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WHAT a terrible day.
Your car slowed to a halt as you pulled into the driveway, using your foot to press the brake pedal. It took a little force, but it soon abided. You grabbed the gear, pulling it down. As it shifts, you hear a plastic ticking. You shifted it to “P”. The engine hissed and whined as it cooled down and rested, probably happy to have a break. Heaven knows you would be.
WOW! Good job! You successfully parked your car and prevented the car accident that might’ve been the last straw in your already miserable day!
Finally, you took the keys out of the ignition and tilted your head back, letting an exhausted, heavy sigh pass your lips. The engine stopped, and so did the other unpleasant noises coming from god-knows-where that you knew you should be concerned about. You’d get it checked out eventually. Money’s tight, and this thing hasn’t kicked the bucket just yet.
It wasn’t the best, nor was it the most reliable, but it tried its best for you. It got you to work and back— sometimes even to the grocery store if you asked nicely. You two had a love-hate relationship, to say the least. Some days it would start, happy to assist you in getting to work on time and causing no problems whatsoever. On other days, it would decide to throw a huge “fuck you!” in your face, sputtering, coughing and whining as you swear it tried to see heaven right then and there just to further inconvenience you. You couldn’t decide whether or not it was spite keeping the car alive, or the gods taking pity on you. Maybe both.
For now, it was just you, the deafening silence, and the air freshener dangling from your rear-view mirror that you desperately needed to replace. It didn’t even smell anymore, and it had long since dried. At least it lived a long and fulfilling life, you supposed.
You closed your eyes, content with sitting just a little while longer. You’ve been on your feet all day, you deserve some rest. The seatbelt felt a little tight against your chest, but it was able to be ignored. Every sensation and noise felt like too much. You took a slow, deep breath in through your nose. You counted to four. Ignoring how suffocating being in such a cramped space felt— almost as if the walls of the car were sinking in on you— you held it in for a few moments. Slowly, you exhaled through your mouth for the same four seconds.
Repeating this, you found yourself to be less overwhelmed. Less like you were about to snap at any moment. More at peace.
You slowly opened your eyes. Your surroundings remained the same. You opened the driver's door, tightening your grip on your keys as you shut it, slightly cringing at the slam. Calm down there. You’re okay. Everything’s okay.
You smile to yourself at the thought of soaking in a hot bubble bath surrounded by scented candles in the dark. Maybe some slow, relaxing music to go with it. Leave your terrible day at the doorstep, there’s no need to bring it home.
You inserted the key into the lock, twisting it to your left. It unlocked for you without a problem. You were just about to open the door when you heard someone call your name. Looking behind you, past the Roundabout, was your elderly neighbours’ house.
Mr. Thomson was a nice guy. Divorced and remarried his fair share of times, he never seemed to run out of stories to tell you. Even if sometimes it was just him going on and on about nothing. But you’d listen. You always did. His wife was a nice lady as well. She made you tons of baked goods. Some you’d eat, some you’d save for leftovers, and others you’d bring to work as a treat for your co-workers.
The old man sat on his lawn chair on the porch. His grandchildren must be visiting him, that thought being confirmed as you saw three little ones playing on the grass. He had a smile on his face, raising a hand to wave at you. Forcing a smile, you waved back at him. The children didn’t seem to notice you, probably too distracted.
The door opened, and you stepped inside your humble abode. You kicked off your shoes, using your heel to close the door, and hung up your jacket. You twisted the lock to the right. Better to stay safe than sorry, your mother always told you. You never know what’s going to happen.
You were so exhausted, you hadn’t even noticed the red and black colour the sky had become.
It hadn’t been long since you, along with a few others, were forsaken. Damned to this eternal hell, cursed to die time and time again— each more brutal and painful than the last. But to you, it felt like forever since you were ripped from your home. The last thing you remember was coming home from work. You didn’t even get the chance to say goodbye to anybody.
You wondered, for a brief moment, if anyone bothered to look for you. If anybody noticed. If anybody cared.
You grabbed the last wire, your grip tighter than you had intended. Carefully, you connected it with its other half. The bar filled completely with a neon green that glowed bright, and you heard the engine buzz.
You let out a satisfied sigh, standing up and checking your surroundings. There was nobody around you, and not a sound could be heard. As relieved as you were to know that you weren’t anywhere near the killer, you were even more worried about where they might be. The things you can’t see often scare you the most, or whatever. On the bright side, this wasn’t your first round at the hotel…
Was it “Shedletsky” again? Maybe “007n7”? You haven’t met a lot, but those were the ones that you heard the most about from the survivors that came before you. They also told you that there were more. Some were more dangerous than others. Some would end you quickly and painlessly, while others preferred to draw it out. The thought itself made you shudder.
You were originally with a man named Colton at the start of the round, though you two went your separate ways not long after. A stupid move, in retrospect. The Western cowboy was probably halfway across the map by now, most likely searching for other survivors. Though he had a revolver on him at all times, so you trusted his ability to keep himself protected and be a reliable sentinel for others.
