening to close up on him. “Don’t you fucking dare—”.

“He thinks you killed me!” Dwight practically squeaked the words out.

Frank froze. “What?”

“I mean, I thought you did too, at first. He was sure it was you, and I didn’t see who it was, so— So I just kind of assumed he saw you until I realized—” Dwight was stammering, tripping over his tongue to get the words out before Frank could press the blade any closer. “Until I realized that it— It probably wasn’t you, right? I mean you’re not— Not exactly hard to hear coming…” He trailed off, his own hands moving to try and pry Frank’s off of him.

There was something uniquely disarming about Dwight, he’d give the guy that. The panicked blabbering should have just pissed him off further, but as it was he just seemed like such a non-threat. Besides, what the fuck was he talking about?

After a moment’s consideration, Frank let go of the survivor and stepped back. Dwight wheezed, pushing himself to his feet so fast he almost fell right back into the snow. “I think—” he gasped, still catching his breath, “someone’s trying to hurt Jake. And I want to know why.”

Frank set his jaw, looking at this pathetic fuck-up of a survivor. As long as he’d known Dwight the man had been easy prey. Panicky, clumsy, slow, so quick to jump off of whatever he was doing at the slightest provocation. So quick to run away.

And he was here, facing down a killer, because he was worried about Jake.

“I hate you,” Frank said. His voice growled with barely restrained loathing. He didn’t know why. He wished he knew why. But he hated Dwight more than anything right now. And yet… “But you’re not… I think you’re right.”

Whatever Dwight made him feel, he could push it aside. For now there were more important things to deal with.

“Frankieeeee! I’m back!” Frank groaned as Susie bounded up the hill from the surrounding fog-filled forest. She had impeccable timing to catch him in the worst possible moments. “Oh?” she said, coming to a stop as she spotted Dwight. “Am I interrupting something?”

Frank moved his hand under his mouth to rub his face. Breathe. Calm down. Not right now. He turned to Dwight, ignoring his friend for the moment. “You wanna talk? You’re gonna talk to all of us. Come on.”

As much as Dwight looked like a spooked rabbit about the idea, he at least had the good sense to follow Frank and Susie into the Lodge without hassle.

Chapter Text

Things were kind of going to shit lately.

Jake scowled at the gears of the generator in front of him, wondering if this particular machine’s guts had a vendetta against him specifically or if he was just so off his game that he was tripping headlong into careless mistakes. It seemed like every time he made the slightest bit of progress his hand would slip or he would turn something the wrong way or figure out where that hissing noise was coming from about ten seconds too late. It would be easy to blame his slow progress on the Entity’s usual bullshit, but in his gut Jake knew the problem was him.

Everything had been getting worse since he found Dwight’s body in the woods. He’d been clingy, more than he’d ever been, and he could tell that it was starting to get on Dwight’s nerves. Or… at least making his anxiety worse. Jake was so preoccupied with making sure Dwight didn’t get hurt for his sake that he wasn’t focusing on the damn trial, instead taking the hits aimed for his friend and making stupid, avoidable mistakes that could cost them freedom.

And the worst part was Jake knew he was doing it. He wasn’t oblivious to his screw-ups. More than anything Jake wanted to go back to being useful in trials. But it was like there was this constant low-level buzz in his head that was blocking out all his quiet, common-sense thoughts and only letting the loud panic through.

It was a familiar feeling, but familiarity wasn’t always good.

After too long something in the generator finally clicked into place and the light above came on with a thrumming chime. One less generator to fix, one closer to getting the hell out of here. Jake sat back on his heels, trying to take a second to breathe before getting up to run off.

He’d found himself hoping that he would do better if Dwight wasn’t there, but for the first time in a while Dwight wasn’t around and he was still doing worse than ever. All his muscles were tense and jittery, he kept jumping at shadows at the corner of his vision. He even kept hearing his name called out at the edges of his senses in voices he hadn’t heard in years.

Humming, too, actually. Not like the lullaby the Huntress sang in her trials, but an almost imperceptible, mocking hum, like whoever was doing it was having far too much fun and letting it be known. It was familiar enough to set his nerves on edge. Not enough to be sure, but enough for his brain to fill in the missing details.

