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𝕿𝖔 𝖑𝖔𝖛𝖊 𝖔𝖗 𝖓𝖔𝖙 𝖙𝖔 𝖑𝖔𝖛𝖊, 
𝖙𝖔 𝖍𝖆𝖙𝖊 𝖔𝖗 𝖓𝖔𝖙 𝖙𝖔 𝖍𝖆𝖙𝖊. 
𝕾𝖔𝖒𝖊𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖎𝖓 𝖈𝖔𝖒𝖒𝖔𝖓 𝖎𝖘 𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖞 𝖇𝖔𝖙𝖍 𝖜𝖊𝖎𝖌𝖍 𝖉𝖊𝖊𝖕 𝖊𝖒𝖔𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓.

Chapter Text

𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐒𝐩𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐈 . . .

a forsaken fanfic

Elliot

A picture can’t haunt someone forever.

Can it?

“Elliot, over here,” Builderman beckoned, gesturing to an empty seat. Everyone sat at the tables in the dining room. I complied, sitting down. I at least attempted to recall everyone’s names. 

Of course, there’s Noob, the youngest between all of us. A survivalist, but can be helpful when last in any round. Then there’s Shedletsky, admin of Roblox. He’s always strict or silly, never in between. He keeps most of his backstory to himself. No one knows why. Then, there’s Two Time. They’re mostly quiet, but creepy in my opinion. Taph, who cannot speak and just stays mute, but he tends to use sign language or emojis. Dusekkar is like an elder for the way he speaks towards the group. Builderman, the one who just spoke to me, can get a bit . . . temperamental, but nothing all of us can’t handle. Guest 1337 happens to be really nice to me. He protects people that can’t do much for themselves. Finally, there’s Chance. He’s friendly in my opinion. That’s all.

I sat next to Taph and Two Time. Two Time was mumbling some sort of prayer, while Taph just looked around. I traced my finger on the table, watching the timer in anticipation. 14 seconds . 

“Dang it—uh,” barged in 007n7 through the door, holding a folder, “I found the folders. Investigative . . . Iris? Yeah, Iris. She gave them to me.” 

I almost forgot, but that’s 007n7. Most of us keep our distance considering he’s the father of a certain . . . someone. 

Guest 1337 closely examined both the folders and 007n7. “That’s great. Place them over here, would ya?” 

007n7 placed down the folders on the table. Guest 1337, Shedletsky, Chance, Dusekkar, and Builderman all took one and read them. 

Apparently, half or so of the survivors were on a mission of some sort. I’m not in it, so I don’t know what it’s all about. It’s best if I don’t involve myself. I wouldn’t make any good use.

Dusekkar hummed in thought. “With only 10 seconds on the intermission clock, we should check this after the next round.” 

Collective agreements filled the room. Once everyone quieted down, some people were still hosting conversations with people nearby, I simply waited for the timer to end.

“Elliot,” said Chance, tapping my shoulder from behind. I flinched, whipping my head around to see him standing behind me. “Geez, I didn’t mean to scare you that badly.” he smirked innocently.

I blinked. “What do you want, exactly?”

“I meant to tell you about this last round. The whole mission kept me busy, so I didn’t get a chance to talk to you.” he explained.

“Continue?” I said impatiently. 

Chance spoke up once more. “Yeah. I don’t know why I didn’t tell you this before, even if it wasn’t that important. I was going to tell you that I–”

The round started just then.

I’d just wait ‘till the next round, I guess. That didn’t stop me from worrying.

𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝'𝐬 𝐤𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐬 . . .

𝐉𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧

There’s nothing to do except for generators. I nimbly picked up the wires to complete the puzzle. I looked around, trying my best to recognize the map. Sadly, my best will never be enough. After completing a few puzzles, I checked my watch to see the survivors. Noob was the lowest in health, Shedletsky was the second lowest, but I guessed he would be okay since he must’ve had enough chicken, and Dusekkar was third lowest. Everyone else seemed to be okay and scattered across the map, likely away from Jason. 

