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Chapter Text

Microphone’s footsteps crunched softly against the forest’s dirt path, each step slow and hesitant, as if the ground itself might give way beneath her.

Twilight had begun to settle in, staining the sky with hues of lavender and tangerine. She clutched her right arm tightly, fingers digging into her arm like it was the only thing keeping her grounded. 

The rustling of the leaves in the breeze barely registered as she made her way deeper, her breath shallow and uneven. A sharp turn to the left took her through a thick set of bushes, the branches clawed at her arms like nature itself was trying to hold her back.

She emerged into the clearing and froze. There, sitting on a weathered tree stump, was Taco—her silhouette framed by the fading orange glow of the setting sun. The warm light should have softened her features, but instead, it cast eerie shadows across her face. Her eyes shimmered with a strange intensity, a soft but unsettling light flickering behind them. She looked almost... serene. Too serene.

Taco didn't look up immediately. She was holding a porcelain teacup delicately, like it might break at the slightest wrong move. Her legs were crossed, posture relaxed, almost inviting.

Microphone brushed the leaves off her body, her fingers trembling slightly. She stepped into the clearing with caution, then crossed her arms tightly. "Sooo... why did you want me to come here?"

Taco finally looked at her. Her gaze was steady and unreadable.

"I was just wondering how you've been after...well... the elimination," she said softly, her voice sweetly smooth. The way she said it, like it was just a casual check-in, immediately raised every red flag in Microphone's mind.

"I've been fine. Bye." Microphone's reply was curt and dry. She pivoted on her heel, turning away, eager to leave this strange encounter behind.

"W-Wait! Hold on!" Taco's voice cracked like glass, suddenly desperate. She leapt off the stump, the teacup slipping from her fingers and shattering on the forest floor with a sharp, echoing clink . She darted in front of Microphone, arms outstretched to block her path. "Let me speak!"

Her voice dropped to something quieter, something fragile. "Please."

That stopped Microphone. Just for a moment.

She stared at Taco, squinting slightly. The smug confidence that usually clung to Taco like a second skin was gone. In its place was something... smaller. Meeker. And maybe that's what bothered her the most.

"...Fine," she muttered, jaw tight. "Talk."

Taco exhaled, long and slow. Her fingers twitched at her sides like she was holding back a thousand words and trying to choose just the right ones. "After you left... I was just... less active. Stayed here most days. Thinking. Watching the trees shift. Kinda peaceful," she chuckled weakly, but there was a hollowness behind it. "But mostly just... pointless."

Microphone said nothing. She could feel the tension rising again in her chest, pressing against her ribs. Her eyes flicked toward the broken teacup, its shards glinting in the dying sunlight.

Taco cleared her throat. "I was going to ask for a favor..."

There it is.

Microphone's eyes narrowed, her shoulders tensing. "And what is this 'favor'?"

Taco's expression changed. The brief flash of vulnerability vanished, replaced with a practiced calm. She reached into her shell and pulled out a small device—a temporary paralyzer. The moment she flicked it on, a faint electric hum filled the air. It was quiet, but it felt loud in the stillness of the clearing.

A sinister grin spread across her face. "Simple, really."

Microphone took a step back, heart skipping. "Oh, no no no. NO . I'm not about to KILL someone for you, Taco. Again ."

Taco's grin faltered, her lips pressing into a thin line. "Fine then," she said, voice cool now, the warmth from earlier drained away like blood from a wound. "But trust me, you won't like the outcome of turning me down."

The words hung in the air like smoke.

A cold shiver slithered down Microphone's spine. "Is that a threat?"

Taco didn't answer.

"I should've never come here, I knew you hadn't changed." Microphone snapped. Her voice cracked with emotion as she spun around and stormed off, each footfall echoing across the forest.

Stupid. Her mind hissed the word at her over and over. Why would I even think she had learned anything? She gritted her teeth, fists clenched at her sides.

By the time she realized where her legs had taken her, she was already standing in front of the familiar building—Hotel OJ. The warm yellow light glowing through the windows felt like a safe harbor after a storm.

The door creaked open as she stepped inside.

Soap was sprawled across the couch, a controller in hand, deep in a round of Spectre Spotters with Pickle. The TV's glow illuminated their faces.

Soap turned to look and immediately lit up. "Mic!"

"Hey, Soap." Microphone tried to smile, but it was frayed at the edges. Her voice was too quiet.

Soap blinked, then jumped up, nearly dropping the controller as she rushed over to hug her. "You've been gone for hours! We thought you got lost or something."

"I... needed air." Microphone said vaguely, hoping it would be enough.

Soap pulled away slightly, still holding her hands. "You don't look too good. Are you alright?"

Microphone forced a laugh, though it sounded more like a breath catching in her throat. "Yeah. The forest wasn't as quiet as I thought it'd be."

Soap gave her a long look, clearly unconvinced. She dropped her hands, placed them firmly on her hips, and raised an eyebrow. "Uh-huh. Come on. You're going to bed."

"What? No, I—"

"Nope." Soap didn't wait for her to finish. She gently grabbed her arm and tugged her toward the stairs. "No arguing. You're pale, shaking, and clearly upset. Doctor Soap says it's lights out."

As they passed the hallway, Nickel shuffled by, his eyes half-closed. "Mmph... s'late..." he mumbled, barely glancing up.

Soap gave him a nod and ushered Microphone into their room.

"I'm fine, Soap, I really am—"

"Bed."

Before she could object again, Soap pushed her lightly onto the mattress and tugged the blankets up to her chin. Her voice was quiet but firm. "Please just rest, you look terrible."

The room dimmed as she turned off the light. "Good night."

The door clicked shut behind her.

Microphone lay still, staring at the ceiling in the dark. Her body was tired, but her mind buzzed like a beehive. She waited until the silence was certain.

Then she turned on her nightstand lamp and slowly pulled a small, light blue book from the drawer. The words "Mic's Diary" were scrawled on the cover in purple marker. She stared at it for a long time before opening it to a fresh page.

Dear Mic's Diary,

Tonight, Taco sent me a letter to meet her in the forest. She said she wanted to talk.

But she asked for a favor... one that made my blood boil once again.
She wanted me to hurt someone. Maybe worse.

I should've left the second I saw her face. But I stayed. I don't know why.
Maybe I thought there'd be something... real behind it. A reason.

There wasn't.

She clicked the pen a few times. The sound was sharp and rhythmic.

I'm scared she's planning something. She always is.

But maybe I overreacted. Maybe I'm being paranoid.

What if she didn't mean it the way I thought?

She stared at the last sentence for a while. Her pen hovered over the page like she might cross it out.

Instead, she closed the book with a soft thud and slid it back into the drawer.

The lamp flicked off. Darkness returned.

She lay on her back, eyes wide open, listening to the soft ticking of the hallway clock outside the room. Her thoughts spun like a storm she couldn't escape.

What was she really after?

She didn't want to know the answer. But she had the sinking feeling it was coming anyway.

With a final sigh, she pulled the blanket over her head.

Sleep would creep in eventually.

Chapter Text

"Hello?" Microphone's voice cracked as it pierced the silence, though even as the word left her lips, it felt swallowed by the air around her. Nothing echoed. Nothing stirred. She wasn't sure if it was a dream... or a nightmare. Either way, she knew she wasn't awake.

There was no sky. No ground. Just black. A void stretched endlessly in every direction. Chilling, silent, and so still it made her chest ache.

Her bare feet brushed against something solid, though it gave slightly beneath her weight. Each step was hesitant, like walking on thin ice in the dark. The air was thick—uncomfortably warm and metallic, with a copper tang that burned in her nose and settled on her tongue. She took another step-

Something was wrong.

Her foot landed with a sickening slosh.

She froze.

A cold, sticky sensation clung to her ankle. The next step sank deeper. A low gasp escaped her lips as she looked down, her breath hitching in her throat.

Blood.

Thick, red, endless blood. It bubbled gently as it oozed around her legs, lapping at her skin like something alive. Panicked, she slipped, sinking deeper—shin, knee, thigh—until she was waist-deep in the churning red sea.

"No—no no no—" she stammered, her chest tightening. Her limbs thrashed in the viscous liquid, but it pulled her in like tar, heavy and cold. Her heart pounded, each beat louder than the last, until it echoed in her ears like war drums.

This isn't real. It's not real. It's not—

But then the pain hit.

White-hot agony, slicing through her chest. She screamed—or tried to—but the sound came out warbled, almost like she was being strangled.

She collapsed, her body folding into the blood as it swallowed her whole. It rose to her torso, her shoulders, lapped against her throat—

And then...

A light.

Tiny. Fragile. Flickering in the far distance like a candle on the verge of being snuffed out. A whisper of warmth in an otherwise freezing world.

She moved toward it, dragging herself inch by inch through the sludge. Her arms shook. Her nails scraped the surface below, leaving trails of red behind her. Each breath burned. Each motion was agony.

Still, she pushed forward.

The light grew, casting a faint glow across the crimson pool. Her lips twitched into a grin—distorted and shaky—as her fingers stretched toward it.

And then her hand hit something solid.

Warm.

"Soap?" she croaked.

Kneeling there in the light, Soap reached for her. Her face was calm—concerned, but kind. Her eyes locked with Microphone's, anchoring her to something real. Something safe.

Relief surged through Microphone's veins like oxygen.

"I'm here—" she gasped, her voice raw. She clutched at Soap's hand like it was the only thing keeping her afloat.

But then...

Soap's eyes widened.

A dark line tore itself across her stomach.

A slow, agonizing rip, blood blooming through her plastic body like a flower unfolding. Her mouth opened in a silent gasp as more seeped into the pool, thickening it.

"No," Microphone whispered. "No no no—what's happening?!"

Soap's grip faltered.

Her body lurched.

The blood rose again.

Soap's hand slipped from Microphone's as the tide surged between them, swallowing her inch by inch. Microphone reached out, desperate, fingers grazing the air.

"Don't go—don't— Soap! "

But her voice vanished into the void. Her scream died in her throat.

The warmth drained from her limbs. Her vision blurred as the blood surged over her head. She clawed at nothing, her chest heaving as her lungs filled with thick crimson silence.

And then everything was gone.

The light.

The pain.

Just black.

Silent, choking black.

Chapter Text

Microphone jolted awake with a strangled gasp, her heart clawing at her ribs. The air in her room felt thick, suffocating, like she’d inhaled tar. She clutched at her chest, trying to calm the storm surging inside her, but her hands were slick with sweat.

Her pillow was soaked. Her sheets tangled around her legs like restraints. And her cheeks—her cheeks were wet.

She didn’t remember crying.

"Soap…" The name escaped her lips in a cracked whisper, so soft it barely disturbed the air.

Her eyes darted to the other bed across the room, but the silhouette she hoped to see wasn’t there.

Empty.

A hollow ache sank into her gut.

“No, no, she probably just got up early,” Mic muttered to herself. “She does that sometimes. Right? Maybe she's just doing her daily cleaning of the hotel.”

But her voice was shaking. Her fingers dug into the edge of her mattress.

She stayed still for a moment, listening.

Nothing.

No gentle humming from the other side of the room. No footsteps. Not even the creak of the floorboards Soap always stepped on when sneaking back in after long nights of games.

The silence was too loud.

Mic shoved the blankets off and swung her legs to the floor, standing too fast. The blood rushed from her head. Her knees nearly gave out.

“Just a dream,” she muttered under her breath. “Just a dream. Just a dream. Just a—” She stumbled to the mirror and caught her reflection.

She was pale. Shaken. Red-eyed. Like someone who’d seen something real.

She gripped the sink, knuckles white. “It wasn’t real. It wasn’t real.”

But she could still feel the blood rising around her. Still taste it in the back of her throat.

The motionless body of her friend.

“God—” Microphone covered her mouth, trying not to gag.

She splashed cold water on her face. Once. Twice. Again. Let it sting her skin until she could no longer feel the heat of the dream.

After a moment, she dried her face and stared at the mirror again. “You're fine. Pull it together. Go find her and tell her she has awful timing for morning routines.”

But her laugh was hollow.

She hesitated at the door. Her hand hovered over the handle. If I open this, she thought, I don’t know what I’ll find.

The doorknob was cold. Her fingers closed around it anyway.

The lobby was alive with early morning motion. Pop music played softly from someone’s phone. A kettle whistled faintly. Voices, laughter, casual normalcy.

Mic’s heart didn’t slow.

As she entered, everyone turned. It wasn’t unusual for her to look a bit disheveled, but today was different. She looked wrecked.

“Mic?” Suitcase tilted her head. “You okay?”

Mic scanned the room.

No sign of her.

Her jaw clenched. “Anyone seen Soap?”

A few confused glances exchanged.

“She’s not upstairs?” Knife asked, brow raised.

“No.” Her voice was sharper than intended.

Pickle, controller in hand, shrugged. “She was there last night when I left. Maybe she’s just out front?”

“She didn’t come back to bed.”

The room stilled.

Yin-Yang paused mid-bite of cereal. “Actually... I think we saw her go outside late last night.”

Mic turned sharply. “What?”

Yin blinked. “Yang had a pudding craving—don’t ask—so we passed through the lobby, and I think Soap was heading out. She wasn’t alone.”

Mic’s blood turned to ice.

“Who was with her?”

Yin looked down at his spoon. “Didn’t get a good look. It was too dark.”

A heavy silence followed.

Mic didn’t say anything. Just turned and walked away.

Knife watched this interaction with a confused yet worried look as his gaze traveled with Mic as she went back upstairs.

Later that morning, Microphone sat at the edge of her bed, curled in on herself. She had thought about going to see if Soap was outside but never got the chance, due to the already confused crowd downstairs.

She rocked slightly. Slow. Methodical.

It wasn’t real. Just a nightmare. You’re freaking out for no reason.

But her nails still had blood beneath them, either from her dream....or from how hard she was gripping her arm last night.

Her mind was just a broken loop.

Chapter Text

The sun had barely climbed over the horizon when Microphone stepped out of the hotel, the morning air heavy on her shoulders. It should’ve been crisp, clean, but instead it felt like fog wrapped around her lungs.

The nightmare clung to her skin like damp clothes. Every time she blinked, she saw her . Soap. Slumped, bleeding, and then, gone.

No. No, she’s out there. Alive. You’ll find her.

She had to.

She gripped her arms tighter, head bowed as she walked toward the woods. The gravel crunched beneath her steps, too loud against the quiet whistling of trees. Some of the other contestants had watched her leave, but had not followed.

Good.

This wasn’t a group effort.

This was personal.

The forest greeted her with silence, save for the occasional rustle of birds or distant animal movement. Trees stood tall and watching, their shadows long and accusing.

She retraced the steps she'd taken a thousand times with Soap. With Taco . With everyone she used to care about.

Her hands twitched at her sides. Every nerve felt coiled. Hyperaware.

A few scattered footprints near the trailhead caught her eye—two sets. One heavier. One light and even.

Soap.

Please.

She followed them like a trail of breadcrumbs, weaving between twisted roots and low branches. The deeper she went, the thicker the silence became. Even the birds stopped singing.

Then she saw it.

A patch of paper.

Bright pink. Caught on a thorn bush.

Soap’s.

Mic snatched it, heart leaping into her throat. It was messed up at the edges, as if pulled off in a struggle.

“No, no, no…” she whispered.

And then— laughter.

Sharp, mocking, familiar laughter.

Her body froze.

That sound had been haunting her for weeks now.

A few paces ahead, past the bramble and brush, stood Taco.

Poised. Calm. That stupid smug expression carved across her face like it had never left.

“Well well,” Taco purred, “Took you long enough.”

Mic's breath left her lungs all at once, like she’d been sucker-punched in the gut.

“What?” she spat. “You knew I’d come out here?”

Taco tilted her head, arms loosely folded behind her back. “Of course I did. You’re predictable. Emotional. Desperate. Practically built to chase ghosts.”

Mic’s hands clenched into fists. “Where is she?”