You quickly decided staying here wouldn’t be the wisest decision, you were basically serving yourself on a silver platter for the killer just standing there. So you walked out of the closet, glancing around the room one last time. The window was still blocked by a wall of bricks. The bed was made neatly, the white sheets and pillowcases somehow not dirty, and the red blanket looked unbelievably soft. Oh, how you wish you could rest…
The tall lamp remained off, and the only other door in the room was closed, boarded off with two thick wooden planks. Even if you did manage to get them off, the door didn’t look like it even had a handle. In fact, the door itself seemed affixed to the wall almost like a decoration, or like it was one with the wallpaper. Beside it was a large wooden table with nothing on it.
You froze after you heard thumping from the hallway. They creaked on the wooden floorboards, the sound echoing throughout the hallway. They were getting louder the closer they approached. Not exactly heavy, but they carried some weight.
Oh god. Was that the killer? Or one of your friends? Do you really want to take your chances?
Maybe you didn’t need to think too hard about it. You began to hear a faint song. It didn’t sound familiar by any means. There wasn’t a way out of this room without being in their direct line of sight. And you weren’t sure you wanted to risk anything.
So you made a spur-of-the-moment decision. You quickly hid in the same closet as the generator, using the half-wall to cover you so you weren’t visible. Not unless they looked inside. Which they wouldn’t, right?
You really need to stop freaking yourself out.
You held your breath as somebody walked in. He had a large pizza cutter strapped to his back, and the spikes on the edge of the blade looked sharp and bloody. The handle was light gray and seemed to be almost as tall as he was. How heavy was that thing anyways?
Please don’t notice me… You thought to yourself. Just leave already.
He held a large knife in his hands, the blade splattered with blood as well. He gripped it tightly, looking around the room, then back towards the exit. His eyes glanced at the generator, and then at you. You froze like a deer caught in headlights.
He was a well-built man. He was average when it came to his height, though he was a little taller than you. His messy yellow hair, which perfectly matched the tone of his skin, was tied back in a low, lazy ponytail. He wore a buttoned-up red uniform shirt with the sleeves rolled up above his elbow, dark gray baggy pants, dark uniform shoes that matched, a black bandana, and a red work visor that read ROBLOX. On top of those, he wore large black gloves and a white apron, which was very noticeably covered in copious amounts of blood.
You two stared at each other for a few agonizing moments, neither of you moving. The silence was unbearably loud, and the air felt suffocating. His expression was unreadable as he practically stared into your soul. You could hear the faint sounds of your breath as you convinced yourself to get a grip.
…You immediately got out of the closet and sprinted out of the room, only for him to follow behind. His footsteps were loud as he was quick to catch up to you. You ran across the hallway, into a very similar bedroom. Though this time, the table was a decorative skull. The table seemed too heavy to kick, so it would be useless trying to slow him down with that. There was an open doorway on the far side of the room, and you wasted no time in heading that direction.
You can’t let him catch you. If he catches you, you’re dead for sure. There wasn’t anyone with you, nobody could help you. You have never been more thankful for picking up jogging.
Running through the next room and taking a sharp turn, you could feel yourself growing exhausted. But you couldn’t afford to take a break. Not with him right on your tail. You refused to look behind you for that very reason.
You found yourself in a very large room, the carpet a fun pattern, and tall, yellow pillars scattered throughout the room. And many little walls. Maybe if you were lucky, you could trick him.
So you tried. You attempted to juke him out by running around a yellow wall, the poster attached reading FUN RULES. As you were turning, you felt as he grabbed a fistful of your hair, yanking you back towards him. You gasped, glaring and attempting to elbow his stomach. Tears pricked your eyes. It can’t end here. It won’t.
He glared at you as well, gritting his teeth as he slammed your face against the wall, throwing you carelessly to the ground afterwards. You wiped your nose with the back of your hand, cringing at the crimson liquid smudged. With you now down on your back, he raised the knife, the tip aimed down, pointed at your torso. You quickly rolled out of the way as he slammed the blade into the ground where you previously were. Using your time preciously, you crawled away from him, got up, and delivered a swift punch to his face.
Self-defense at its finest.
He grunted, hissing as he stepped back and held his nose. He soon recovered, taking the pizza cutter from his back, and swung at you. You let out a yell, ducking before it could hit you. The swing of the cutter was heavy, aimed perfectly at where you once were.
The other survivors were nowhere to be seen. It wasn’t impossible that a good chunk of them were dead. For all you know, you and one other person could be the last few remaining. You didn’t have any chance to check the timer, though. Not when you’re fighting the killer.
Most would call you stupid; a select few would applaud you for your bravery. But it was too late to run. You weren’t even fit to be fighting close and personal like this; that was the sentinel's job. But desperate times call for desperate measures.
You delivered another swift punch to the killer’s face, and he returned the gesture with a quick slash to your torso. You screamed, the blood seeping through your clothes. The pain was unbearable. Though somehow you still had the adrenaline you needed to keep going.