Not that he’d even seen the killer yet, but they’d landed in one of the larger trial grounds. Even with how little the Trickster cared about stealth, it wasn’t impossible that he was here. And if he was…

The palpitations were the worst. They made it hard to breathe, hard to think, hard to listen. He kept hearing something that would almost resolve into a song and then… Nothing. Kept hearing footsteps that weren’t there, seeing the glint of thrown knives that never landed. Every time he took a few steps in one direction he could swear he felt his heart beating faster and louder. He was working himself up into a panic and he knew he was, but that didn’t make his chest hurt any less.

After the warehouse, every time he’d been in a trial with the Trickster the man had taunted him, quoting his own misery back to him and offering to do much worse, much more creative things to him the next chance he got. To that point Dwight’s buddy system had worked, actually. He was never left alone long enough for the Trickster to make good on any of his threats. But he didn’t have a buddy this time. He was vulnerable.

Jake hated feeling vulnerable.

The first time he’d ever broken a hook Jake didn’t think it would actually work. He was fresh to the Fog, confused, lost, and angry. It was during an especially stressful trial against the Wraith that the feelings of sheer helplessness finally spilled over. Jake had been standing at the base of one of those damn hooks, staring daggers at the rotten wood and rusted metal, and, in a moment of blind, stupid anger, put his full weight into kicking it.

It really shouldn’t have done anything but hurt his foot. He was just pissed off and bitter, not trying to actually accomplish anything. But afterwards he noticed something. There had been a shudder in the horizontal post when he kicked it, one that sent the hook swinging lightly in place.

That small movement was enough to grab his attention. He’d knelt at the base of the hook and examined the mechanism that seemed to hold the whole thing together. Years of stealing parts from his dad’s construction sites really came through then. He was well trained in the art of taking things apart.

In seconds the hook fell heavily into the grass below, and Jake discovered a new way to channel his frustration.

Jake hadn’t earned the nickname of “saboteur” for nothing. When everything else failed him, when things were falling apart and playing fair wasn’t working anymore, Jake started making an absolute nuisance of himself.

Over the next few minutes Jake didn’t hear much of anything at all, voices, humming, or otherwise. Just the rushing of the blood in his ears and the white noise of light rain pattering against the foliage around him. His focus became an iron drill, sending him through the map from hook to hook to break as much as he possibly could.

There was a limit to it. The Entity fixed the hooks within minutes and it was exhausting to keep up, but he really didn’t care. What mattered was that he was doing something other than panicking or hiding. It didn’t even matter that the rain made the metal slippery and hard to work with or made the wood more prone to stabbing itself into his hands…

“Damnit,” Jake hissed, biting his finger to try and force out a painful splinter.

“You should really be more careful.” The blade of a hunting knife pressed against Jake’s throat as a voice behind him spoke, the tone as light and mocking as the hold on the weapon. “I can’t think of a much better way to get tetanus.”

Jake had never experienced such a strong mix of horrified dread and sheer relief. Somehow the fact that a serial killer was currently holding a knife to his throat was being overshadowed by the relief of realizing it wasn’t the one he thought it was.

He stayed perfectly still, staring ahead while he steadied his nerves. “Like the rusty hooks are any better,” he muttered. “If we were gonna get tetanus it would’ve happened by now.”

“Smartass.” The knife didn’t move but Jake could feel some of the tension in his posture loosen. “And here I was being nice, giving you some company.”

“Some company you make.” Of all the killers in the Fog, Ghostface really was one of the more sociable. It was too easy to get into stupid banter with the man, a fact Jake was almost certain was a calculated effort on his part. “Can you get the fuck off of me?”

To his surprise Ghostface actually pulled away, chuckling like he’d just heard a good joke. “You’ve gotten distracted, Jake. What happened to that investigator instinct?”

Jake turned to face the killer, shifting his weight so he would be ready to take off at a moment’s notice. “I still don’t really understand why you care,” he huffed. “You never give me a straight answer. All that reporter stuff is bullshit and we both know it.”

Ghostface slapped his hand to his chest like a scandalized woman clutching her pearls. “You wound me, Jake. I take my career more seriously than anyone I know.”

There was a silent moment of unease that came over Jake as he heard the killer say his name for the first time. The way he said it was so casual, so normal, but somehow the sound of it coming from behind that eerie plastic mask felt almost violating.