Taco arched a brow. “Who?”

“Don’t play dumb.” Her voice cracked. “ Soap. Where is she?”

Taco offered a glimmer of a smile. “Hmm. Well, that is the question, isn’t it?”

The weight of her words, the teasing edge, it snapped something deep inside Mic’s chest.

“Oh, you think this is funny?” she barked, stepping forward. “You think it’s all just one big joke?”

Taco didn’t flinch. “I think your panic is amusing. Yes.”

Mic stormed right up to her, inches from her face. “I swear to god , if you touched her—if you hurt her—”

Taco sighed, like she was bored already. “You know, I thought you'd be smarter than this. But you're still the same. All noise, no plan. So easy to prod.”

“SHUT UP!” Microphone screamed. Her hand shot out and shoved Taco backward—hard.

Taco stumbled but didn’t fall. She just brushed herself off with mock patience. “Touchy.”

“I saw her!” Mic shouted, voice raw. “In my dream, she was bleeding , dying, alone! And now she’s gone, and you’re here acting like this is some twisted playdate!”

Taco’s grin returned. Wider. Crueler.

“So it’s already starting,” she mused.

Mic’s breath hitched. “What…?”

“The dreams,” Taco said simply. “The cracks in your head. The way things stop making sense. It’s cute that you think it’s just grief. But this? This is bigger than that.”

Mic stared at her, throat dry. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Oh Mic…” Taco took a slow step forward, her voice dropping to a near whisper. “You think you're losing your mind because of Soap. But this rot in your brain? It started long before she disappeared.”

“Stop. Talking.”

“You think you're unraveling now? Just wait. This is only the prelude. I gave you a gift, you know. A chance to see what's real underneath all this noise.”

“I said—” Her voice cracked again. “SHUT UP!!”

Taco leaned in, lips near her ear. “Why are you really out here, Mic?”

Microphone’s fists trembled.

“I SAID—!!”

She struck.

Fist to face.

Taco reeled back as the punch landed, stumbling against a tree. Her expression didn’t waver—if anything, her smirk grew.

“Well. That answers that.”

Mic stood there, chest heaving, eyes wide. Her whole arm shook. “Don’t. Don’t mess with me.”

“You already are messed up,” Taco murmured, eyes glittering. “I just nudged the pieces.”

Silence.

Only the wind now.

Mic staggered back a step, suddenly exhausted. The adrenaline drained all at once. Her hands dropped to her sides.

Taco straightened her bowtie again, completely unfazed. “I think you’ll like what comes next.”

“I’m not playing your game,” Mic growled, voice hoarse.

Taco turned, stepping into the shadows of the woods with a wave of her hand. “Oh, but you already are.”

And then—she was gone.

Mic stood in the clearing alone.

Her fists still ached.

The paper was still in her pocket.

And Soap was still missing.

She fell to her knees in the dirt, head bowed, and screamed—wordless, broken screams.

It echoed through the forest.

But there was no answer.

Chapter Text

The forest fell quiet after her scream.

No birds. No rustling. Just the wind curling around the trees like it was trying not to be noticed.

Microphone knelt there, fists planted in the dirt, sweat cooling on her back. Her body trembled from head to toe—not from fear, not anymore, but from the sheer magnitude of everything pressing down on her.

She forced herself to stand.

Keep moving. Don’t stop. If she’s out here… if she’s still alive—

She didn’t finish the thought.

Couldn’t.

Her boots thudded softly against the earth as she kept going, brushing past branches that clawed at her clothes. 

She followed the trail Taco had emerged from, her instincts sharp now, untrusting. Every shadow looked wrong. Every tree too still.

Then she saw it.

A small wooden shack. The wood that made it up was rotting and its roof sagged, it looked like it’s seen better days. What threw Mic off however, was the odor that emanated from it, a mix of flowers and infection.

“No,” she whispered. “No, please—”

She ran to it.

The door groaned open with a rusty shriek.

Dim light filtered through a cracked window. The inside smelled like mold and rust, but past that she could smell the same sweet flower.

The scent of her.

It wasn’t a memory this time. It was real. Faint. But real.

“Soap?” Mic called out, voice catching like a wire snagging skin. “Are you here?”

Silence.

…..

“...Mic?”

Her heart nearly exploded.

“SOAP?!” She bolted into the shack, eyes adjusting quickly.

In the far corner, curled against the wall like a forgotten doll, was Soap.

Alive.

Weak.

But alive.

Microphone dropped to her knees, crawling across the grimy floor. “Oh my god..oh my god, Soap..”

Soap flinched. “No—don’t—! Stay back—!”

Mic froze.

Soap was trembling, her hands raised in defense. Her body was covered in faint, sticky residue. clear liquid was seeping from wounds on her body. Her once-smooth plastic shell was cracked along the edge.

Her eyes were wild.

“I-it’s you,” she breathed. “You're… real?"

Mic slowly raised her hands. “Yeah. It’s me. I’m here. I’m here, Soap—what happened to you?”

Soap’s mouth opened then closed. Her lip quivered like she couldn’t form words, just short, panicked breaths.

“She—” Her voice cracked. “She locked me in here. I don’t—I don’t know for how long. I kept blacking out. I thought—” She choked back a sob. “I thought I was going to die.”

Mic surged forward, wrapping her arms around her without hesitation.

Soap stiffened at first.

Then melted.

She buried her face in Mic’s shoulder and sobbed, heaving, raw, desperate sobs that shook both of them.

Mic clutched her tighter, like if she let go, Soap would vanish again. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve found you sooner. I should’ve—”

“No,” Soap whimpered. “You came. You found me. I thought I was dead and you—” Her breath hitched, cutting her original sentence off.

“She kept talking. Rambling. Like it was a test. Like she was trying to prove something. And then she’d laugh like it was all a joke.”

Mic’s chest burned with rage. “She said this was a gift. A gift .”

Soap pulled back, her hands trembling as she cupped Mic’s face. “You can’t let her win.”

“I won’t.”

Soap started crying again, softer this time, and Mic just held her, rocking slightly.

“I thought I was alone,” Soap whispered. “But you came.”

“Always,” Mic replied, slowly standing up and looking around. “We need to get out of here.”

She extended a hand, which Soap quickly grabbed. As she lifted her up and stared into her tired eyes, she paused, this felt easy, too easy…

The walls rattled with the sound of a gunshot.

Chapter Text

The forest was too quiet.

Mic’s breath came in short gasps as she held Soap, the world collapsing inward with every ragged beat of her heart. She rocked her, over and over, whispering useless things like “It’s okay” and “I’m here,” even though nothing was okay. Even though Soap could barely speak.

And then—

Bang.

The sound tore through the trees like lightning splitting the sky.

Soap jerked in her arms.

For a second, Mic didn’t understand.

Then she felt it.

Warm, wet liquid, spreading fast.

“Soap?” Her voice cracked, panicked. She pulled back slightly.

Soap's eyes had gone wide—unfocused.

Her lips parted.

No words.

Just a shuddering breath—and then silence.

Mic looked down.

Blood.

Blooming from a hole in Soap’s side.

“No,” she whispered. “No, no, no—NO!”

She clutched her tighter, shaking her. “Soap—SOAP! Please…say something! I—I just found you—I just…”

Another breathless sound escaped Soap’s lips.

Then she slumped.

Gone.

Just like that.

Something snapped inside Mic. A wire. A switch. A heartbeat she’d been holding onto too long.

She spun around.

Taco stood in the doorway of the shack, a pistol still raised, lazily twirling it in her hand like she hadn’t just destroyed Mic’s best friend.

“How. DARE YOU.”

Taco raised a brow, lowering the gun with casual ease. “Overreact much? Come on, Microphone, I warned you.”

Mic let out a breathless, broken laugh, her hands trembling violently at her sides. “Overreact…?” Her voice cracked, then twisted sharp. “OVERREACT?! YOU FUCKING KILLED HER?!”

Taco sipped from a cup of tea she’d pulled from nowhere, unbothered. “You knew how this would end, Mic. You saw it, didn’t you? That dream wasn’t a warning. It was a memory waiting to happ—”

She didn’t finish.

Mic screamed and slammed into her.

Taco's cup flew into the air, tea spraying in slow motion before it came crashing down—scalding liquid splattering across Taco’s face.

Her shriek split the forest.

“YOU—GHHK—BITCH!” she howled, clawing at her face. Steam rose from her skin as she stumbled back, digging through her shell. Fingers gripped her gun again—

But Mic was faster.

She snatched the shattered porcelain from the ground and hurled it.

A white shard buried itself deep into Taco’s eye.

A sickening crunch followed.

Taco screamed again, blood pouring from between her fingers. The gun dropped with a dull thud.

Mic lunged.

They hit the dirt together—Mic on top, straddling her, eyes empty with fury.

Taco’s remaining eye widened. Panic. Real panic.

“Wait—!”

Crack.

Mic’s fist connected with her jaw.

Crack.

Her face.

Crack.

Her nose.

Each hit echoed through the clearing, more brutal than she calculated. Mic was beyond logic. Beyond restraint. Blood sprayed with each punch, coating her knuckles, her arms, her soul.

Taco coughed, gasping, her face quickly becoming unrecognizable.

And yet—

She smiled.

Mic froze.

Just for a second.

Taco’s swollen, torn lips peeled back into a bloody grin. “Kill me. I dare you.”

Mic’s breathing was erratic.

Her fists shook.

Then—

Crack .

She brought it down one last time.

Something inside Taco gave.

She jerked once.

Then went still.

Her face twisted in a final frozen grin, bloodied and grotesque. A mockery of victory. A grim statue.

Mic stared.

For a long, horrible moment, she didn’t move.

Then she staggered back, off of Taco’s body.

Her hands: Red.

The forest was silent again.

She looked over her shoulder.

Soap’s body was still slumped where she’d left it.

Eyes closed.

Gone.

Mic stumbled toward her, collapsed to her knees, and pulled her close again.

Her voice was barely a whisper.

“I did it… I got her back for you.”

No answer.

Just the wind, moving through the trees.

Chapter Text

The sun hadn’t fully risen yet. The forest held a pale blue stillness, dew clinging to the undergrowth like tears no one dared to cry.

Knife’s boots crunched softly against the dirt path. Every few feet, he’d glance over his shoulder to make sure Suitcase was keeping up. She didn’t speak. Neither of them had, not really. Since the last scream. Since the last echo of gunfire.

Then they heard it.

A raw sobbing noise.

Knife raised his hand, signaling Suitcase to stop. His brows pulled together as he followed the sound, moving off the trail and into a mess of broken foliage. Branches had been snapped, earth disturbed, someone had run through here in a blind panic.

Then they saw her.

Mic was curled on the ground, hands pressed into her face, shaking violently. Blood coated her arms, still damp from the encounter she just had. Her knuckles stained red. Her breathing stuttered in short, uneven gasps. She looked shattered.

Next to her lay two bodies.

Soap, silent and unmoving in the grass.

And Taco, blood pooling beneath her in a grotesque halo.

Knife swore under his breath. Suitcase just stopped breathing entirely.

“Mic…?” Knife stepped forward carefully, crouching low.

Her head snapped up. Eyes wide, wild. Like she didn’t recognize them at all.

She scrambled back a few inches. “Don’t—don’t come near me.”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Suitcase said gently, kneeling beside Knife. “It’s just us. You’re safe now.”

Mic let out a noise—half a sob, half a laugh. “Safe? You think I’m safe? I—” She looked down at her hands like they were foreign. “I killed her. I killed her.”

Knife looked at the body, then back at Mic. “Good.”

Suitcase shot him a sharp glance, but he didn’t take it back.

“She shot her. ” Mic gestured blindly to Soap’s body. “Right in front of me. And I—I didn’t even think—I just lost it. I couldn't stop.”

Suitcase didn’t answer. She just moved closer, pressing her face against Mic in a comforting way. She didn’t say it would be okay. She didn’t say she understood. She just did it.

Mic broke.

She buried her face into Suitcase’s side and sobbed, loud and shaking and broken, the kind of crying that tears you apart.

Knife moved toward Soap’s body. He crouched, brushing a leaf away from her face, his jaw clenched. He didn’t have the words. All he could do was lower his head.

“I should’ve been faster,” he whispered.

“We’ll take her back,” Suitcase said, still holding Mic. “We’ll take both of them back. Properly.”

Knife nodded grimly. “We can’t stay out here.”

They built a stretcher for Soap out of branches and rope from their packs. They wrapped Taco’s body in a torn sheet from the shed, tying it closed. There was no reverence in the act—just necessity.

Mic didn’t speak during any of it. She didn’t help, didn’t protest. She followed numbly when Suitcase leaned against her as support. Her eyes were glassed over.

The walk back was quiet.

When they finally reached the clearing near the hotel, dawn was beginning to cut through the fog, casting long shadows across the ground. From a distance, the others could see them.

Nickel stood first. Balloon was at his side.

Then silence fell over the courtyard as the rest realized what Knife and Suitcase had brought back.

Two bodies.

One alive, barely standing.

Covered in blood.

Mic’s steps faltered.

She looked at them all—every face frozen in a mix of horror, confusion, grief.

Her voice, when it came, was quiet. Broken.

“I couldn’t save her.”

She felt her vision darken and crumpled to the floor like a ragdoll.

Suitcase caught her before she hit the ground, lowering her gently.

She didn’t get back up.

Chapter Text

The bed was too soft. Too warm.

It didn’t make sense.

Microphone stirred, eyes fluttering open with a sharp gasp—half expecting to still be in the dirt, cold blood drying on her hands.

But no. She was clean. Someone had bandaged her hands. She was tucked into a bed with familiar sheets. A window cracked open let in the sound of birds and wind, too peaceful for how wrong everything felt.

She sat up slowly.

Her head pounded, the light too bright. Her body ached with every movement, especially her hands.

There was a knock at the door.

“Mic?” Suitcase’s voice. Quiet, cautious. “Can I come in?”

Mic didn’t answer.

The door creaked open anyway, and Suitcase stepped in, holding two bowls of steaming soup in her case. Her eyes looked tired, puffy around the edges. She smiled gently.

“Hey…! I thought you might be hungry.”

Mic stared at her for a long time. Then at the bowls.

“Did you carry those all the way here for me?” Her voice was hoarse, like it hadn’t been used in years.

“Yeah,” Suitcase said softly, placing them down on the bedside table. “Made sure they’re still warm. It’s your favorite. Well—closest I could manage.”

Mic blinked. “I don’t remember what my favorite is.”

A beat.

Suitcase sat beside the bed, just close enough, but not touching. “You don’t have to eat now. I just thought... you might want something normal.”

“Normal.” Mic laughed bitterly. “Yeah, that’s what this is, right?”

Suitcase didn’t say anything.

Mic picked at the edge of the blanket. “She’s dead. Soap. She’s just—gone.”

“I know,” Suitcase whispered. “You did everything you could.”

Mic looked at her with hollow eyes. “I didn’t do anything.”

She reached for the bowl of soup slowly, bringing it into her lap. Her hands trembled as she tried to steady the spoon. But before she could take a bite—

A voice.

"You really let it all go to waste, huh?"

Mic froze.

Suitcase didn’t say anything—she hadn’t heard it.

Mic turned her head, slowly.

There. In the corner of the room. Leaning against the wall like a smear in reality.

Taco.

But not like before.

Its body was mangled, distorted. One eye was caved in, shattered porcelain embedded deep into its face. The corners of its mouth stretched too wide, almost ripping open at the cheeks, its grin sick and dripping something black. Limbs were bent at wrong angles, jerking like a puppet with snapped strings.

It stood there, in the corner, staring, smiling.

" You're gonna choke if you don't breathe, " it said sweetly, it’s distorted british accent peeking through. " Poor little Mic. All alone now. No one to save you this time. "

Mic’s grip on the bowl slipped—soup spilled into her lap, burning hot—but she didn’t even flinch.

Suitcase was up in an instant. “Mic? What happened?! Are you okay?”