You couldn’t run away now. Not while you’re injured like this. You won’t give up. You swung at him again, but it was in vain. He grabbed your wrist, twisting it and kicking you away. You clenched your teeth, using your other hand to cover the fresh wound.
Thin layers of sweat covered both of you. Your own breaths were quick and ragged as you began to struggle to keep up with the violent dance unfolding between you two. With every strike you deliver, he replies with just the same. He seemed to be losing his patience, if he even had any. With every kick, every slash, every punch, you felt yourself grow tired. Yet he kept going.
Forgiveness was a privilege. He’s not playing your games any longer.
As the fight progressed, you began to fear what would come next. With each hit he landed on you, each hit you landed on him, the end was approaching. Each tear through your soft flesh and each new bruise that formed on him. You two gave it your all. He had the upper hand, undoubtedly, but you had spirit. Determination.
In the end, this was futile. This meant nothing. A few rounds more, and you’d see him again. Yet you’re fighting him like you have everything to lose.
He’d be lying if he said he didn’t admire that.
You winced as he grabbed a fistful of your hair, his other hand wrapped tight around your throat as his pizza cutter lay abandoned on the ground. His expression was one of anger and irritation. He towered above you. You glared back at him. Sweat coated his face, and his eyes were focused solely on you. You were bloodied. Weakened. You could’ve not bothered to fight. You could’ve run and prayed to the gods that you didn’t die. But you had to make this difficult for both of you.
Without hesitation, he kneed you in the stomach, threw you to the ground, and picked up the pizza cutter for the final time. You looked half dead, and you felt that way, too. The same could be said for him. He didn’t look any better. You gave a slight smile, knowing your efforts weren’t totally in vain. He was limping a bit. Congratulations!
But your adrenaline was leaving you, and blood loss was greeting you, further proven by that warm, red liquid that stained the carpet, draining out of you more by the second. But you didn’t give up. Even to your death, you’d remain fighting. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing you surrender.
You wouldn’t get the chance as he raised the weapon, offering you one final glance as he struck.
It hurt.
A lot.
Your breathing slowed down, and your head felt cold. Blood trickled down your forehead, decorating the blade in thick layers. Your eyes began to close. You were overcome with exhaustion.
This wasn’t the last time you two would meet. You both knew that well.
But you weren’t alone. Even when you were dying, he remained close. You couldn’t tell why.
It wasn’t long before your breathing stopped fully, your vision went dark, and you died.
You sat up, cringing at the headache you now had. You couldn’t decide which hurt more. The wooden floors of the main cabin felt uncomfortable beneath you.
Caleb and his twin sister Dakota were at the dining table, a deck of playing cards beside them.
Despite Caleb’s sometimes insufferable nature, he is a pretty decent guy. He always cracks jokes in stressful moments, and was actually a part of a garage band prior to being sent here. Dakota is the more mature and “responsible” of the two. She had a part-time job as a barista before all this. She was going to college to study architecture.
Isabella was on the couch. She had a tattered journal that she’d write in all the time, detailing… something. You weren’t sure. Something crazy about an entity watching. She seemed oddly fascinated. Almost fixated. Colton and Casey weren’t anywhere in the main area, so you could only assume they were the last survivors.
“Hey, you’re back!” Caleb smiled, turning over in his chair to look at you. He leaned back, which was met with Dakota flicking his upper arm. He winced, shooting her an annoyed look as he sat properly.
“…Yeah.” You replied. “I fought for my life, thank you.”
Caleb flipped a card over at the same time as Dakota, and she took both of them. “Honestly,” Caleb started. “I can’t even blame you for going down. He was a tough dude. His uniform seemed familiar, though, with the colours.” He remarked.
“Builder Brothers. You know, that pizza place?” Dakota chimed in.
“Builder Brother’s Pizza? Dude, I loved that place!” Caleb enthused with a grin, leaning back on the chair once more. “Heard it burnt down, though.. which sucks. Their sausage pizzas were amazing.”
“Of course you’d like the sausage.”
Dakota snickered at her joke while Caleb rolled his eyes. “I’m going to choose to ignore that joke.”
Dakota smiled and rolled her eyes. “Come on, we’re just messing with you. Seriously, though, he must’ve been an employee or something. No clue how he ended up here.”
“The same way we all did?” Isabella proposed, taking a brief break from her journal. “Or maybe he was just... always here? Since the very start? We already know we weren’t the first to come here, maybe the people before us had to deal with these guys, too.”
You glanced at her, and she looked back. “It’s possible, no? We’ve found tons of evidence that could prove this, have we not?”
As the group continued to talk, you found yourself thinking about him. You sighed, looking towards your friends.
“…I think I’m going to go back to my cabin. That round was more than enough for me.” You said, walking towards the door. “Oh, yeah, that’s cool. Do you need anything?” Caleb asked. You shook your head. “I should be fine. Thank you.” You replied. He nodded.
You stepped outside into the cold. The dirt crunched beneath your feet as you made your way to your cabin.
You’d use that death as a lesson for next time.
The door to your cabin opened with a creak, and you closed it behind you. You’d deal with this—with him another day. For now, you’d sleep.