But that was probably what he wanted, Jake reasoned. Ghostface wanted him to feel unnerved. Reacting in any way would just give the asshole exactly what he was looking for. So instead Jake flattened his expression, locked everything behind a heavy curtain of neutrality. “Cut the shit. Just tell me why you haven’t stabbed me already.”

“Ah yes, straight to the point,” Ghostface lilted, tapping the sharp end of his blade against Jake’s cheek for emphasis. “See, that’s why I like you. You do still have that investigative drive in there, don’t you?” Before Jake could respond properly he continued. “I care because you really were onto something big. These roles we were given, how malleable are they, really? Can one change to another? These are groundbreaking questions, and all the time we’ve all been here you’re the only one looking into them. So I got curious.”

Ghostface stood up and began pacing in a semicircle around Jake, tapping his knife against the gloved palm of his hand. Jake took the opportunity to stand up, but elected not to run just yet. As much as he couldn’t trust the stalker as far as he could throw him, those questions were still sticking like molasses to the back of his mind. “Curious about what?” he prompted, his eyes following Ghostface’s movements in case he went for the kill.

“What happened to the ones that came before us?”

Jake froze, ice forming in every cavity of his chest. That was the question that had been on his mind since the second he recognized the black fog for what it was, the question he recognized but refused to look at directly.

Ghostface paused his pacing and turned his mask directly towards Jake. “You know what I mean, don’t you Jake. You never thought you were the first to be taken by Miss Entity. You know in your gut that there were others. You just didn’t have proof. Well guess what?” The killer moved into Jake’s personal space, that damn plastic mask inches from his face. “I do.”

That dizzy feeling came back, the one that made the world feel like it was spinning around him, like the ground was seconds from falling away into an endless void. His veins pumped ice furiously through his body, his heart hammering against his ribs. Jake’s voice caught in his throat. “You do?”

The laugh Ghostface came back with was unnerving. It was a low chuckle, one of dark amusement. A sound that never came from anyone with good intentions. “I do, yes. And no, I won’t show it to you now. That would be too easy.” He tilted his head to the side and Jake could have sworn he could see light reflecting off the killer’s eyes within the gaping hollows of the mask. “But I can tell you where to find it. For a price, of course…”

Jake’s mind screamed for him to say no. That it was another trap, another trick. Instead, he replied in a cracking voice, “What… What price?”

The malevolence wasn’t even hidden now. The edge of the blade brushed against Jake’s cheek as he could feel the sickening smile hidden from view. “Just stay out of my way for a few minutes. Ignore the screams, let me do my work. And in return, I’ll send you off with exactly what you need to know. Consider it a favor of sorts. Quid pro quo if you like.” Jake felt his jaw clench as Ghostface lifted his hand to shake. “Do we have a deal?”

Betrayal. Ghostface was asking him to betray the other survivors in the trial for… What, exactly? A lead that might just be another trick? Information that would get him nowhere? The only correct answer here was to spit in the fucker’s face, to tell him to shove his deal right back up his ass where he got it. He wouldn’t do that. He couldn’t. He already wasn’t in great standing with the others, what with the freak-out that exacerbated his already piss-poor social skills. If he did this, if they found out…

“What, you can’t do it on your own?” Jake snapped, hoping the shaking in his voice wasn’t obvious enough to notice. “Losing your touch? Or are you just sick of getting kicked in the head?”

Ghostface raised his hands with a deliberate sigh. “I just figured fair was fair. You can’t expect me to give such juicy leads out for free, can you? Besides, I’d say the price is fairly cheap.” Jake couldn’t help but notice the way the floating straps on the killer's cloak curled around him like a heron's wings. He held out his hand again. “Otherwise I can keep it to myself. I’m very good at keeping secrets, you know.”

The double meaning wasn’t lost on him, but Jake still hesitated. He could find the answers himself. He didn’t need a killer’s word he couldn’t trust for shit. He’d already done his own investigating before, even if sometimes he ended up getting hurt or killed.

Or getting someone else killed.