“Don’t—don’t you see her?!” Mic backed away on the bed, eyes wide, pointing. “She’s right there!”

Suitcase looked. There was nothing.

“Mic, there’s no one-?” She paused, opening up her mouth to speak again before she was cut off.

"Liar liar liar,"   “Taco” sang in a garbled, echoing voice. Its head twisted sideways with a crack. "She’s trying to make you doubt it. She wants you to forget. They all do."

Mic screamed, flinging the bowl at the corner. It shattered harmlessly on the floor.

She bolted.

Suitcase reached out, but Mic was already stumbling toward the door, tearing it open and sprinting down the hallway.

“MIC, WAIT!”

But she was gone.

Down the hall, past the lounge, out through the front doors. Her bare feet slapped against the pavement, heart slamming in her chest. She didn’t care where she was going—just that she had to get away.

From the hotel.

From the voice.

From her .

From herself.

Behind her, in the quiet of the room, Suitcase stood shaking, staring at the empty corner. She picked up the pieces of the shattered bowl one by one, trembling.

Chapter Text

The forest had gone quiet.

The kind of quiet that made your ears ring—where every crack of a twig sounded like a gunshot.

Nickel leaned against Balloon and shivered. “We’ve been out here for hours. How much further could she have gone?”

“She couldn’t have gone far,” Suitcase murmured, pushing through branches. “Not in the state she was in…”

“Assuming she even wants to be found,” Nickel muttered, low enough that only Balloon heard him.

Balloon shot him a sharp look but said nothing. His hands stuck to the side of him, fingers shaking slightly. He hadn’t stopped fidgeting since they left.

Knife was ahead of the group, his pace more determined. He didn’t speak, but his eyes scanned every inch of the forest like a predator. Focused. Ready.

Then he stopped short, holding out an arm. The others paused behind him.

There. Down in the gully.

A figure hunched in the cold dirt, framed by crooked trees and the fading light of early evening.

Mic.

She was sitting with her knees pulled to her chest, mumbling softly, barely coherent. Her gridded head marked with dirt. Her hands—still wrapped in bandages—were caked with fresh dirt and streaked with red.

Suitcase gasped, already moving down the slope. “Mic….! Mic, oh my god, you’re okay!”

“Don’t—”

Mic’s voice cracked out, sharp and sudden.

Suitcase stopped in her tracks.

Mic didn’t look up. “Don’t come closer.”

The group exchanged glances, and Knife slowly stepped forward instead. “Mic. It’s us.”

“I know who it is,” she hissed, still not looking. “You think I don’t recognize your footsteps? Nickel’s heavier on the right. Balloon hums when he’s nervous. Knife walks like he’s ready to gut someone.”

Knife’s jaw clenched.

Nickel frowned. “Well, somebody needs to act like they care about you.”

“I didn’t ask to be followed,” she snapped, louder now. Her voice was hoarse, wild. “I didn’t want to be found.”

Balloon stepped forward, carefully. “Mic, listen… we’re worried about you. Please just come back with us. We can help you. We can figure this out together.”

She looked up at that. Slowly.

And the expression on her face made Balloon freeze.

Her eyes were bloodshot, hollow. Pupils dilated too wide. Her lips were cracked. Dried blood painted a side of her face. But worse than all of that was the smile starting to curl across her face—wobbly and wrong.

“Figure it out?” she echoed, too sweetly. “You mean like last time? When you all figured out how to ignore me until I found someone else? Like that?”

“Mic,” Suitcase tried again, soft and pleading. “What you were seeing were hallucinations, I've had them before, they can mostly appear under stress, just calm down and we’ll help you.”

“ I KNOW WHAT I SAW !” she screamed, rising to her feet so fast the group flinched back. “She was there. Taco. She talked to me. She was in the room, in my head—laughing at me. Mocking me. YOU DIDN’T SEE HER !”

She held her head, shaking it violently.

“You didn’t see her. You didn’t see Soap die. You didn’t watch her crumble to the floor. You didn’t see the look on her face when her life was taken.”

“Mic, please,” Knife said through clenched teeth, trying to stay steady. “Just come with us. We’ll figure out what’s real and what’s not—”

“No.” Her voice dropped, cold and venomous. “Don’t you dare try to drag me back there.”

Nickel exhaled sharply. “Why are we even arguing? She’s clearly lost it.”

Bad move.

Mic twitched—visibly.

The trees shivered. The air buzzed. Her body tensed.

Balloon stepped between them fast. “Nickel, stop.”

“No, let him talk,” Mic said suddenly, eerily calm. “Let’s hear what Nickel has to say about the crazy girl.”

Nickel rolled his eyes. “Okay, fine. You want honesty? You scared the hell out of everyone. You vanished, left Soap to die , and now we’re all stuck picking up the pieces because you can’t even look at us without losing your mind!”

“Nickel, what the fuck—” Balloon turned on him, horrified.

But it was already too late.

Mic snapped.

She lunged forward with terrifying speed, and before anyone could react—her fist connected with Nickel’s jaw.

The crunch was immediate. Nickel hit the ground hard, skidding into the mud, groaning.

“MIC!” Suitcase screamed.

Balloon grabbed her arm instinctively, trying to pull her back. “Mic, stop—”

She spun, shoving him away with both hands. Her strength was unnatural—Balloon stumbled back into a tree, nearly slamming his head against the bark.

Knife was on her in a flash, pinning her arms from behind.

“Get OFF ME!” she shrieked, thrashing. “GET OFF—DON’T TOUCH ME!”

“Knife, stop it!” Suitcase yelped as she dodged a stumble from Mic. “This is the exact opposite of what’ll help!”

Nickel groaned on the ground, blood dripping from his mouth. One of his teeth was missing.

Balloon just sat where he’d landed, stunned.

Suitcase knelt next to Nickel, her voice shaking. “Are you okay?”

He spat blood into the grass. “Does it look like I’m okay?!”

Mic went still.

In Knife’s arms, she went limp—utterly silent.

“…Mic?” he asked cautiously.

She looked at her own hands.

The bandages had come loose.

Her knuckles were stained dark red.

She blinked. Once. Twice.

“…I didn’t mean to,” she whispered, clarity shone in her eyes. “I didn’t… mean to…”

She twisted in Knife’s grip and broke free, stumbling backward, panting hard. “I can’t…no, no—this is wrong, this is wrong…”

“Mic—” Suitcase stood up, taking a small step forward.

“STAY AWAY!” Mic screamed, staggering further into the trees. “I’ll hurt you. I’ll hurt all of you!”

Then she turned and ran.

Again.

Knife shouted her name, but Suitcase rested against his handle, shaking her head.

“…She’s not ready to come back,” she muttered.

No one argued.

As the four were getting ready to report back to OJ, Suitcase stared at the trees for a moment, blinking once as she noticed a distorted shape starting to follow Mic, it turned around, staring directly at her with it’s single, unnerving eye. It put a long black finger to its face like a shushing motion.

Suitcase stumbled back, blinking again, only for it to have disappeared.

Knife ran up behind her, putting a hand on the top of her head. “You okay?”

Suitcase took a gulp of air. “I saw who she was talking about.

The others all stared at her for a moment before she continued.

“I don’t think she’s safe.”

Chapter Text

She didn’t know how long she had been running.

Branches lashed against her arms, leaves catching in between the grids on her head before they drifted down to the ground. The world was nothing but a blur of motion and breath and red—so much red.

Her lungs burned. Her legs ached. But she couldn’t stop.

She didn’t deserve to stop.

The memory of Nickel’s shocked face, blood dripping from his mouth, replayed over and over like a broken record. The weight of his tooth in the dirt. Balloon’s wide, terrified eyes. Suitcase's voice cracking on her name.

And then…

“GET OFF ME—DON’T TOUCH ME—”

The sound of her own voice haunted her worst of all.

She stumbled, finally, her foot catching on a root. She hit the forest floor hard, shoulder-first, breath leaving her in a harsh grunt. The world spun above her—treetops bleeding into the dusk sky. Everything pulsed.

She curled in on herself, clawing at the dirt like she could bury herself alive.

“God—what is wrong with me,” she choked out. “What the hell is WRONG with me—”

A laugh answered.

That laugh.

High and lilting, like a teacup hitting tile.

“Aw, Mic. You’re just being honest now.”

Her blood turned to ice.

“…No.”

She didn’t look up.

“You’re not real. You’re not here.”

“Oh, sweetheart. I’ve always been here.”

The voice slithered through the trees, through her ribs, wrapping around her spine like barbed wire. Mocking. Familiar.

“I told you this would happen. Everyone you touch will get hurt. Isn’t that right?”

Trembling, Mic slowly lifted her head.

Taco stood across from her.

No. Not Taco.

That same damn fake.

Her eye sockets dripped static.

The air buzzed.

“Wh-what do you want…” Mic whispered.

“I already got what I wanted,” it purred, taking a graceful step forward. Its joints crackled when it moved. “Soap’s gone. You’re alone. Your friends are afraid of you. And you? You’re finally starting to get it.”

It crouched low, its grin inches from Mic’s face.

“You’re just like me.” 

Mic recoiled. “No—no, I’m nothing like you.”

The creature’s expression didn’t change, but its smile seemed to widen—just slightly.

“You killed me, remember? You crushed my face in. You made sure there was nothing left. And you liked it.”

“I didn’t!” Mic’s voice cracked, tears flooding her eyes. “I didn’t mean to—I lost control—I was scared and angry and she killed her, and I just—I couldn’t—!”

“You enjoyed it,” the thing whispered in her ear. “It felt good. Admit it.”

Mic shook her head violently. “SHUT UP!”

“Admit it, Mic. Admit it. You were finally powerful. And now?”

Its broken hands reached forward, stroking Mic’s chin.

“You’ll never be anything but a monster again.”

“STOP IT!” she screamed, slapping her hands over where her ears would be.

And then—

A burst of static.

Mic gasped and looked up.

It was gone.

Only trees now. The buzz of cicadas. The far-off rumble of thunder.

She was alone.

She panted, clutching her chest, feeling her heart hammer like a warning bell in her ribs. Her vision swam, the world trembling like it was just barely holding itself together.

She curled into herself again, sobbing now.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered to no one. “I’m sorry I hurt him. I’m sorry I wasn’t there. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

But the silence didn’t answer.

The "hallucination" might have vanished, but its words clung to her like oil. “ You're just like me. You'll never be anything but a monster again.”

Mic let herself fall sideways into the dirt, too exhausted to keep crying. The stars above her spun lazily behind tree branches.

Somewhere far away, someone was calling her name.

She didn’t answer.

She just closed her eyes.

And hoped that when she opened them again, she wouldn’t be her anymore.

Chapter Text

The hotel doors groaned open with a reluctant creak.

OJ was already standing in the lobby.

His arms were crossed, and his expression was as unreadable as ever — but the slight twitch in his jaw gave it away. He’d been pacing. Waiting. Dreading.

When the search party entered—mud-splattered, silent, and looked like they’d seen better days—he straightened sharply. “Where is she?”

No one spoke.

Not at first.

Suitcase walked in with a dazed look, face pale, like she’d seen something she wasn’t supposed to see. Knife’s arms were bruised badly, streaks of red could be seen—not his blood, but Nickel’s. Balloon walked stiffly, supporting Nickel as the coin limped in behind him, a makeshift cloth pressed against his mouth where blood still leaked from a cracked tooth.

OJ’s brows furrowed. “What the hell happened out there?”

“We found her,” Suitcase said softly.

OJ blinked. “And?”

“She didn’t come back with us.”

“…Why not?” His voice was colder now. Harsher. “You’re saying you found her, and then just—what—let her go?!”

Nickel scowled, muffled through his rag. “We didn’t let her. She nearly took my jaw off.”

“She attacked us,” Knife muttered, crossing his arms. “Flat out. Hit Nickel full-force and knocked Balloon into a tree.”

OJ’s eyes widened, and he looked at Balloon for confirmation.

Balloon didn’t respond. He was staring at the floor as if he couldn’t answer.

“She’s hallucinating,” Suitcase said, more firmly this time.

That got everyone’s attention.

OJ looked at her. “What?”

“She’s hallucinating,” she repeated. “Badly. Visual, auditory—possibly tactile. She was confused, paranoid, and she said…..she said Taco was talking to her. That she saw her.”

OJ stared at her. His composure cracked—just a little. “That’s not possible, and if it was, she’d be bound to Purgatory Mansion, not in the forest.”

“I know. But to her, it is.” Suitcase was visibly shaking, but her voice stayed calm. “She didn’t just run, she ran because she thinks she’s dangerous. Because in her head, she is.”

“She’s not wrong,” Nickel muttered bitterly, spitting into the cloth again.

“Nickel.” Knife warned.

“No, seriously, look at me! Look at what she did! She’s losing it—and dragging the rest of us down with her!”

“That’s enough,” OJ snapped.

The room fell quiet again.

OJ let out a slow, controlled breath. “Suitcase. You said she’s hallucinating. How do you know?”

Suitcase paused for a moment—then slowly sat down on the bench near the front desk.

“…Because I’ve been there.”]

She stared down at her feet. “I had them. Not like hers—a little more vivid. After episode 8, I’ve been having them all the time, usually when I’m alone or under stress.”

Balloon looked over, guilt in his eyes.

“I didn’t tell anyone, because I didn’t think they’d believe me,” Suitcase continued quietly. “So when Mic said she saw Taco… I recognized the look in her eyes. That frantic, disconnected terror. The kind where even your own hands stop feeling real.”

OJ’s expression softened, just barely.

“She’s not trying to hurt anyone,” Suitcase said. “She just doesn’t trust herself. And when you don’t trust your own mind, every person who reaches out feels like a threat.”

“Tell that to my teeth,” Nickel muttered.

“I will,” Suitcase said sharply, “once they grow back.”

Nickel huffed and looked away.

OJ pinched the bridge of his imaginary nose. “Okay. Okay, so she’s hallucinating. Possibly delusional. But she’s still dangerous. And she's alone out there. So what do we do?”

Knife stepped forward. “We give her space. But we keep our eyes on the forest.”

“And no one goes alone,” Balloon added quietly, finally speaking. “Not even during the day.”

OJ nodded slowly. “Alright. Fine. I’ll get someone to start patrol shifts. We’ll keep looking. Carefully. But if anyone sees her again… you tell me first. No surprises.”

They all nodded.

“…Suitcase,” he added, more gently. “You did good today. All of you did.”

Her mouth twitched into a small smile.

As OJ turned to leave and coordinate the next wave of searches, Suitcase lingered behind.

She stared out the window, past the dark trees in the distance.

And for another moment, she could've swore she saw that same figure, following her.

Chapter Text

The trees whispered when they thought she wasn’t listening.

That’s how it felt, anyway.

Microphone sat with her back pressed against a rotted stump, knees drawn to her chest, sleeves filthy and damp from mud and sweat. Every inch of her ached. The bruises on her knuckles were starting to swell, pulsing in time with her heart. She hadn’t tried to find something to eat, she hadn’t slept, she’d stopped trying.

Leaves crackled in the distance.

Not footsteps. Probably.

Maybe.

Her fingers twitched against the ground, scrabbling at the moss. If someone was there… What would she even do? Apologize? Collapse? Bite their throat out?

A small, sharp laugh broke from her throat.

“God, I am so fucked up.”

“ That’s the first true thing you’ve said in days, ” came a voice behind her.

She didn’t scream.

She didn’t have the energy to.

Instead, she let her head tilt back against the stump and stared upward with glassy eyes. “Oh. It’s you.”

The taco-shaped figure was hovering above her, silent as fog.

That same stupid creature that’s been haunting her for the past couple of hours, it didn’t smile, it didn't make any noise, it just stayed there, staring, like it was wondering what to say.

“ I was starting to think you’d forgotten me, ” It cooed, suddenly crouching in front of her, elbows on its pointed knees like it was settling in for a friendly little chat.

“You're not real.”

“ And you said you'd kill me. Yet here I am, fabulous as ever. ”

Mic scoffed, rolling her eyes. “You’re not her, you’re just a… a stress demon. A Taco-shaped fever dream. Whatever.”

“ Aw. Hurtful. ” The figure pouted. “ After everything we’ve been through? After I made you the main character of your own little breakdown saga? ”

“Oh shut it.” Mic’s voice was hoarse. “You’re not her, Mephone is gone and she’s dead, so you can't be her logically speaking.”

The figure stared at her with its single eye. “ I mean, yeah. Obviously. Real Taco’s probably soup by now. But you gave me so much material to work with. All that guilt, all that self-hatred… ” A distorted laugh came from it that made Microphone uneasy. “ God it’s kind of pathetic. ”

Mic wrapped her arms tighter around herself. “I didn’t mean to hurt anyone.”

“ Nickel’s tooth didn’t exactly leap out of his mouth on its own. ”

“I panicked!”

“ You always panic. ”

Mic jerked her head toward the shape, almost trembling now. “Why are you still here? What do you want from me?!”

“Taco” leaned forward, close enough that Mic could see its distorting body. “ Want? Oh, sweetheart. I don’t want anything. I’m just here to watch. ” A grin formed on her face, stretching wider. “ I mean, the way you're falling apart? It's better than cable. ”

Mic’s lip curled. “Go to hell.”

“ I’m in your head, darling. You brought me here. ” It stood up again, slowly floating around her. “ You can’t sleep because I’ll be there. You can’t blink because I’ll be closer. You can’t go back to your friends because they all saw what you are now. ”

“I’m not—” Mic choked. “I’m not like you. I’m not a monster.”

“ Oh, no no no, of course not. You’re much sloppier. ” It giggled, then dropped into a whisper. “ That’s what makes you fun. ”

Mic covered her ears, squeezing her eyes shut. “You’re not real. You’re not real. You’re not real—”

“ You can say that all you want, ” the voice said, circling her now. “ But I’ll still be here. Every time you close your eyes. Every time you feel that itch in your knuckles. You liked it, didn’t you? That moment she stopped breathing. The way the blood felt on your hands. ”

“I DIDN’T—!”

Silence.

Her voice bounced off the trees, came back distorted and hollow. Her chest heaved.

When she opened her eyes again, “Taco” was sitting on the log across from her—legs crossed, hands folded neatly in its lap.

“ Just admit it, Mic, ” it whispered. “ You didn’t just snap. You broke. And there’s no fixing that. ”

Mic didn’t respond.

She couldn’t.

The entity leaned back, smug and content. “ Anyway. I’ll let you get back to your breakdown. You’re doing great, sweetie. ”

She vanished like a smudge on a mirror, melting into the shadows with a wink and a laugh.

Mic stayed there, curled in on herself, shaking like a leaf in a storm.

She didn't cry.

She just sat there.

Waiting for the whispering trees to start up again.

Chapter Text

The hotel was too quiet.

Not in a peaceful way, not like the early mornings when everyone was still asleep and the sun lit the hallways in gold. This quiet was heavy, wrong, like the building itself was holding its breath. A silence born not from rest, but from avoidance.

Suitcase sat at the kitchen counter, her body looming over a cup of lukewarm tea. It had gone cold over an hour ago. She didn’t move to drink it.

Across from her, Balloon stirred his cereal absentmindedly, the soggy flakes sinking beneath the milk like drowning thoughts.

Nobody said anything.

It had been hours since they returned from the forest.

Knife had gone upstairs without a word. Balloon hadn’t said a word unless it was to calm everyone down. And Nickel…

Nickel hadn’t stopped ranting.

“She nearly broke my jaw,” he snapped, growling through bared teeth. “And we're just supposed to act like that’s fine? That she gets a pass because she had a bad dream?!"

Suitcase watched the steam slowly dissipate from the mug as it grew colder.

“It wasn’t a dream,” she muttered.

Nickel scoffed. “Oh, sure, right. It was a hallucination . Because that makes it so much better. You all saw it, she didn’t even see us! She looked through us like we weren’t even—like she wasn’t even—”

“She isn’t okay,” Suitcase said, firmer this time. “Of course she didn’t see us.”

Nickel turned to her, eyes narrowed. “Yeah, well maybe she shouldn’t be running around in the woods like a rabid dog if she can’t tell who her friends are.”

Suitcase’s eye twitched.

She spun around slowly in her seat to face Nickel, her eyes displaying a sort of rage that was about to burst.

Balloon blinked up from his cereal. “Uh—guys—”

“You think she wanted this?” Suitcase's voice was low. Tight. She stood up from her chair and hopped onto the ground. “You think she’s enjoying what’s happening to her?”

Nickel took a step back. “I—I didn’t say—”

“You implied it.”

The air dropped.

Suitcase turned to face him fully now. Her voice didn’t rise, but something behind her eyes flared—something cold, tired and just…done.

“I know what it looks like when someone’s losing their grip. I know what it feels like to watch your mind play tricks on you. You see things. Hear things. You start doubting what’s real, what’s not. You lash out because you think you’re fighting something—when really you’re just trying to keep yourself from falling apart.”

Nickel opened his mouth. Closed it again.

“She’s not dangerous,” Suitcase continued. “She’s scared. She’s grieving. And she has no idea how to process any of it, because none of us were ever taught how to. So don’t you dare sit here and talk about her like she’s some burden just because she’s struggling differently than the rest of us.”

The silence was deafening.

Even Balloon looked like he was trying to disappear into the ground as Suitcase spoke.

Nickel swallowed thickly, his jaw clenched.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he muttered.

“Maybe not.” Suitcase let out a breath. “But maybe you should think about what it sounds like.”

She turned away from them, walked toward the hallway. Her steps echoed against the tile floor, sharp and slow.

“Where are you going?” Balloon asked, his voice small.

“Somewhere quiet,” she replied. “Where I don’t have to listen to people pretend they’d do any better if they were in her shoes.”

And with that, she disappeared down the corridor, her footsteps echoing behind her.

Nickel stared at the empty hallway, shifting his feet in embarrassment. Balloon gently pushed his cereal away, suddenly not hungry anymore.

The silence returned.

This time, it didn’t feel avoidant.

It felt guilty.

Chapter Text

The moon hung overhead like a spotlight, spilling pale light across the trees as Microphone sat curled up in the dirt. Her arms were wrapped tight around her knees, her breath fogging up in front of her face in slow, shaky exhales. She hadn’t moved in hours. Her bones ached. Her hands were stained. 

She didn’t look up when the voice slithered in.

“Ohhh, you’re sulking. That’s new.”

Mic’s body tensed instantly. Her eyes darted up, locking onto the familiar figure leaning lazily against a tree.

Taco.

Or, whatever this thing was wearing Taco’s face.

“I told you this would happen,” it said sweetly, tilting its head like a curious predator. “And you still acted all surprised. Like you hadn’t seen it coming from a mile away.”

Mic didn’t answer. She buried her face against her arms.

The voice drew closer, the leaves crunching under invisible steps. “You can’t hide from me, y’know. I’m not in the woods. I am the woods. I’m every crack in your skull, every whisper you try to shove away. Boo.”

Mic flinched. She could feel the thing crouch beside her.

“…Get lost,” she muttered, voice hoarse.

“Ooooh, but why?” The entity dragged the word out. “We’re having so much fun. And you did such a great job back there. Smashy smashy. I mean—” It mimed a fist. “Bam! Right through his stupid smug face. I was proud of you."

“Shut up.”

“Still clinging to the whole ‘good guy’ thing?” it sneered, voice dipping into mockery. “Come on, Microphone. You’ve already crossed that line. Might as well dance over it.”

Mic’s gaze snapped up.

“What the hell are you talking about now.”

The entity’s grin stretched wider, more teeth than should have fit in its mouth. “Well, you’ve already killed someone. You’re alone. No one trusts you anymore. You’re a monster. So why not own it?”

Its head twisted, slowly, unnaturally, until it was upside-down, hovering just inches from hers.

“Go back to the hotel. Pick one. Just one. Let all that beautiful, angry noise out again. You’ll feel better. And I’ll get to see more red.”

Mic’s body trembled.

“…No.”

It’s smile faltered. “What?”

“I said no.” She shoved herself to her feet, stumbling back, fury and fear coiled in her chest like a storm. “You want me to go back and kill someone else just because I’m angry? Just because I’m hurting?!”

The figure blinked slowly. “Well, yeah. Isn’t that what you do now?” 

“I’m not you.”

“Oh, honey, you never were.” Its voice dropped to a whisper, soft and vicious. “You’re worse. Because you still pretend you have morals.”

Mic’s breath caught. She stared down at her hands — still bruised, still bloodstained. Her stomach turned.

“I didn’t mean to—” she choked.

“Doesn’t matter. Dead is dead.”

“SHUT UP!”

Her scream echoed into the trees, loud enough to scare a few birds from the branches above. The entity just stood there, unfazed.

“Go away,” Mic growled through gritted teeth. “Go haunt someone else.”

“Can’t,” it said lightly. “You invited me in.”

It began to fade, slowly melting into the shadows between the trees like it had never been there to begin with.

Before it disappeared entirely, she heard its final whisper:

“I’ll be back when you get bored.”

And then it was gone.

Mic collapsed to her knees again, hands cold and pale. Her chest heaved. She didn’t know if she was shaking from rage or terror.

Maybe both.

But one thing was clear.

She would have to do anything to not go back to that hotel.

Because if she did…

She didn’t know who she’d hurt next .

Chapter Text

Suitcase didn’t wait for permission.

After the argument with Nickel, after slamming her door shut and trying to calm down—she couldn’t stop thinking about her. About Microphone. Alone in the woods. Scared. Sick. Hurting.

No one else was going to check on her. Not really. They were all too afraid. Or too angry. Or too busy pretending none of it was happening.

So Suitcase took matters into her own figurative hands.

The flashlight she held in her mouth was weak, its batteries fading, but she didn’t care. She followed the old trail out of the hotel’s back exit and into the forest, each step more uncertain than the last.

“Mic?” she called out softly, brushing away low-hanging branches. “I just want to talk, okay?”

Nothing.

Just the rustle of wind.

Her footsteps slowed. There were signs someone had been here recently: trampled grass, half-snapped branches. A dragged smear in the dirt that made her gut twist, even if it was probably just mud. Hopefully.

Then—

Voices.

Suitcase froze in place, crouching low by instinct. The underbrush shielded her from view as she crept closer.

She reached a clearing.

And what she saw stole the breath from her lungs.

Microphone stood with her back to Suitcase, shoulders hunched, fists clenched. Across from her, lounging against a crooked tree like it owned the world, was…

Taco.

No.

No, not really.

Suitcase’s stomach dropped.

Its limbs looked wrong. Stretched. Bending in ways that defied bone. Its inky black shape shimmered like oil slick in moonlight, and its eyes looked lifeless, unnerving. Every time it blinked, its face twitched, glitching for a fraction of a second into something even less human.

Suitcase didn’t dare speak. She ducked lower, heart pounding as she strained to listen.

“Still playing the saint?” the creature asked, idly checking its long sharp fingers. “You should really let that go. It’s embarrassing.”

“I’m not like you,” Mic snapped.

“Hmm. Could’ve fooled me. All that rage? All that lovely noise you make when you’re scared? Mwah.” It pretended to kiss the air. “Chef’s kiss.” 

“You want me to hurt someone again. That’s all you care about.”

The entity rolled its eyes. “Please. Don’t act like you’re above it. We both know that was the first time you felt anything in weeks.”

Mic didn’t answer right away.

Suitcase’s heart broke.

“You’re not real,” Mic muttered, but it came out weaker this time. “You’re just a hallucination.”

“Ooh, I love that one. Denial, my favorite dish,” It said, grinning ear to ear. “Go ahead, tell yourself I’m not real. But I know you. I know what keeps you up. I live in those little cracks you try to patch up with fake smiles and old memories.”

Suitcase held her breath.

Its grin widened. “You miss her, don’t you?”

“Don’t talk about her,” Mic hissed.

“Why not? She’s dead. You saw it. Heard it. That pop in the shed? That was for you.”

“SHUT UP!”

“Every breath you take without her is a reminder you failed.”

“SHUT UP—!”

The creature giggled. “If you’re so sorry, Mic, why don’t you prove it? Go back to the hotel. Find someone. Finish what you started.”

Suitcase’s skin crawled. Her lungs were seizing.

Mic stepped forward, her fists trembling. “You’re not real. You’re not real. You’re not—”

It leaned in, voice sugar-sweet. “Then why are you listening? I know you're becoming weaker, you’ll act soon.”

Suitcase took a slow, trembling step backward—then froze.

Crack.

The sound of a twig snapping beneath her echoed like a gunshot.

Both heads snapped toward her instantly.

Mic didn’t move. Her face was pale, bloodied, trembling.

But the thing—oh, it smiled.

Slowly, it floated upwards, eyes gleaming with recognition.

“Well well well,” it sang, its voice almost musical. “Looks like we’ve got an audience."

Suitcase stepped back instinctively, breath caught in her throat.

“Suitcase?” Mic whispered, her voice breaking.

Suitcase didn’t know what to say.

Didn’t know if she should.

But it spoke first.

“Oh, perfect.”

Chapter Text

The snap of the twig was deafening.

Suitcase stood frozen, eyes wide, heart slamming against her ribs as both heads turned toward her. Microphone's expression contorted with alarm, but it was that thing shaped like Taco who had grinned first.

“ Ohhh? ” The entity tilted its head, voice syrupy and amused. “ Looks like we’ve got ourselves an audience. ”

“S-Suitcase?” Microphone took a shaky step forward, her voice small and warbled. “What are you—what did you hear?”

Suitcase didn’t answer. She stepped back once, then twice.

“ I think she heard everything, ” It said, lips curling into a crescent. “ All our dirty little secrets. Oh, Mic, this is embarrassing. You should’ve silenced her. ”

“I didn’t know she was there,” Mic snapped, shaking her head, face pale. “She shouldn’t have followed me.”

“ Well, she did, ” It purred. “And now she’s going to run.”

And she did.

Suitcase bolted, her feet scrambling across roots and moss. She could hear Mic shouting something behind her. Maybe her name. Maybe something else. She didn’t care. She just needed to get away.

Leaves whipped past her. Branches clawed at her jacket. But then—

“ She’s getting too far. ”

A sickening sound split the air, and in a blink, that thing had disappeared from the clearing.

Mic was already running after Suitcase.

Suitcase ducked low, sliding behind a thicket of brambles, chest heaving.

Don’t panic. Don’t panic. Don’t—

Something landed behind her.

She spun around.

Mic was there.

So was it .

They’d cornered her.

“Suitcase,” Mic gasped, sweat dripping down her gridded head. “You shouldn’t be here. You—”

“ Shhh ,” the being whispered, floating just inches above the ground, eyes glowing like coals. “ She’s seen too much. You know what that means, Mic. ” It shot a wide smile at her.

“No,” Mic said immediately, stepping in front of Suitcase protectively.

It blinked slowly. “ Excuse me? ”

“She doesn’t need to die,” Mic insisted, panting. “She was just trying to help—she followed me, okay? This isn’t her fault.”

“ Oh, come on, ” It groaned, tossing its head back. “ This is exactly what I’m talking about. You get soft the second someone looks at you with puppy eyes. Where’s that feral spark from earlier, hm? I liked that version of you. ”

“I’m not your puppet , ” Mic snarled.

“ You are mine, ” it hissed. “ You think you’re anything without me? A pile of static and broken wires. You're a walking trauma response with a scream button. I’m the only reason you work right now. ”

“Leave her alone!” Suitcase shouted from behind.

The entity’s face darkened.

Its grin vanished.

“ So this is what we’re doing? ” it said, voice low and furious. “ You’re defending her? After everything we’ve done together, you’re going to throw it away for...for this sack of nerves? ”

Mic faltered.