How long before everyone else had to pay for his own curiosity? Even if he declined he was only getting worse at handling things. Every trial was a new fucking failure. He was dead weight and everyone else had to pick up the slack. But maybe if he could make some progress, maybe if he could get some goddamn answers for once…

His thoughts were interrupted by the memory of the first time he saw that black fog himself. He’d been outside late at night investigating a weird sound he’d heard not a hundred yards from his little cabin. The moon had gone dark and the fog had drifted in from the trees, surrounding him with its malicious intent. The stories those locals had told of their hero vanishing into thin air hit him like a truck as he was swallowed by the same thing that stole his grandfather. He remembered that cavalcade of recognition and confusion when he found himself in the Entity’s realms, the excitement and dread. Remembered the soul-cracking disappointment of realizing that of the four people surrounding that campfire, his grandfather wasn’t among them. That even in hell he still didn’t have answers, wouldn’t ever know what had actually happened that night. That even here, surrounded by people, he was still fundamentally alone.

One trial. Just one trial that he hadn’t been much help in anyway. Maybe he could deal with that weighing on his conscience for now.

Jake grimaced as he lifted his hand to the killer’s and shook.

Chapter Text

Talking to Ghostface was an exercise in patience, and Jake was at the end of it.

The man talked in goddamn riddles. After the trial, once everything was said and done and the killer came to fetch Jake from the basement where he’d hidden out of sight, he gave Jake probably the least useful directions he could have possibly come up with.

”You’re looking for lost things, right? So get lost— Literally! You’ll find your lead eventually.”

If the Entity would have allowed for it Jake could have strangled him on the spot.

It wasn’t that it was bad advice, necessarily. The Entity’s realm worked on dream logic, so use dream logic to get to where you want to go. He’d already been doing that to travel between killer domains, so what was the difference?

The difference was massive, actually. Jake knew how to navigate by instinct. Getting lost in the woods was not something that Jake was particularly good at, and with how much of a snoop he was Ghostface had to have known that. Jake had basically sold out his friends for useless advice. Directions he couldn’t follow.

He was back at square one again, and this time he couldn’t even bring himself to show his face at the campfire to sulk about it.

Despite the tugging ache in his chest, Jake still decided to give it a shot. At least he would get some time to walk in the forest and collect himself before figuring out his next steps.

The forest in the Fog was different to what he remembered of the real world. Memories flitted by carrying the smell of fresh greenery after summer rain, the vibrant pop of color from blooming flowers, the orchestral echo of birds chattering to each other in the trees. By contrast the forest here was dead. Instead of new growth it smelled like slow decay and the dense silence was only occasionally broken by the calls of crows. It felt like the held breath before a storm, when shadows filled more space than light and everything was washed in a desaturating mist.

When he first came here it had been unnerving, but he’d since grown accustomed to it. Jake was pretty good at that, making the unfamiliar into the familiar. Making a lost cause feel like home.

Even as he walked, though, the twinge crawling down his spine and into his stomach wouldn’t go away. Jake crossed his arms so tightly across his chest that his ribs complained from the pressure, but even clenching his jaw so tight he could feel his molars threatening to crack didn’t get rid of the overwhelming dread.

He’d only really felt like this one time before. Right after he left home, right after the explosive argument where his dad disowned him, told him to get the fuck out of his house. At the time it felt so permanent, so irreversible.

In a way, he supposed, it was. That was the last time he’d ever seen his childhood home.

The hugeness of the world can be suffocating sometimes. When Jake walked into the forests of Blood Mountain he didn’t know where the hell he was going or what he was going to do. He’d just had his own two feet, a bag of insufficient supplies, and the terrifying resolve that he would either prove himself worthy of standing on his own truth or die trying. And damn did he almost die trying.

In some ways the forest seemed to shift as Jake walked, his attention focused inwards on his own memories. The claw-like branches of the Fog looked like Georgia oaks on the edges of his vision, the dark, clear sky suddenly roiling into the threat of thunder. It kept him moving forward, a shark caught in a riptide. He needed to stay the course, move with the current, or he would drown.

Time passed in a fugue, twisting around him as his memories interlaced with the forest around him. There was no way to tell what was past or present. It was just him, the trees, and the trail before him—

Trail?