“I won’t kill her,” she whispered. “I’m not like you.”

That snapped something.

It surged forward, getting right up in her face, dropping its mocking tone entirely.

“ You think this is a game?” it roared, voice echoing with layered static. “You think you get to choose who you are?! I made you strong. I helped you survive. You think she’ll accept you after what you’ve done? Do you think any of them will?! ”

Mic squeezed her eyes shut, flinching. “I don’t care. Let her run. Let her warn them.”

“Fine.”

That was all it said.

And then it was gone—blipped into the darkness like smoke.

Mic stood there, heart thudding, still trembling. She looked behind her.

But Suitcase was already gone.

Suitcase didn’t stop running until her legs gave out. She stumbled down a shallow hill, hitting the dirt with a wet thud. Her lungs were on fire, her eyes stinging from wind and fear.

She didn’t even realize she was crying until she had felt the tears fall down her wooden body.

She looked back.

Something was standing in the clearing behind her.

“ Tired already? ” That thing’s voice slithered in.

Suitcase scrambled back.

“Please—please don’t—”

“ Oh, don’t start begging now. You spied on us, ” It said, floating forward slowly. “ That’s rude. ”

It dropped the smirk.

“ Don’t worry, ” It rasped, no longer sounding human. “ Mic doesn’t have to get her hands dirty. ”

It’s form twisted, teeth sharpening, claws dragging themselves out of nothing. It slammed her against a tree like a puppet, wood cracking behind her spine.

“ Do you know, ” it whispered, breath rancid with rot and ozone, “ how long I’ve waited to break you? ”

It dug into her wooden base with elongated fingers. Blood sprayed in arcs as it ripped through muscle, tendon, bone. Suitcase screamed, a noise so raw it scraped her throat bloody.

“ Mic adores you, ” it spat, “ and I hate that. ”

It tore at her side. The sound was wet. Red soaked her body.

Suitcase writhed, tried to fight, but she couldn’t feel anything. Couldn’t see clearly through the pain. Her head pounded. Her ribs cracked under pressure.

“ You should’ve left her alone , ” It hissed into her ear. “ But now? Now you’re mine to deal with. ”

It slammed her to the ground, knee first. Then again. And again.

Bones shattered like porcelain.

“ You’re just a suitcase, ” it whispered, hovering over her twitching, broken frame. “ Full of everyone else’s baggage. ”

It pulled one final time—long, deliberate claws across her figure—and Suitcase convulsed with the last of her strength, gasping like a fish.

Then everything went quiet.

The entity stood over what was barely a body now. Limbs twisted wrong. Face smeared with dirt, blood, and broken teeth. But its smile didn’t return.

It was furious.

“ Fine, ” it muttered to itself, eyes blazing. “ If she won’t give me what I want… I’ll take it. ”

And with that, it vanished into the dark.

Mic wandered.

It had gone quiet.

Too quiet.

She wasn’t following anything—just walking in circles through a forest of fog and ash.

Then she saw it.

A shape.

Slumped under a broken tree.

“...Suitcase?”

She rushed forward, heart jumping—

And then froze.

Her scream tore through the forest, echoing all the way to the hills.

“NO. NO. NO—”

The body was broken.

Mangled.

Her corpse unrecognizable except for the remains of a torn yellow ribbon tied around her handle.

She collapsed to her knees, shaking violently.

“No, no, no... you said you’d run... why didn’t you—”

Somewhere behind her, a cold wind blew.

And the forest began to laugh.

Chapter Text

The clearing looked different in dawn light.

It was the same place—same split stump, same slant of the broken shed roof, same scatter of porcelain shards half-sunk in mud—but after what happened here, the air held weight. Sound didn’t travel right. Birds skirted the space. Even wind hesitated.

Microphone stood in the center of it, arms hanging at her sides, fingers still sticky and half-wrapped in torn bandages. Suitcase’s blood had dried brown under her nails. Her sleeves were shredded; one eye was swollen from crying or from the branches she’d plowed through getting back here—she couldn’t remember which.

She’d left Suitcase’s body where she found it, marked the tree with a carved X—she was coming back, she swore, she swore. She couldn’t carry her alone. Not like Soap. Not like Taco. Not like—

Her throat closed.

She wasn’t crying anymore. She was past that. Past shock. Past language. Only static.

It waited for that.

The entity flickered into view against the stump, half-seated, half-melted into the bark. The Taco-shape it wore was sharper: angles jutted where curves should be; one eye socket still bore the memory of shattered porcelain; the other glowed a dim, slow-blinking white.

“ Back so soon? ” it cooed. “ You didn’t even wipe your hands. ”

Mic didn’t answer.

“ Oh, silent treatment. How mature. ” It stretched, joints crackling. “ What’s the occasion? Coming to give your confession? Practice your apology speech for the funeral? Which one—Soap’s? Taco’s? Oooor the fresh one? ”

Still nothing.

It leaned forward. “ You dragged yourself all the way out here to stand like a broken lamp? Come on, make noise. You’re Microphone. That’s literally your whole thing. ”

Mic inhaled—slow and mechanical. “Why.”

“ Hm? ”

“Why her.”

“ Oh, that. ” The grin returned instantly. “ Because you wouldn’t. You had the chance, Mic. I gave you the chance. She was right there—wide-eyed, trusting, just ripe for the smashing—and you choked. So I finished the track for you. Collaboration! ”

Mic’s head snapped up. “Don’t call that a collaboration. ”

“ What, you mad I didn’t give you writing credit? ”

“SHUT IT!”

The shout ripped through the trees and bounced back, warping, doubling, phasing into a harsh metallic feedback that rattled leaves from the branches. The air hummed. Mic’s chest heaved.

It clapped slowly. “ There she is. I was worried the grief patch muted you. ”

“Why are you doing this,” Mic hissed. “Why Soap, why Taco, why Suitcase—what the hell do you want ?”

It tapped its temple with one too-long finger. “ You killed the second one yourself, don’t blame that on me.” Its eyes squinted in a taunting way. 

 “ You. Loud. Raw. Real. That brittle, performative ‘I’m fine :)’ act you do? Boring. But rip out one support beam, two, three—ohhh, chef’s kiss. You scream, you swing, you spill—color. ”

Mic staggered a step closer. “You killed them to get a reaction out of me? That’s it? You murdered my friends for content?! ”

“ For signal. ” It flickered, then re-solidified right behind her ear. “ You’re strongest when you’re screaming. Didn’t you notice? Didn’t you feel the power when you caved her face in? ”

“I didn’t mean—”

“ Meaning is dead weight. ”

Mic swung a backhand without turning; it phased through air, hitting nothing but cold mist. The thing reappeared lounging on the roofline of the shed, legs crossed at the ankles.

“ Let’s test something, ” it mused. “ Say I bring another one out. Balloon, maybe. Soft target. Or Nickel again; he’s pre-cracked. Would you stop me? Could you? And if stopping meant killing, would you hesitate this time? ”

Mic’s vision blurred red around the edges. “You’re not touching any of them.”

“ Bold .”

“Try me.”

It slid off the roof, landing without sound directly in front of her. Up close, it’s body flickered; underneath it, shapes writhed—faces? fragments? She caught glints: Soap’s eyes, Knife’s glare, Suitcase’s smile torn into static, overlaying and collapsing.

“ Let’s do a deal, ” it declared, backing up. “ You come back to the hotel with me. We pick one. We do it together, properly this time—no messy improvisation. You get your release. I get a show. And nobody else has to get dragged out of the woods later. Win-win. ”

Mic bared her teeth. “You think I’m going to help you kill them?”

It shrugged. “ You already helped. Emotional prep is still prep. ”

She swung again—full-force this time—fist whistling through where its throat should be. The moment her arm passed the space, it solidified , catching her wrist mid-air with iron grip. Her momentum yanked her forward; it leaned in, face almost touching hers.

“ Say it, ” it breathed. “ Say ‘pick one. ’”

Mic froze.

Her stomach dropped to a pit.

Her knees wobbled.

It leaned closer. “ Say it. ”

Mic swallowed hard. Her lip trembled. “Pick—” She stopped, bit through the word, tasted blood.

“No.”

The grip tightened; she winced. “ What was that? ”

“I said NO! ”

The scream detonated out of her gut like a blast wave. Not just volume— frequency . The ground vibrated. The cracked porcelain shards on the floor shook, then exploded into dust. Birds shrieked and scattered blindly into the sky.

It reeled, distortion tearing across its form; its body flickering gray static.

Mic ripped her wrist free and drove a knee into its midsection; the impact half-landed, half-phased, but enough kinetic bite slammed it backward into the stump.

“DON’T TOUCH THEM!” she roared. “NOT ONE MORE!”

It glitched, reassembling with a snarl. “ Ungrateful little brat! I break you open and you still won’t learn! ”

“Learn what? To become you? To kill everyone I care about so I don’t have to be scared of losing them? I’d rather rip my own head off!”

“ Tempting offer. ”

“I SAID SHUT UP!!”

Her scream cracked the stillness like lightning. She lunged forward, tears finally starting to fall, hot and blinding. She swung a fist—and it passed through the entity like air. It shimmered briefly, then reformed beside her, slightly peeved.

“ You know, I’m getting real sick of your screaming. It’s throwing me off guard.” It spat, eyes narrowing in annoyance.

“YOU KILLED HER! YOU FUCKING KILLED HER..!!” Mic screamed, throwing another blow towards it.

It dodged, arms lazily behind its back. “ I did, ” it said, tone flat now. “ And I’d do it again. Because she got in the way. Because you let her get close. ”

“ You keep pretending this is about me, Mic, but deep down, you know it’s not. You let her walk into the woods alone. You didn’t stop her. You knew she was looking for you. ”

“STOP—!”

“ She died because of you . ”

Mic tackled it this time, knocking it to the ground. Her nails clawed across its skin—if you could call it that—but it didn’t bleed. It just moved, writhing like liquid shadow. Its body twisted underneath her, contorting unnaturally, until it threw her off with a single kick.

She crashed into a tree, coughing hard as bark split open behind her back. She staggered up—but before she could move again, it was standing over her.

“ You wanna hit me? ” it asked, voice lower now. It leaned in, face inches from hers. “ You wanna make this go away? Go ahead. Try . ”

Mic’s fist shook as she was about to throw another punch, but the entity caught her wrist mid-strike. Its sharp fingers dug into her arm, and its face shifted—literally shifted, skin pulling upward like melting wax. One moment it was Taco’s smirk. The next, Suitcase’s twisted final expression. Then Soap’s, frozen in horror. Then her own.

She choked on a scream.

“ I can wear all of them, Mic, ” it hissed into her ear. “ Because they’re mine. Every one you lose? That’s a new mask for me. ”

“Stop. Please—stop—”

It dropped her arm. She collapsed to her knees, gasping, eyes wide with terror.

The entity stepped back and grinned again—wider this time, its jaw unhinging just slightly too far. “ You’re afraid of me, ” it said, voice nearly loving. “ Good. You should be. ”

Mic was trembling violently now. Her breathing ragged, fingers still twitching as though she wanted to strike again but her body had given up.

It circled her slowly, watching her collapse further into herself.

“ All that noise about being a ‘good person,’ huh? ” it said with venom. “ But you didn’t even blink when you attacked Nickel and Balloon earlier. Not until it was her . ”

“I’m not like you,” she rasped.

“ You’re worse,” it hissed. “Because you pretend. You dress your rage up in trauma and expect everyone else to clean up the mess. ”

Mic clutched her head, sobbing now. “I didn’t want this—I didn’t want any of this—!”

“ But you let it happen .
It crouched in front of her.
“ And now? ”
It leaned close, smile now gone, replaced with something dead and ancient.

“ You’ll never get rid of me. ”

Mic flinched, shrinking back. “Why… why did you choose me?”

It smiled. “ Because you're fun. A wild card. ”

And then it warped —its body cracking open, splitting sideways like a glitch in reality. The forest screamed around her. Shapes twisted. Trees bent inward. It stood over her, no longer pretending to be anything close to Taco, its body a mess of limbs, flickers of bone, and shifting faces under translucent skin.

Mic let out a broken, terrified cry.

But it didn’t touch her. Not yet.

“ I’ll be seeing you soon, ” it whispered, tone now echoing and hollow, like it was coming from inside her skull.

And then it vanished—melting into the shadows.

Mic sat there, unblinking, the only noise she made was her own breath.

Chapter Text

The hotel lobby was dim, lit only by a dusty lamp in the corner and the weak glow of the moon filtering through the boarded windows. No one had spoken for a long time. Not since Suitcase didn’t come back.

Nickel sat curled up on the moth-eaten couch, knees pulled tight to his chest, his glare fixed on the floor like it had personally offended him.
Balloon was pacing again. Fourth time around the room.
Knife leaned against the wall with his arms crossed, eyes on the front door.

“…She’s probably fine,” Balloon said suddenly, the desperation obvious in his voice. “She’s smart. She’s probably just—I dunno—lost? Maybe she had to hide somewhere because of… something.”

Nickel didn’t respond. His jaw was tight, lips a thin line.

“She wouldn’t just leave us,” Balloon added, stopping by the window to peek through the cracked boards. “Right? She wouldn’t do that. Not now.”

Knife spoke for the first time. “No. She wouldn’t.”

“Well then where is she?” Balloon turned, voice rising. “It’s been hours. She said she was just going to check outside! Just five minutes, remember?!”

Nickel snapped his head up. “And you let her?”

“What do you mean I let her?! She wanted to! I told her to wait, but she just—!”

“You should’ve stopped her!”

“I tried! ” Balloon shouted, hands in his hair now. “She said she needed air—she said she was going to look for Mic—!”

At that, the room went cold.

Nickel’s face darkened, biting his lip. “Of course it’s about Mic.”

“Don’t start,” Knife warned.

But Nickel stood up, stepping toward them. “No, come on—let’s all just pretend this isn’t exactly like what happened last time! Every time someone goes after her someone gets hurt!”

Balloon stepped in between them. “Nickel, stop—”

“Suitcase should’ve known better!” Nickel barked. “After everything—after all that’s happened—she still thought she could fix her!”

“She was worried ! ” Balloon cried. “You saw her! She was trying to hold it together for us ! ”

“And now she’s probably dead ,” Nickel spat, the words hitting the air like a slap.

Balloon reeled back, stunned. Even Knife blinked, hard.

Nickel’s expression dropped as he realized what he had said, “I… I didn’t mean it like that,” he muttered. “I just—fuck, I’m tired.”

“We all are,” Knife said lowly. “But yelling at each other won’t help.”

There was a long, heavy silence. Only the wind scratched against the windows.

“…She’s not dead,” Balloon said finally, almost pleading. “She can’t be. She’s….”

“I don’t know what to believe anymore,” Nickel muttered, sinking back onto the couch. “I keep thinking this is all just some horrible dream. That we’ll wake up and we’ll be back at the stupid competition. Arguing over team names or some shit.”

Balloon sniffled quietly. “I’d kill to hear her complain about Mephone’s hosting again.”

Knife exhaled through his nose and turned toward the door.

“…Where are you going?” Nickel asked without looking up.

Knife grabbed the nearest flashlight, testing the switch.

“You’re not serious,” Balloon said, voice cracking.

Knife’s grip tightened. “I have to find her.”

“No.” Balloon darted forward. “No, you can’t. It’s not safe! You heard what Suitcase said, there was something in the forest, what if it got her?!”

“Then she needs help.”

“She needs you to not die too!”

Knife didn’t answer right away. His face was stone. But his hand trembled just a little on the flashlight.

Nickel stood again, quieter this time. “You’re not going to find her.”

Knife looked at him. “And if I don’t try?”

Nickel hesitated. “You think I don’t want to?” he muttered. “You think I haven’t thought about it? But we can’t lose you too. We’re barely keeping it together as it is.”

Balloon looked like he was on the verge of tears. “Please. Please don’t leave. Just—wait ‘til morning. Please.”