Jake stopped, all at once pulled sharply back into reality (or whatever passed for reality in the Fog). Jake had seen a lot in these forests. He probably knew them better than just about anybody else, with how often he went wandering and exploring just to pass the time.

This was new.

He hadn’t realized it before, but he’d been walking along a path. Not a use-path, like those worn down by animal traffic over the decades, but a human path. One that could only have been made by the footsteps of thousands of journeys back and forth along a fixed route. Normally something like this would be a bad sign, especially in the Fog, and Jake would’ve walked right the hell away. He must have been so deep in his head he started following it by muscle memory alone.

Maybe if it had just been the path itself he could have brushed it off somehow, but he was far enough along it that other things started to pop up. A tree to his left had a painted green mark on it, a shape looking a little like a downwards pointing arrow without the shaft, but looking down revealed nothing at the base of the tree. Squinting to look a few hundred yards further down the trail he could see another, similar mark. As if the way wasn’t clear enough.

Jake furrowed his brow. He’d seen painted markers before, but only ever in the real world. Usually they helped people navigate on trails, or denoted where property started and stopped. But after all his time there, he’d never seen them in the Fog.

That alone set him on edge, but now he wanted to know; Who the hell was making trail markers in the Fog, and why?

As he continued, Jake started seeing more and more oddities. Light posts, for instance.

They were iron from the looks of them, with filigree designs that looked more at home at Crotus Penn than in the middle of the woods. They looked old, too, with each post dangling a gas lamp from its curled end.

Another bad sign, another indication that Jake should probably stop while he was ahead, turn around, and forget about all this. But it was just too weird to leave alone, and there was this persistent creeping feeling in the back of his mind that told him there was something important here.

So he kept going.

After a few more long minutes of the trail becoming slowly more clear and intentional, the sides lined with pebbles of various kinds and the occasional flower he didn’t recognize at all (and very firmly decided he definitely shouldn’t touch), he finally came across what he assumed was the root of it all.

it was a house, or what looked like one anyway. A smallish stone hut stood in the center of a small clearing, its walls and tiled roof nearly completely buried in old creeping vegetation. It looked like one of those places you might see in Chernobyl, or out in the swamps, a place lost to time, reclaimed by nature.

Except that, despite all the clear signs of total abandonment, there was a light on inside.

Jake chewed his lip as he considered his options. Walking up to a random house in the middle of the woods already wasn’t exactly a bright idea even in the real world. Back then he’d risk getting shot or worse, and he’d made sure to stake his own existence off the grid on the assumption that others knew that fact just as well. In the Fog he might not die, necessarily, but the odds of worse happening were a lot higher. Too high.

His hands found his pockets as he glanced around the small alcove and back to the lit window. Sure, he could leave, but… He’d already come this far. And on the off chance Ghostface really wasn’t trying to get him in trouble…

Maybe some denizens of the Fog knew more about this place than he did. Maybe they could help.

Well, he was already about five poor choices deep at this point. What the hell was one more. Jake made his way to the door and inched it open, the heavy wood giving way too easily as it swung silently inward. No lock, no door stop, no loud, betraying creek of hinges. It was just open. Just like that.

He didn’t know what the hell he was expecting to see inside, but this definitely wasn’t it.

The place looked more at home in an old science fiction story than the middle of the forest. The room he entered felt smaller than it should by virtue of the sheer number of wooden bookshelves holding a number of glass vials and odd trinkets. Along the far wall a long table was covered in some kind of old-fashioned alchemy station, the kind he would’ve expected to see in a film adaptation of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, with blown glass tubes spiraling into spheres half filled with cloudy liquid. Nearby a rag was draped over the edge of a basin that might have once had water in it. The table itself was scattered with metal tools and instruments, most of which Jake couldn’t even begin to guess at what they were meant to be used for.

All of which would have been weird enough on its own, if it weren’t for the table in the center of the space that had leather straps attached to it. And was stained with dried blood.

It took a minute for Jake to realize his mouth was hanging open.

Okay. Okay so this was some fucked up mad science lab in the middle of the woods. Jake couldn’t honestly say it was the weirdest thing he’d encountered in the Fog, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t still reeling about it. Was this what Ghostface was trying to get him to find?

After a moment of stillness Jake started inching his way around the operating table, doing his best not to touch it just in case, and made his way towards the bookshelves. Even if this wasn’t the place and Jake had somehow managed to get horrendously lost, he couldn’t help but feel drawn to the contents of this place. He’d seen so damn much of the Fog, but he’d never seen this before.

The books on the shelf were more disorganized than he might expect (or maybe just as much as he would expect, given the state of the place). A few of the spines had titles, mostly anatomy and botany books, but the majority were blank. Jake grabbed a black book at random and looked at the cover, but the only thing on the front was a large embossed letter V.

V… Why was that familiar?

Jake furrowed his brows, hesitating for a moment as he tried to recall the memory, before flipping the book open to a random page.

The contents explained the lack of title, at least. It wasn’t a textbook; It was a journal. The pages were marked in ink, barely legible cursive writing and hand drawn diagrams of all sorts of things Jake had seen in the Fog. One page showed a diagram of a generator, the insides of which definitely didn’t look anything like a real machine would look. It was nonsensical compared to real life generators, and yet it seemed to follow a strange, almost organic internal logic. It definitely tracked with Jake’s personal experience with the things. He flipped to a random page and instead of a machine, it showed a diagram of a painfully familiar flower labeled with the name V. pustula.

Okay so… This was clearly scientific research done in the Fog. Jake put the book back on the shelf and pulled out another at random, flipping again to a random page. This one showed something that looked like the hatch, only… Different. The page showed different iterations of it, all of which were the wrong shape and some of which lacked a locking mechanism or included a ladder on the side. There were notes scribbled to the side, but they were too small and smudged to read properly.

Anxiety began to settle in Jake’s chest for a reason he didn’t understand. There was something connecting all this, something that meant something, but for whatever reason it just wasn’t clicking. He set that journal down to the side as he picked up another, hoping this one would shed more light on what he was finding.

He knew before he opened it that there was something wrong with this journal. The pages stuck together, the ends stained dark with some kind of dried residue, and the book smelled like old carrion. The second he set eyes on the first page he realized why.

Jake had never been a particularly good student in any class, but he remembered enough from biology to know what he was looking at. The hand-inked diagram on the page showed a dissected corpse, the torso cut open and split apart to reveal the bones and viscera lying underneath. Everything—intestines, organs, muscle—was [adjective] labeled in nearly illegible script that was half obscured by staining fluids. The only script he could properly make out was the label and a single description notated below it:

Survivor 12: Nikki
notable features - large pair of wings tattooed on back

Nausea welled up like acid in his chest while Jake processed what exactly it was he was looking at. Yeah, obviously it was a fucking human dissection. That much was clear, even if he couldn’t have guessed just from the operating table behind him. But that was about where it stopped making sense.

Who the hell was Nikki?

Despite his better judgement and the shaking in his hands, Jake started flipping through the rest of the journal. Each page was more of the same, grotesque diagrams stained with viscera depicting people and names he didn’t recognize. Sujan, Dylan, Clyde, Sassy, each with distinguishing features he knew he would have noticed if he had ever seen them.

And the more he looked the more he noticed that something was wrong with each diagram. Organs missing or duplicated, strange cankers and organics growing where they definitely shouldn’t have been. Hell, one diagram, featuring someone named Aizeyu, seemed to have thorny vines and dark flowers growing between their ribs.

After a few more minutes of looking through the horrific imagery and finding nothing that could provide any context to what he was seeing, Jake finally just put the journal down on the table. He could feel his heart jittering in his chest, his jaw clenched unconsciously so hard his molars ached. It shouldn’t have gotten to him that bad. He’d seen worse a hundred times over here. Hell, he’d experienced worse. But seeing it all drawn out so [scientifically], all on people who shouldn’t exist…

He needed context. There had to be something else around here that would give him a better idea of what the fuck he just found.

There were two other rooms branching off of the main one he’d entered into. The first of these, the one closest to the table covered in alchemy instruments, looked a little like something he would expect to find in the Autohaven scrapyard. It was full of metal, broken machines with unknown purposes and spare parts that may or may not have once been part of a generator. It was hard to properly make out exactly what he was looking at, but their were a few tools he recognized as being for repairs or welding.