Knife stood in the doorway now, flashlight in one hand, his other hand tight around the doorknob.

He didn’t say anything.
He just looked at them.

“…I have to try,” Knife said at last, voice barely audible.

And with that, he stepped out into the night.

The door shut behind him.

Chapter Text

The forest didn’t feel like a forest anymore.

The trees were too still. The air too heavy. No chirps. No rustling. Just the occasional snap of twigs under Knife’s feet as he pressed deeper into the underbrush.

His flashlight flickered. Once. Twice.

“Great,” he muttered, smacking it with his palm until the light steadied. “You better not give out on me now.”

The beam swung left and right, tracing warped tree trunks and too-dark shadows. His breath came in little clouds. He should’ve felt cold. But all he felt was a slow-burning dread—like something was watching him.

“Suitcase,” he called again, for what had to be the twentieth time. “If you’re out here, say something. Anything.”

A pause.

Then—

“…Knife?”

He froze.

That voice.

He whipped around, flashlight trembling in his hand. The beam caught on something up ahead—someone.

Suitcase.

She stepped out from behind a tree, limping slightly, ribbons and felt torn. Her face was cut, bruised, but her eyes— 

They were bright.

Like nothing had ever been wrong.

Knife blinked. “S-Suitcase?”

“Hey,” she said gently, almost too gently. “Y-you came looking for me.”

His chest tightened. “What happened to you? Where the hell have you been? Everyone’s losing their minds—Nickel thinks you're—”

“I know,” she cut in. Her voice didn’t waver. “I heard you calling, I was trying to get back, I just… got turned around.” 

Knife stepped closer, narrowing his eyes. “You’re… okay?”

She smiled. “Well. Not great, but I’ve been worse.”
She looked towards a dark patch of the forest. “Come on. I want to show you something.”

“…Show me?”

Suitcase turned, not even waiting for his answer, and started walking deeper into the forest.

Knife hesitated.

Something was off. She was limping, but her footsteps were too even. Her shadow didn’t move right in the flashlight beam. And her figure—every now and then—it twitched, like static.

He rubbed his eyes. No. You're imagining things. You're tired.

Still…

He followed her.

"Where are we going?" Knife asked, walking just a step or two behind.

“You’ll see,” Suitcase said, cheerful. Too cheerful. “It’s not far.”

“Why didn’t you come back to the hotel?”

“I was waiting for you.”

Knife frowned. “What?”

Suitcase looked back, smiling wide. “I knew you’d come.”

The pit in his stomach expanded.

He didn’t speak again until they stepped into a clearing.

And then he saw it.

There, lying against a tree trunk, mangled beyond recognition but still achingly familiar—was Suitcase.

The real one.

Her blood soaked into the earth in a wide halo. Her legs were bent wrong. Her eyes were half open.

“No….” Knife whispered. His light dropped to the ground. “No—no no no—”

“I told you,” said the voice behind him.

He turned.

“Suitcase” was still smiling. But her form flickered now like a glitching video frame. Her eyes gleamed.

“What’s wrong?” she asked sweetly, stepping closer. “Don’t you like my surprise?”

Knife stumbled back. “ You’re not her. ”

Her body twitched.

“ Oh Knife, ” she purred, her voice now less like Suitcase’s, “ but you came all this way… ”

Then her chest ripped open. 

From inside, a long, lanky black arm burst out with a horrible wet snap, swinging straight for Knife.

He froze. Eyes wide. He couldn’t even scream.

This is it. This is how I die.

But the blow never came.

A crack cut through the clearing—wood driving into flesh—and a high-pitched shriek echoed around the trees.

“GET AWAY FROM HIM!” 

A voice he hadn’t heard in days. Raw, furious.

Microphone.

She stood between him and the creature, a bloodied branch plunged into the inky arm. Her entire body was trembling, eyes red and burning with fury.

Suitcase—no…. it —let out a monstrous, guttural shriek as its form warped violently, slamming back into its true shape: jagged, pitch-black, and far too tall, hunched like a broken puppet on strings. Glowing white eyes blinked back into existence.

“Fuck you,” Mic hissed at the creature. “You don’t get to take him too.”

“Mic—?” Knife gasped, trying to get his breath back.

She grabbed his arm without looking at him. “Move.”

“But—”

“I SAID MOVE!”

They ran. Branches clawed at their arms. Roots tried to trip them. The forest seemed to scream with every step. Behind them, something shrieked again—enraged.

Mic didn’t stop running. Not until the clearing was gone and the screams faded.

Only then did Knife rip his arm free.

“What the hell was that ?! ” he shouted, panting, wide-eyed. “WHAT did I just SEE?!”

Mic’s chest heaved. Her hands shook. “I didn’t want you to see it. Any of you.”

“You KNEW?! You knew that thing —that thing was out here and you didn’t TELL US?!”

“I tried!” Mic snapped, voice cracking. “You all thought I was crazy! I wanted to tell you—I—”

“She’s DEAD,” Knife growled. “ Suitcase is dead, Mic….. What the fuck did that thing do to her?!”

“I know. ” Her voice broke. “I know. I found her. I—I held her. I stayed with her until it came back. That thing—it was in her, like a puppet, like it wore her as a new skin—”

Knife gagged, turned, and vomited behind a tree.

Mic looked away, hugging herself. “…It mimicked her voice. Her face. It said her words to me like it knew what I wanted to hear. And I—I didn’t stop it in time. I’m sorry.”

He leaned against the tree, gasping. “What is it?”

“I don’t know,” she whispered. “But it’s been following me for days. It pretends. It twists what you care about and… and feeds on it.”

Knife was silent for a long moment.

“…Why didn’t it kill me?”

Mic’s voice was bitter. “Because it wanted me to. It lured you to that clearing so I'd kill you, but I couldn’t.”

Knife looked at her sharply.

“It wanted me to finish what it started,” she said. “Like some kind of sick joke.”

He stared at her. Then, slowly, his voice softened. “Mic… what the hell have you been dealing with?”

She finally looked at him. “More than I can carry.”

The pain in her eyes was unbearable.

“I can’t go back, to the hotel, if that’s what you were going to ask.” she murmured. “not yet, but you can. You have to. It knows you’re here now. It’s going to try again.”

“I’m not leaving you out here alone,” Knife said.

“You don’t get a choice,” she snapped. “You stay here, it finds you again. I already lost her . I’m not letting it take you too.”

Knife clenched his fists. “We need a plan.”

“We need time,” Mic said. “And we won’t get it if you’re dead.”

Knife swallowed hard. “Fine. I’ll go. But this isn’t over.”

Mic smiled, tired. “It never is.”

He turned and ran.

She watched until he disappeared.

Then she sank to her knees.

Chapter Text

The forest was quiet again.

Too quiet.

The only sound was the crunch of dried leaves beneath Microphone’s feet, the desperate rhythm of her breathing, and the distant echoes of a storm that never quite arrived.

She hadn’t made it far before the air changed.

It dropped in temperature like a switch was flipped. She felt shivers rack her body, and her stomach twisted—not from fear, not yet—but from recognition. That unnatural stillness always came first, like the world itself was holding its breath.

She turned too late.

A jagged, inky black hand shot from the thickets like a whip, grabbing her by the throat. The force knocked the air out of her lungs, and before she could even scream, she was slammed against a tree so hard the bark cracked behind her.

“ There you are. ”

Its voice slithered through her ears like oil, impossibly calm and cool compared to the sheer power behind its grip. Its hollow white eyes stared into hers, and its smile was too wide—too calm. As if it hadn’t just crushed her into a tree like a ragdoll.

Mic’s legs kicked weakly in the air. She clawed at its fingers, gasping for breath, but its grip didn’t loosen.

“Get—off—me—!” she choked out, thrashing.

“ Didn’t I tell you to wait for my signal? Naughty Microphone. ” Its tone was taunting.

She spit in its face.

It didn’t flinch.

“You were going to kill him,” Mic growled. Her voice was hoarse and cracked, eyes burning with tears, rage, guilt—everything. “You used her to trap him—”

“ Mhm. ” It tilted its head, grinning like a child. “And it worked beautifully, didn’t it? You should’ve seen the look on his face. All that trust, crumbling... just like yours did. ”

Its free hand drifted up, slowly brushing a finger down Mic’s cheek. She recoiled at the touch.

“I’m going to fucking kill you,” she hissed, voice shaking, “I swear to god—”

“ You already tried, ” it cooed. “ You screamed. You flailed. You stabbed me with a stick—very creative, by the way—but here I am. ”

Its fingers twitched around her throat.

“ I’m still here, Mic. And you’re still mine. ”

A beat passed in silence.

Then, its tone dropped.

“ And if you’re not ready to behave, I’ll carve another one of your friends into red ribbons. ”

Something in Mic snapped .

She slammed her foot into its side, twisting in its grip with a surge of adrenaline. It staggered slightly—just enough for her to suck in a breath and scream.

“You think you control me?!” she roared. “You think I’m just gonna roll over and let you pull my strings like I’m some fucking puppet?!”

It didn't respond. It just stared, blinking slowly.

“You mutilated someone I cared about,” she spat, chest heaving. “You gutted her like she was nothing —and now you want me to HELP YOU?!”

A dry laugh echoed from its chest.

“ Of course I do. You’re perfect, Mic. So broken. So alone. So easy. ”

It leaned closer. The grin stretched wider.

“All I had to do was poke a little. Show you the truth. And look how quickly you fell apart. ”

“Shut up!”

“ Admit it, ” it purred, twisting the knife. “ Aren’t you tired of pretending to be a hero? You’re not like them. You never were. The way they look at you? Like a time bomb. Like a freak. ”

Mic froze.

“ You hate it. The pity. The distance. The way they whisper when they think you’re not listening. ”

Her breath hitched. That… that wasn’t true. Right?

“ You hate yourself, ” it added. “ And I’m the only one who understands that. ”

Her voice came out in a whisper.

“You don’t understand anything. ”

“ Oh? But I do, Mic. I know what it feels like to be discarded. Replaced. Feared. But you don’t have to feel that way anymore. ”

Its face inched closer to hers.

“ You just have to listen. ”

And then, silence.

Heavy, suffocating silence.

Until Mic, trembling, eyes wide with horror, laughed, sharp and bitter.

“You don’t get it, do you?”

The smile faltered.

“You think you’re in my head. You think I’m gonna help you? That I’ll listen to you just because you’ve torn apart everything I care about?”

She leaned forward, nose almost touching its shadowy face.

“Here’s the difference between you and me. I still care. You don’t. You never will. That’s why you’ll never win."

There it was.

The moment.

Its grin twitched—just slightly.

Then shattered.

The silence was deafening . The woods held their breath.

It’s eye twitched. It stepped forward—then lunged.

Its clawed hands wrapped around Mic’s skull. One on her jaw. One on the top of her head.

A horrible squelch as it tightened.
Her spine popped. Her arms flailed uselessly.

Its voice was low. Monotone. Cold.
“ I could pop your head off like a fucking cork. ”

Mic gurgled, fingers clawing at its arms, seeing stars. She kicked, squirmed, bit , but it didn’t budge.

Then, just as quickly as it attacked—it stopped.

Its hands released her. Mic collapsed again, coughing, blood leaking from her lip.

It crouched beside her, inches from her face now. That unsettling grin returned.

“ But I won’t, ” it whispered. “ Because you’re useful. And now you’re going to listen. ”

Mic glared up, glassy-eyed, rage and terror swirling in her throat.

“ You’re going to do something for me, Mic,” It continued. “You’re going to think really hard. Reflect. Ponder. Take a nice walk and pick a name. ”

Mic’s lip quivered. “What...?”

“ One person, ” it said simply. “ An enemy, a friend, pick one. Kill them for me. ”

Mic stared. She didn’t blink.

“I won’t—”

It’s hand slapped her hard enough to whip her head to the side. Her cheek instantly swelled.

“I wasn’t asking. ”

It stood, straightening its warped limbs and stretching them.

“I’ll be back in a few hours, ” it called over its shoulder as it floated away. “ Don’t keep me waiting. I’d hate to have to choose for you. ”

Its laughter echoed through the trees, Mocking.

And then it was gone.

Mic didn’t move for several minutes. Not even to cry. She just sat there, broken and trembling, her bruised neck pulsing, her fingers twitching in the dirt.

She whispered to herself.

“I’m not gonna do it. I’m not gonna do it... I’m not... I’m not...”

But the woods didn’t answer.

Only the wind.

Chapter Text

The hotel lobby was quiet when Knife stumbled in. His handle was streaked with mud, his breath ragged, eyes wide and unfocused like he’d walked out of a war zone. The hotel doors shut behind him with a hiss, but it still felt like the cold from outside had followed him in.

Nickel and Balloon had been sitting on the couch in the corner, a half-finished game of cards between them.

Balloon sat up first. “Knife? Oh my god, your ba—”

“Holy crap, you look like hell,” Nickel cut in, frowning. “Seriously, what happened out there? Was what Mic was saying actually true?”

Knife didn’t answer right away. His legs carried him toward them like his brain was on autopilot. He dropped onto the armrest instead of the couch, gripping the wood tightly.

“I…” His voice cracked, like it hadn’t been used in hours. “I found her.”

Balloon’s eyes lit up. “Suitcase?! Where—”

“Not her .” Knife swallowed hard, forcing the words out. “I meant….. her body. ”

The silence hit like a hammer.

Nickel’s voice softened just slightly. “…You’re serious…?”

“I wish I wasn’t.” Knife’s gaze flicked up, but it wasn’t really on them. “She was scratched up. Bruised. But then she started talking to me. Acting like nothing happened. And I—I followed her. Thought maybe I was losing it.”

Balloon’s hand slowly went to his mouth. “You… you mean…?”

“It wasn’t her,” Knife said sharply, almost as if trying to convince himself. “It was some …..thing . The—whatever the hell it is that Mic’s been dealing with. It brought me to the clearing. Showed me… the real Suitcase. Then it tried to–”

He stopped, shaking his head, almost as if he didn’t want to finish that sentence. “Mic showed up. Saved my ass. Told me to get back here. That’s it.”

Nickel stood up. “We need to tell OJ. Now. You look like you’re about to collapse.”

“Nickel—”

“No,” Nickel said firmly, already steering him toward the elevator. “You’ve clearly been through… whatever the hell that was. We’ll handle it. You’re not doing it alone.”

Balloon followed quickly. “Yeah, you’re not gonna be the one to stand in front of OJ and tell him about corpses in the forest. You need to sit down before you pass out.”

Knife didn’t even fight it. His body felt heavy, like every bone wanted to sink into the floor.

—

OJ’s voice carried through the hotel lobby twenty minutes later, his tone sharp but even. Everyone had been gathered in front of the dining area—faces ranging from confusion to dread.

“Listen up,” OJ said, hands planted firmly on the counter. “Effective immediately, nobody goes into the forest. I don’t care if it’s daylight, I don’t care if you’re with someone else, I don’t care if you think you know the trails. No one goes in. Period.”

The crowd murmured. Someone from the back called out, “Why? What’s going on?”

OJ’s jaw tightened. “Something dangerous. That’s all you need to know for now. This is not up for discussion.”

Knife stood against the far wall, arms crossed, eyes half-lidded. He could see OJ’s mouth moving, hear the muffled rise and fall of his voice, but the words were just static in his ears. The ringing wouldn’t stop. Every time he blinked, Suitcase’s body flashed in his mind again—limp, lifeless, wrong.

-

“Knife?”

The voice was softer. Real.

He blinked and turned his head, all the gathered contestants had left except one. Paper was standing in front of him, a blanket folded over one arm, a steaming mug in the other.

“You look like you could use this,” Paper said gently, offering both.

Knife stared for a moment before taking the cup. “…Thanks.”

“You don’t have to stay up in your room tonight,” Paper added. “If you’d rather crash here on the couch, you can. It’s quieter after lights out.”

Knife didn’t answer. Just kept his eyes on the mug, watching the surface ripple faintly with the warmth.