His mind drifted back to that design of the hatch. Jake glanced back to the main room, back at the bloodstained operating table. There was no fucking way…

Shit. Okay. Jake pulled away from the scraps room, moving to the door on the other side of the lab. Maybe he would find something he could use to piece this all together in there.

What he did find was, really, just as unexpected as much as it made sense. It was a bedroom.

Well, bedroom might have been a bit generous for what he was looking at. There was a bed in there, certainly, but it was shoved into the corner, pushed aside to make room for the other tables and shelves and storage in the room. On one table, one that looked more akin to a writing desk, there were a variety of blueprints and scattered pages scribbled with notes, with a pen and inkwell set off to the side. A closer inspection showed keys of various sizes and shapes, as well as a rolled up bit of parchment that looked a little too leathery for comfort.

Jake looked around the space, eying the journals resting on the shelves and wondering if it was a good idea to look through them. Everything about this place had been getting under his skin. This wasn’t an abandoned shack or hideaway, it was a fucking mad scientist’s lair.

But fuck, he’d gotten this far, hadn’t he? And the longer he hesitated the more likely whoever it was that lived here would come back. As much as death didn’t really scare him anymore, the idea of being the one strapped to that table and dissected was not an appealing one.

Jake walked up to the bookshelf, his eyes trailing over the journals lined up on the wood. There was no way to tell which one he should start with, so once again he picked one out at random.

A cursory glance of the first few pages at least proved that it was more of a personal journal than an observational one, much to his relief. He flipped through the careful cursive pages before landing on one and skimming the page.

—Park—

The second his eyes landed on the familiar name he froze, his blood skittering through his veins like spiders. Jake glanced over the page, frantically looking for context for the name.

—esteemed colleague Park—

What?

Jake flipped back a couple pages until he found the beginning of the entry, setting the spine of the book down on the shelf to mitigate the shaking in his hands, and began to read.

Entry 1004

It is with profound regret that I report that my acquaintance with the Survivalist has been cut short.

I had hoped that our partnership would last longer than this, but it was not to be. Just as well, really; My conviction in my own ability to weather the trials and tribulations of this place should never have been placed so easily on another. I am here of my own free will, after all, even if I have no desire to stay in this awful domain. It is not my right to expect so much of those who are truly imprisoned here.

I should concede that the Survivalist, who I have come to know by the name Park Hyun-woo, was not as such overestimated in my view of him. In fact whereupon I first met the man I was of the belief that someone of his demeanor would not last long at all. He is an older man of a rather jubilant temperament, predisposed to optimism in the face of the dread powers in control of these realms. Previously I was of the belief that those of such lighthearted dispositions were brought in only for that light to be drained away, leaving them a husk of their former selves as their will fell to despair. However, it seems Nikki’s experience was not a fluke as I had originally thought. Rather, it seems that those survivors who believe in freedom most fervently are those that will stand the strongest against the Entity’s machinations. I believed, and still hope it is true, that this could very well be the key to finding a true escape from these realms.

When Park first approached me looking to aid in my research, I believed him to be driven by an icarian humor. Surely I thought he would sail too close to the proverbial sun and find himself plummeting to the Entity’s cloying waters waiting so patiently below. In fact, he showed remarkable aptitude. His title, given to him by the others of the fireside, was well earned. He walked among the mist-darkened forests as though he belonged to them, as though he had been birthed from them. He knew not only how to hear, but to listen, not only how to search, but to find. He provided much of the supplies and offerings the group dearly needed and asked nothing in return other than cooperation and trust.

This, I knew then, was a man with experience. Later he would tell me stories of his time in the world before. This was a man who had given up his own aspirations to help others, to lead them through the darkness and out the other side of a generational war. His optimism, I realized, was not misplaced; It was earned.

Even so, I hesitated to allow his help in business I knew would be far above his capabilities, but still he insisted. He learned of my goals, of my plan to bring a path to freedom, and refused to leave me be until I accepted his assistance. Unfortunately, I relented. That decision will haunt me for many seasons to come.

It started simply enough. While trial grounds were easy enough to map from the edges of an ongoing trial, I knew they must change once the event was complete. I just didn’t know how. Traveling through occupied domains was more dangerous than I was prepared for. In this [way], however, Park was adept. He was a master of treading through enemy territory without being caught, and charting said territory enough to map it out came second nature to him, even in this place of mercurial form. He could help me scout it out, he had said.

Of course I had my reservations and communicated as much to Park, but he assured me that he was more than capable. He reiterated his experience in wars, the likes of which, he insisted, were far beyond my time and comprehension. To his credit I had agreed. I have seen and heard so much in this place and yet the cruelties men are capable of inflicting on one another continues to allude my understanding.

Even now I hold true that had this particular incident not occurred I would have been more than happy to continue our partnership into deeper and more obscure territory. This, I believe, is the fault of my own hubris. For as long as I have known this place I forget that there are horrors within that any mere human could scarcely imagine.

The success of the earlier expeditions served only to quell my concerns. Despite what had happened in the end he truly was a brilliant ranger. The maps he retrieved allowed me to further refine my blueprints and expand my equations, and my greatest sin remains that even now I do not regret what we have done. I am leagues farther in my efforts than I was before we began, and for that I can never fully repay him.

It was these successes, I believe, that ultimately resulted in the final incident. We both had become bold, complacent, overly confident in our own abilities. I had, in my own travels, found a realm that appeared to be unoccupied. At the time I thought myself clever and discerning. I would send my esteemed colleague Park to investigate the realm, rather than explore with undue risk. I had thought myself careful and considerate, and Park, in his endless optimism, agreed in turn. It would be a simple venture, a quick exploration. If we were particularly lucky, in fact, this place could hold a potential key to escape.

How foolish we were. How foolish I was.

I heard third hand what happened to Park during that expedition. He had reformed very suddenly by the fireside, visibly shaking with a distant, hollow look in his eyes. I could not get the complete story from him, but I got enough to understand the outline of it.

The realm had indeed been empty, distinct from the surrounding forests but full of clearings that held nothing but dead grass and faded pathing. With no sign of enemy activity he had explored further, determined to find whatever it was that allowed this realm to exist in relative stability. Before long he had found a small, frail bird lying on the ground, limp and breathing shallowly.

Had I been the one to find it perhaps I would have suspected what it was. No creatures in the realms have young. Every victim drawn into this place is fully adult. I have my own theories: Perhaps the Entity cannot feed properly on fear and pain that has not fully developed its adult intricacies, or perhaps it is intelligent enough to know that the sight of children in a place like this would lead too quickly to runaway despair in its prey. Regardless of the reason, there could not be a true fledgling anywhere in this place.

Park, however, did not have this knowledge. The topic had never come up and so I had never discussed with him the impossibility, or at least the very small likelihood, of anything of the sort he had found. And the Survivalist’s greatest strength was also his greatest weakness: He was altruistic to a fault.

In the same way he unthinkingly endangered himself for the sake of his fellow survivors, Park had unthinkingly picked up what appeared to be a small creature in need of help. He did not think twice when it bit his thumb hard enough to draw blood. He did not notice the creature latching onto the warmth like a leech, blind, searching, and hungry. He did not understand the danger until its size ballooned into that of a true monster, one with razor wings and insatiable hunger. And he most certainly did not return from that realm whole.

I have not seen much of him since then, but what I have seen does not look promising in the slightest. That creature took something from him, of that I am sure. Perhaps it drained him of part of his soul, or perhaps it fed on his relentless optimism. Perhaps he had simply been so shocked by the utter betrayal of his senses that some part of his mind simply broke. In any case, the man I see now is not the one I had known before.

I believe now that I should have stayed true to my gut instinct. My research, as valuable as it is, is dangerous, unpredictable work. I have no way of preparing those who would aid me for the risks involved, even if they hold firm in their belief that their tenacity and will is greater than that which the Entity could possibly take from them. I hope that in breaking off this partnership I have spared Park Hyun-woo from the most deleterious effects of my work. He is an invaluable asset in the gauntlet of trials run by those caught in the Entity’s clutches, and I dread to see the compounding effect of consequences that could result from his removal from the fireside.

May this be a reminder to myself of the essential purpose of my self-imposed isolation. I shall not make the same mistake again.

…

That was it. That was where it ended.

Jake leaned back on the adjacent desk, his head spinning from what he’d just read. Hyun-woo Park. That was his grandfather’s name. His grandfather was here.

So… Where did he go?