“I’ll leave you to it,” Paper said after a moment, his tone never losing its kindness. “Try to get some rest, okay?”

He walked off, the soft sound of his steps fading into the distance. The lights in the lobby clicked off one by one until only the glow from outside remained.

Knife sat in the dark, the cup warm in his hands. He didn’t drink. Just stared out the window at the treeline beyond the hotel. The blackness between the branches felt like it was staring back.

-------------------------------

Somewhere deeper in that darkness, Microphone sat hunched on a fallen log. She’d been thinking for hours. Running through names in her head like she was flipping through photographs she wanted to burn.

Footsteps—no, not footsteps. Movement could be heard .

It emerged from between the trees without a sound, its shape folding and unfolding in the dark like smoke.

“ Have you decided? ” it asked, its voice smooth yet sweet.

Mic didn’t look at it right away. Her hand tightened around her knees. “…Yeah.”

“ Oh? ” The smile in its voice was unmistakable. “ And who’s the lucky one? ”

She turned her head finally, her eyes dull but resolved.

“Test Tube.”

Chapter Text

The forest’s edge loomed like a wall, branches scraping the fading sunlight. Microphone’s boots crunched softly on the loose gravel path as she approached a rusted vending machine half-hidden in the overgrowth—bright red, faded logos peeling, streaked with grime and moss.

She paused, heart pounding—not with fear, but with a strange, bitter nostalgia.

This was the place. The place where Taco had first shown her the way in. Where promises were made. And broken.

Her fingers brushed the chipped buttons on the machine, a quiet hiss escaping her lips.

“3... 2... 1... 1...”

She remembered how Taco had punched the code with that frown, how the machine had shifted and glowed, how a hidden chute had slid open to swallow her whole.

Her breath caught in her throat as she punched the numbers again, slowly, carefully—each press echoing faintly in the quiet forest.

Then, with a mechanical groan, a panel on the side slid outward, revealing a dark, slippery chute. The metal gleamed, cold and unyielding.

Without hesitation, Mic stepped inside. The chute swallowed her in darkness, cold air rushing past her as she slid downward. The wind whipped against her face, the floor rushing up to meet her.

She landed on something soft—a mattress tucked at the end of the passageway. She lay there for a moment, catching her breath, the stale scent of machinery and antiseptic filling her nostrils.

Before she could move, a figure stepped into the dim light.

Test Tube.

Her arms were crossed, lips pressed into a tight line, and her sharp eyes were alight with barely concealed anger.

“Well, well,” Test Tube said icily, voice ringing in the small room. “If it isn’t the queen of betrayal herself.”

Microphone sat up slowly, dusting off herself. “You know me too well.”

Test Tube scoffed. “I’m surprised you found the place. Or maybe you just can’t resist following Taco’s trail.”

Mic’s jaw tightened. “I didn’t come here to argue about Taco.”

Test Tube’s gaze sharpened. “Oh? Then what?”

Mic stood, facing her fully. “I need you to come with me.”

Test Tube blinked, then laughed—a short, harsh sound. “Come with you? To where? The forest? You’re insane.”

“Not insane.” Mic shook her head, her voice low and serious. “Determined.”

Test Tube stepped forward, folding her arms tighter. “And why would I trust you ? After everything? After the lies, the chaos, the people who’ve been almost killed because of you?”

Mic’s eyes flickered. “I’m not asking for your trust.”

Test Tube narrowed her eyes. “Then what the hell do you want?”

Mic took a breath, steadying herself. “You’re smart. You’re useful. You’re strong. And right now, you’re the only person who might be able to help. Or… at least understand.”

Test Tube raised an eyebrow. “Understand what? That you’ve been playing a dangerous game, dragging everyone down with you?”

Mic’s lips twisted in a bitter smile. “Maybe. But I’m done running.”

There was a tense silence.

Test Tube’s voice dropped, skeptical but curious. “So, what? You want me to waltz into the forest with you, knowing what’s out there?”

Mic met her gaze evenly. “I want you to come because you have to see it for yourself. Because I need you to decide what side you’re on. And because if you don’t… I’m afraid things will get worse.”

Test Tube’s jaw clenched. “You think this is some kind of ultimatum?”

Mic nodded. “It’s a choice. And I’m giving it to you before it’s too late.”

Test Tube looked away, biting her lip as if weighing some invisible scale.

“Why me?” she finally asked, softer. “Why not someone who actually likes you?”

Mic shrugged, but her voice was sharp. “Because those people are already dead or gone. And because I need someone who hates me enough to keep me in check.”

Test Tube stared at her, the tension hanging thick between them.

“And if I say no?”

Mic’s eyes darkened. “Then… you might be next.”

Test Tube’s breath hitched, her expression flickering for just a moment.

Finally, she stepped back and exhaled slowly.

“Fine,” she said. “But if you try anything funny, I won’t hesitate to shut you down.”

Mic smiled thinly, the weight of what she’d done settling in.

“Deal.”

Chapter Text

The forest seemed quieter the further they walked, save for the occasional crunch of leaves underfoot. The pale light bleeding through the branches above painted everything in a sickly, greenish hue, making the trees look like skeletons trying to claw their way free of the earth.

Microphone kept her pace steady, even though every step felt heavier than the last.

“You sure this is the right way?” Test Tube’s voice cut through the silence. She was glancing around, her brows drawn low in suspicion.

Mic kept her tone light—too light. “Yeah. I’ve been through here before. Just past the ridge, there’s a clearing. Good spot to… regroup.”

Test Tube gave her one of those sidelong stares, the kind that had always made Mic’s skin crawl. “Regroup? That’s an oddly vague goal.”

Mic forced a chuckle. “Sorry, I forgot you need a PowerPoint presentation for every plan.”

Test Tube huffed, rolling her eyes. “Some of us prefer facts over gut feelings. But fine—lead on.”

They kept walking, the forest growing denser. The air was damp, each breath like inhaling a mouthful of cold moss. Mic’s fingers twitched at her sides, an unconscious tick she was trying to keep in check. She could feel the familiar prickle in the back of her mind— It’s presence, hovering, watching, waiting.

Don’t mess it up now, it whispered, though its voice wasn’t out loud—it was just in her head, slithering between her thoughts.

Her heart was pounding, but she kept her tone airy. “You ever notice how quiet it gets in this part of the woods? Like, too quiet?”

“Mm. Lack of biodiversity. Certain predators—”

Mic cut her off, “Yeah, sure, ‘biodiversity.’ Or maybe it’s because even the animals know this place is bad news.”

Test Tube gave her a dry look. “Superstitions. Exactly the kind of reasoning that gets people killed out here.”

Mic swallowed hard. Oh, you’re not wrong, she thought.

The clearing emerged ahead like an open wound in the forest—a patch of withered grass surrounded by crooked trees. The ground here was uneven, scattered with small holes and sections of fragile foliage.

Mic stopped just at the edge, letting Test Tube walk a step ahead.

“You hear that?” Mic asked softly.

Test Tube frowned, scanning the treeline. “…Rustling.”

The sound grew louder, shifting from the bushes to the low branches. Leaves shook, and something slithered between the shadows.

Mic’s voice wavered, just enough to sound genuine. “Test Tube… I’m sorry.”

Before the words could settle, a shadow unfolded from the treeline. It stepped into view—or at least, the Taco-shaped form it had chosen for now. Its limbs too long, fingers tipped with claw-like protrusions, its smile splitting its face wide enough to nearly reach the sides of its head. Its eyes glowed like molten glass.

Test Tube’s head whipped toward Mic, her confusion snapping instantly into panic. “What the—?!”

It lunged.

The impact was brutal—a clawed hand raked across Test Tube’s side, the glass cracking under the force before shattering with a sickening crack . She stumbled back with a sharp, wet gasp as they spread along her cylindrical body. Neon green liquid sloshed inside her, seeping out of some of the cracks and splattering through the break onto the ground.

She shrieked, clutching the crack with trembling hands. “WHAT—WHAT IS THAT?!”

Mic stood frozen for a moment, watching as it circled her, claws dragging against the dirt like a predator toying with prey.

“Mic—HELP ME!” Test Tube’s voice was strained, shrill with panic. Another swipe from it opened a second crack, smaller but enough to let another weak stream of fluid run down her glass. The liquid hissed as it hit the cold earth, pooling beneath her feet.

The entity was laughing—a soft, delighted giggle that echoed wrong, like a child’s joy layered over something ancient and cruel.

Test Tube staggered back, clutching herself. “I—can’t—”

Mic stepped closer, her gaze locked on the damage. The memories started flooding in—every scoff, every dismissive comment, every look of disgust Test Tube had ever given her. The way she’d always treated Mic like a malfunction, a nuisance.

Her breathing slowed. The cold in her chest was no longer fear.

“I’m… so tired of you ,” Mic murmured.

Test Tube’s eyes widened. “What—what are you saying?!”

Mic clenched her fists. “You’ve never seen me as anything but trash.”

Its claws lashed out again, catching Test Tube across the front. This time, the glass shattered wide—a jagged, gaping hole that sent a gush of liquid pouring out. Test Tube screamed, staggering forward, hands scrabbling to cover the break, her steps unsteady.

Mic stepped into her path.

“I’m done being the one you step on.”

Her leg shot forward. She slammed her foot into the largest fracture, the impact ringing through the clearing like a bell. The glass spiderwebbed instantly, splinters flying. A torrent of green liquid burst free, splattering across Mic’s legs and soaking into the ground.

Test Tube’s voice broke into a ragged, gurgling sob. “Please—Mic—”

Another strike—harder this time. The crack traveled up the length of her body, the sharp edges catching the dim light. More liquid spilled, her body buckling under the loss.

Mic’s eyes were narrowed to slits. “You were right… superstition does get people killed.”

She lifted both hands and brought them down with all her strength. The glass gave way with a deafening shatter, pieces raining onto the dirt in glittering shards. The last of the liquid drained away, steaming faintly in the cold air.

Test Tube’s face froze mid-expression before her features went slack. The remnants of her body collapsed inward, nothing left but broken glass and the sticky pool beneath it.

That thing clapped its hands together, the sound sharp and almost… gleeful. It floated in the air, twirling around a bit like a kid who had just gotten a Christmas present.

“ That—was—beautiful! ” It crooned, its voice stretching with delight, it grabbed her shoulders in a somewhat way that a proud parent would. “ You did so well! Just perfect, Mic. Perfect! ”

Mic stood there, her breathing heavy, staring at the ruin in front of her. The shards caught the pale light like little frozen stars, the liquid pooling around them.

She didn’t say anything. Didn’t move.

It was still celebrating. Mic’s eyes, however, were fixed on the corpse — the utter stillness of it. Her hands were trembling, though not from the cold.

It tilted its head, still grinning. “ What’s wrong? You did it! ”

Mic finally looked up, her voice hollow. “…Yeah.”

“I did it…huh....”

Chapter Text

Knife sat slumped against the armrest of the couch in the hotel lobby, staring blankly at the faint light creeping past the trees outside. His hands still gripped the now cold cup of tea Paper had given him hours ago, though he hadn’t taken a sip. His eyes burned—red, sunken, sleepless. Every blink made the corpse of Suitcase flash again and again behind his lids.

He barely noticed the pounding of footsteps until a blur of movement rushed down the staircase.

“—she’s not here, she’s not here! ” Fan’s voice cracked, ragged, almost hysterical. Lightbulb and Paintbrush hurried after him, both looking tense but holding themselves together better than Fan.

Knife straightened, startled, as Fan stumbled toward him, clutching the torn edge of his body like he didn’t care if blood got on his hands from the tear. His eyes were wide, rimmed red from tears.

“Knife!” Fan nearly tripped over the carpet but caught himself, grabbing the edge of the couch. “Please—please tell me you saw her! Did anyone come in last night? Did—did Test Tube come back?!”

Knife blinked, slow and heavy, words sluggish in his throat. “…What?”

Fan’s breaths came sharp, shallow. “Test Tube! She—she didn’t come back! She always comes back before sunrise, always, even when she’s busy in the lab! I—I checked everywhere including the lab! She’s not here, she’s not—”

Lightbulb quickly stepped in, placing a hand on Fan’s shoulder. “Fan, breathe.” She turned to Knife, her usual bubbly tone muted but still present. “Sorry, he’s just—uh—extra worried this time.”

Paintbrush crossed their arms, tapping their foot so hard it echoed against the floorboards. “She’s been gone all night. That’s not normal. Not even for her. She knows better than to just wander around when—” they stopped, glancing at Knife, and their jaw tightened. “—when the forest is crawling with whatever the hell is out there.”

Knife’s grip on the mug trembled slightly. He tried to swallow, but his throat felt tight. “…She didn’t come back?”

Fan’s voice broke again, tears welling at the corners of his eyes. “N-no, she didn’t, and I—I don’t know what to do! I should’ve stayed up, I should’ve checked, I—” He gripped his head, his fingers messing up the paper. “She’s all I have, Knife, I can’t —”

Lightbulb gently pried his hands away before he could tear into himself further. “Hey, hey. It’s okay, Fan. Maybe she just… lost track of time? You know how she gets when she’s running experiments. She’s probably knee-deep in chemicals and forgot the sun even exists.” She forced a shaky laugh. “Classic Tuber.”

Fan shook his head, voice rising. “No! She always comes back before sunrise! She promises me that every time—‘I won’t make you worry, Fan,’ she says—she never breaks her word! Never! Something’s wrong, I know it, I know it—”

Paintbrush groaned, running both hands down their face. “Oh my god, will you calm down for two seconds? Panicking isn’t helping. For all we know, she is in the lab and we just didn’t see her. Maybe she didn’t want to be disturbed. Maybe she doesn’t want to be here right now.”

“Don’t say that!” Fan snapped, his voice raw. “She cares about me—about us! She wouldn’t just—just stay gone! Not without telling me!”

Knife’s chest twisted. He stared down at his hands, at the tea he hadn’t touched. His heart thudded harder, faster, as memories of last night surfaced. Suitcase’s body. That thing in her skin. The arm bursting through.

Test Tube…

His entire body jolted upright suddenly, startling the others. The cup of tea slipped from his grasp and clattered against the floor, spilling cold liquid across the carpet.

Fan jumped back. “K-Knife?!”

Knife’s breath came fast, shallow. His eyes were wide, haunted, darting between them. “I… I think—I might know what happened to her.”

The words dropped heavy into the air.

Lightbulb blinked, her forced optimism flickering. “What… what do you mean by that?”

Fan grabbed Knife’s sleeve, desperate. “What do you mean?! You—you saw her? Where? Where is she?!”

Knife opened his mouth, but his throat closed. His jaw trembled. He rubbed at his face, groaning, like he could scrub away the memory. “…I didn’t see her . But I know what might have happened to her...”

Paintbrush narrowed their eyes, stepping closer. “Knife. Spit it out.”

His voice cracked when he spoke. “The forest. Last night. I saw… Suitcase, or—I thought I did. But it wasn’t her. It—it was something else. ” His words tripped over each other, panic rising. “It looked like her, it sounded like her, but when I followed it—” He stopped, squeezing his eyes shut. His fists clenched. “She was already dead. ”

The room went cold.

Fan froze, his hands slipping from Knife’s sleeve like the strength left his body. “So you’re saying, she might be dead..? No…” His knees hit the ground. “nononononononononononono…”

Lightbulb ran over to Fan, resting a hand on his shoulder before looking up at Knife. “Nope. Nope. No way. That’s not—that’s not funny, Knife. Don’t—don’t say something like that.”

“I’m not—” Knife’s voice cracked, raw. “I’m not joking . She might be gone. And that thing, that thing in the forest, it—it’s playing with us. It’s using us. It’s—”

Fan’s breath hitched, then shattered into a sob. He covered his face with both hands, sinking to his knees. “No, no, no—please, you’re lying, please, you’re wrong—”

Lightbulb crouched quickly beside him, tears welling in her own eyes as she tried to hold him. “Fan, don’t—don’t cry, we don’t know for sure, we—we can’t—” She glared back at Knife, desperate. “You don’t know that’s true! You were exhausted, you said it yourself, it could’ve been your head playing tricks!”

Paintbrush’s voice was low, strained, and angrier than before. “…But you don’t think it was, do you?”

Knife shook his head slowly, his eyes hollow. “…No.”

Fan’s cries grew louder, muffled in Lightbulb’s shoulder as she rocked him gently, whispering reassurances she barely believed herself. Paintbrush pressed their hand to their temple, pacing, muttering curses under their breath.

Knife stood there, trembling, guilt gnawing at every nerve. He wanted to take the words back. He wanted to lie. But he couldn’t. Not after what he’d seen.

The sun had risen, pale light spilling through the hotel windows, but none of them felt it. The morning had come, but it brought no warmth. Only silence. 

Only grief.

Chapter Text

The clearing was silent. Silent in the way that made the skin crawl, as though the forest itself knew what had just happened and was holding its breath in mourning—or disgust.

Microphone still had her hands trembling, sticky with whatever remained of Test Tube’s shattered essence. The liquid, the sharp flecks of glass… it clung to her like a crime scene she couldn’t wash away. She stood over the broken body, chest heaving, her throat raw from the scream she hadn’t even realized had left her when she delivered the final blow.

And then came that thing .

The entity didn’t walk into view—it simply slid from the shadows, its long, wispy frame bending like smoke. Its grin stretched ear to ear.

“ Ahhh, bravo! ” It clapped its hands together. “ You did it, Mic. You actually did it. I knew you had it in you. Look at this— ” it gestured broadly to Test Tube’s corpse, glass shards glinting in the faint slivers of dawn light. “—artistry. ”

“Shut up,” Microphone muttered hoarsely. Her knees buckled, and she sank down, hands covering her face. She wanted to vomit, scream, rewind time—anything to undo the sight in front of her.

It tilted its head, smile never faltering. “ Oh, don’t sulk now. This was progress. Your very first, and might I say, beautifully executed kill. ” It crouched low beside her, glowing eyes wide and giddy. “ You’ve broken through the barrier. Do you realize what an accomplishment this is? Most would’ve hesitated, faltered, begged. But you—you finished what was started. You’re stronger than you think. ”

Mic’s hands slid down her face, revealing wide, bloodshot eyes and a trembling jaw. “Stronger?” she spat. “That wasn’t strength. That was—” She cut herself off, shaking her head furiously. “That was wrong. God, I hated her sometimes, but… I didn’t want this. I never wanted her dead .”

It blinked slowly, feigning confusion before a low chuckle rattled from its throat. “ Didn’t want it? Mic, you’ve been aching for this. All that bitterness. The resentment. Every glare she threw at you. Every time she made you feel like a mistake, like garbage—don’t pretend you weren’t carrying that like a stone in your gut. ” It leaned closer, voice curling around her ears. “ All I did was unlock the cage. You let the rage out. That was you. ”

“Stop,” Microphone snapped, slamming her palms against her figurative ears as if she could physically shut its voice out. “Stop twisting it—stop making it sound like I wanted this. I didn’t. I didn’t! ” Her voice cracked, and tears began streaming hot and fast down her face. “I don’t even know what came over me—one second I was angry and the next… I just…” She stared at her hands again, seeing them coated in red even though they were mostly clear. “I killed her .”

The entity sat back slightly, its smile falling. Its gaze was locked on her trembling frame, the way her shoulders shook as sobs wracked through her.

For the first time, it didn’t say anything.

Microphone dropped her head into her hands again, the sobs breaking loose, ugly and raw. “I hate this,” she choked out. “I hate you . I hate me . I hate everything . This whole thing—this nightmare—it’s eating me alive.” She pressed her palms harder against her face, nails digging into her skin. “I didn’t sign up for this. I didn’t want this. I just—” Her voice dissolved into another broken sob.

The silence that followed was heavy. Too heavy.

Normally, it would have pounced on this moment—teased her, mocked her for weakness, whispered some cruel taunt about how pitiful she looked. That’s what Mic was bracing for.

Instead, it just hovered. Its glowing eyes flickered as it tilted its head, almost like it was studying her. Watching her break apart piece by piece. For the briefest second, it looked guilty.

Microphone’s cries filled the clearing, raw and unfiltered. Her body shook with every sob, her chest tightening so hard she thought it might collapse.

And it just… stared.

Almost… unsure.

Then, with a small shake of its head—as if snapping itself from a trance—it straightened again, grin snapping back into place, sharp and cold. “ You look pathetic when you cry, ” it sneered, its voice cutting like glass.

Mic’s sobbing hitched, but she didn’t look up. She just kept her face buried in her palms, rocking slightly as if to comfort herself.

The entity lingered another moment, something unreadable flickering behind its mocking expression. Then, it let out a silent scoff as it dissipated into the trees.

Microphone was left alone.

Her sobs echoed in the hollow clearing, no applause, no mocking laugh—just her, the corpse at her feet, and the weight of what she had just done pressing down on her chest like a thousand knives.

She had stayed like that for hours .

Chapter Text

Knife had just finished explaining everything—every detail he could manage without his voice cracking. The words hung heavy in the lobby, stale and suffocating, as if the walls themselves were holding their breath.

Fan stumbled backward like the floor had just tilted beneath him. His eyes, already bloodshot, widened until they looked like they might pop out of his paper head.

“N-No—no, no, no—” Fan gasped, clutching at the air like he couldn’t breathe. His foot caught on the rug and he nearly toppled over, sprinting clumsily for the front doors.

“Fan!” Paintbrush lunged forward, grabbing his arm before he could yank the doors open.

“LET GO!” Fan’s voice cracked violently. He tugged against Paintbrush’s grip, thrashing like a child being dragged away from something vital. “She’s out there—she’s still out there! You don’t get it, you don’t get it—she wouldn’t just vanish!”

“Fan—” Paintbrush gritted their teeth, holding him steady. “Running blindly into the woods isn’t going to bring her back!”

Fan’s breathing was rapid, panicked. His chest heaved with each sharp inhale. “You didn’t hear what Knife just said! She could be alive—she might be alive! What if she’s hurt and waiting for us?! What if she’s—”

Paintbrush’s stern look flickered for just a moment, and they glanced at Knife. “...Could she still be alive?”

Knife stood stiff near the couch, blanket still draped over his shoulders. His voice came out hoarse, ragged. “...It’s… possible.” He swallowed hard, his throat feeling like sandpaper. “But the chance is low. That thing—” His words hitched. The image of Suitcase’s mangled body flashed again, unbidden. He rubbed his temple with shaking fingers. “—it doesn’t… leave survivors often.”

Fan snapped his head toward him, desperation in his eyes. “Low chance isn’t no chance! You said it yourself! She might still be breathing! I have to try, I can’t just sit here while she—”

Lightbulb, who had been frozen in silence, finally blurted, “Then we go together! A search party, yeah? If we all go, we’ve got a better shot, right? We can find her before—before anything bad happens.” Her voice wavered at the end, betraying the doubt she tried to mask with forced optimism.

Knife’s head whipped toward her, his eyes hollow and bloodshot. “You don’t understand. ” He stepped forward, his blanket slipping down his shoulders. “You don’t know what’s in there. You don’t know what it does to you.” His breathing picked up, shallow and uneven. “I walked out once—I’m not walking back in until that thing is gone. If you do—if you run out there—you’ll just be feeding it more.”

Paintbrush’s grip on Fan tightened, but Fan twisted again, his voice trembling and furious. “We can’t just abandon her! We can’t!”

“Fan,” Knife rasped, his words sharp but desperate. “Listen to me. You think you’re ready for that? You think you’ll find her and drag her home safe? That forest isn’t a place you look for people—it’s where you lose them.”

Fan’s hand clenched into a fist. His lip quivered as tears blurred his vision again. “You’re just saying that because you’re scared. ”

Knife froze. The word hit him like a knife to the ribs. His mouth opened, then closed again, but no reply came.

Fan wrenched violently, ripping himself free from Paintbrush’s grip. He stumbled forward and slapped his hand on the door’s handle.

Lightbulb rushed after him. “Wait—Fan—maybe we should think this through, yeah? Like, maps, flashlights, snacks—maybe a buddy system? Running out there in the dark with no plan is—”

But Fan cut her off, his voice breaking, “She’s my best friend! If you were missing, you think she’d just sit here?! She’d go find you!”

Paintbrush looked from Fan, to Lightbulb, to Knife. Their frown deepened. They didn’t want to admit it, but Fan’s words had weight.

Knife just stood there, rooted in place. His arms hung uselessly at his sides, the blanket slipping to the floor. His lips parted, trembling, but no sound came out.

Paintbrush’s eyes lingered on him. The sight of Knife—once sharp, confident, always cutting through fear—reduced to a pale shell, shaking in a hotel lobby, made their stomach twist. Did it really have that big of an impact on him?

Fan twisted the doorknob, voice shaking but determined. “We shouldn’t delay anymore. Every second counts.”

“Fan—” Paintbrush tried again, but it was useless.

Knife finally whispered, voice so faint it barely carried: “Don’t.” His eyes glistened. “Don’t go. Please.”

Fan glanced at him—just a flicker of hesitation—but then shook his head violently.

Lightbulb stepped closer to Paintbrush, her own hands trembling. “We… we have to try, right?”

Paintbrush clenched their jaw, staring once more at Knife. He just stood there, frozen in his own fear, blanketless, shivering as the morning sun peeked through the windows.

And then Fan shoved the door open. The morning air spilled in, cool and damp, brushing against Knife’s face.

Without another word, Fan bolted into the trees. Lightbulb and Paintbrush exchanged a look—hesitation, fear, determination all tangled together—before rushing after him.

Knife didn’t move. He didn’t chase. He didn’t even shout. He just stood there, staring at the open door as it swung on its hinges.

The blanket lay crumpled at his feet. His arms felt empty.

And his silence was louder than any scream.

Chapter Text

Fan burst into the clearing, his shoes slamming into the earth so hard it sent dirt flying up behind him. Paintbrush and Lightbulb weren’t far behind, their breaths ragged, almost in sync with the panicked pounding of Fan’s footsteps.

“Fan—slow the hell down!” Paintbrush hissed, pushing branches away from their face.

But Fan didn’t hear them. His eyes darted around, scanning for anything that looked like Test Tube. He didn’t stop until he nearly tripped headlong into a bush at the edge of the clearing. He froze, chest heaving, and held up his hand.

Paintbrush came to a halt behind him, grimacing. “What now? What’s the holdup—”

“Shh!” Fan whispered sharply, pointing with a trembling finger.

There, against the shadow of an old oak, sat Microphone. Knees pulled to her chest, her body looked…small. Broken. Like every bit of energy had drained from her wires and left her to collapse into herself. Her face was pale, eyes red-rimmed, staring blankly at nothing.

Lightbulb crouched beside Fan and tilted her head. “Mic? …What happened to her? She looks like she got hit by a truck and then, like, reversed over a second time.”

Paintbrush’s voice dropped, harsher than usual, but quieter too. “Something’s wrong. We need to be careful—”

But the moment the words left their mouth, Mic’s head jerked up. Her eyes locked straight onto the brush they were hiding in.

The three froze, dropping lower, hearts hammering. No one dared breathe.

Silence.

No footsteps came closer. No rustling. Nothing but the hum of cicadas and the faint whistle of wind through the trees.

Fan swallowed, then slowly lifted his head above the bush. His breath stopped.

“…She’s gone.”

They all let out a shaky sigh of relief. Fan pushed himself up out of the bush first, brushing dirt off his arms. Lightbulb followed, muttering, “Okay, that was freaky,” while Paintbrush lingered a second longer, eyes scanning the shadows, suspicious.

“Test Tube?” Fan’s voice cracked as he called out, stepping into the clearing. “Test Tube! Please—say something!”

No answer.

His foot caught the edge of something sharp and glittering. He glanced down, brow furrowing. A shard of glass.

“What the—”

His eyes followed the line of broken pieces, glittering faintly in the early dawn light, all leading to a pile. Some shards were jagged and splintered, others still faintly curved as if they had once made up something whole. The grass around it was stained a faint, unnatural green.

Fan’s face drained of color. He staggered forward, his hand reaching toward the glass like he could somehow piece it all back together.

“Test Tube…” he whispered, voice breaking.

Paintbrush caught sight of it next and froze. “Oh my god…”

Lightbulb pressed a hand to her mouth, her whole body shaking. “N-no. No, that’s not—”

But it was.

It was her. What was left of her.

Fan dropped to his knees in front of the pile, his whole body convulsing as sobs ripped out of him. “No, no, NO! Please, not her—not her—” His palms pressed against his face, muffling a guttural wail that cut through the forest like something dying.

Paintbrush stood rigid, blinking hard against the sting in their eyes. They clenched their fists so tightly their knuckles creaked. They refused to let the tears spill, not now. Not here.

Lightbulb didn’t have that strength. She collapsed against Paintbrush’s side, sobbing openly, her tears soaking into the wood of Paintbrush’s body. “She—she can’t be—Painty, she can’t—”

And then—

“Fan?”

A voice.

All three froze.

Fan’s head jerked up, eyes wide and wild. He turned.

There, walking casually from the treeline, was Test Tube. Whole. Intact. Her glass pristine, her posture calm. She smiled faintly as she stepped closer.

“Fan, it’s me,” she said softly. “I’m here. Don’t cry. That pile of glass? Just a joke. Some sick prank. I’m fine.”

Fan’s lips parted. He stared at her, then back at the pile, then back at her again. His mind whirred, desperate to cling to her voice. His tears fell faster, but now they were almost relieved. “T-Test Tube… you’re… you’re okay?”

She nodded, crouching down and extending her hand toward him. “Of course I am. Come on, Fan. Get up. We can leave together. It’s over now.”

He smiled through his tears, his trembling hand reaching toward hers—

Paintbrush slammed into her full-force, knocking her off balance.

“WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT FOR?!” Fan screamed, whipping on Paintbrush, fury in his voice.

Paintbrush didn’t answer him. Their finger pointed at the thing writhing on the ground, and Fan finally noticed it—noticed that Test Tube’s body wasn’t shimmering with liquid anymore. The glass was flickering, twitching like static on a broken screen. The “liquid” inside looked solid. Wrong.

“That’s not her,” Paintbrush snarled.

The false Test Tube, grinned, voice warping. “ Tch. Sharp one, aren’t you? ”

Paintbrush grabbed the nearest branch off the ground, their hands shaking, and drove it straight into the thing’s chest.

It shrieked, a hideous, echoing sound that didn’t belong in any living throat. Its body convulsed, the illusion shattering as its form warped—glass turning to black, limbs stretching into grotesque shapes.

Fan staggered back, his eyes wide with horror. “No… no, that’s—”

Lightbulb screamed, clapping her hands over her figurative ears. “Make it stop! Make it stop, oh my god!”

The branch quivered in the creature’s chest. Paintbrush let go of it and grabbed both Fan and Lightbulb by their arms, yanking them backward.

“MOVE. NOW!”

The three bolted into the trees, branches slapping against their faces, feet pounding against the dirt.

Behind them, the creature ripped the branch from its chest with a wet, tearing sound, snarling. It snapped the wood in half with a single stomp, splinters scattering.

The entity’s voice rose behind them, furious and guttural. “YOU THINK YOU CAN RUN FROM ME?! FUCKING RUN THEN! ”

The forest echoed with the sound of its rage, heavy breaths like an animal hunting prey.

And deeper in the shadows, hidden just beyond their sight, Mic sat hunched against a tree. She hadn’t moved, hadn’t said a word—just stared hollowly through tears at the monster now roaring.

Its head snapped to the side, its voice low, poisonous.

“ Well, ” its mouth twisted into a jagged smile. “ looks like we have some new targets, Mic. ”