Behind me, I heard footsteps. Was it Jason? 

I backed up, letting myself look around. That’s when I felt my back press against something—or someone. My heart stopped. I turned around.

Taph .

I get startled not one, but two times.

Heal Noob? Taph signed, pointing at me. I sighed in relief.

“I don’t know where he is,” I told Taph. “Out of my reach.” Truth was, if I looked hard enough, I could probably find Noob quite easily.

Taph tapped his chin before bringing up his hands to sign again. Other side. Near the other bridge. Near where the killer spawns.  

I nodded, grateful for the information. “Thanks, Taph.”

Though I doubted I was going to make my way to the other side, I turned around again back towards Taph. “You’re . . . not feeling excluded so far, right?”

Taph tilted his head. He reluctantly brought his hands back up to sign. Everyone’s nice so far. Taph doesn’t really have an opinion. 

I forced a smile, just to satisfy him. To let him know it wasn’t supposed to be a deep question. “Right.”

I walked away, finding somewhere to go. Should I really risk finding out that the Jason could be a milestone and get me killed in a span of five seconds?

Yes. Yes, I absolutely should.

I picked up the pace in my feet and ran to the other side, walking across a bridge and closer to a manor. I turned to my right, keeping an eye out to see any other survivors around.

As I got closer to the other side of the map, I saw Guest 1337 swoop in to hit Jason, letting Noob limp away. I followed after Noob cautiously, not wanting to catch the attention of Jason.

“Noob!” I called out, seeing them turn around while sprinting. I tossed them a pizza, and, as expected, watched them catch it mid-air and take a bite. Noob nodded in gratitude, the cuts slowly disappearing. I stopped chasing after him to catch my breath.

I leaned against the wall, hand against my beating heart. Who knew running across the map felt like running a marathon? Likely because I’m not the greatest runner—or just have serious skill issues. Being exhausted like this. Just like this. It makes me feel useless sometimes. Not being able to do anything, key word: unable. I gave myself some time to balance myself, then looked back up. In front of me was Jason, standing tall with his machete, ready to strike. I quickly braced myself for the slash—

“Elliot!”

Guest . . . ?

I opened my eyes to see . . .

Guest.

Blocking. Fists up, Jason misses.

Something I would never be able to do, but I’d have to appreciate him.

While I still had the chance, I ran. I kept hold of myself, because that’s what everybody wants me to do. 

Hiding behind a nearby wall, not breathless but tired, I checked if I had any pizza ready first, then checked my watch. Two survivors down; Dusekkar and Builderman. Two Time only at 43 health and 007n7 at 65. I let out a sigh. 3 more minutes left. Most of you may wonder, ‘Elliot, you deal with this everyday. Why are you, just now, sulking?’

August 21, 2014

It was always weird driving on my borrowed motorbike to my workplace. I felt like I was constantly being watched, my every move, my every thought was exposed—like the world revolved around me in a bad way. Not that the feeling of being stalked affected me much.

Everything just felt uneasy.

Down the plain road, I only saw houses and more houses—then the back parking lot, 

typically reserved for employees. After parking and stepping off of my motorbike, I went through the back door. I went through the delivery room and through the boxing room, through the kitchen and stopped behind the counter once more. 

I wonder why I’m not as successful as my other family members or friends. I have to be stuck in this pizza place as a lactose intolerant, which isn’t exactly your lovely, perfect career job.

Behind the counter was absolute prison. Morning to evening shift, 6AM - 7PM. Reason? Poverty speedrun, and I happen to be winning. The amount of windows in the restaurant should be unholy at this point, and the sun decides to be extra-bright even if I have been woken up enough. Easily recognizable place. Brick walls, wooden doors. Just so I didn't get called out, I paced around the restaurant to make it look like I was doing something. Lulu—one of my co-workers—stayed in the kitchen on her phone. All I had to do was wait until a customer would show up.

Ring.

I rushed myself back to the cash register, watching a customer approach the counter. “Nice to see—”

“Yeah, yeah. Let me think.” the customer interrupted.

I cringed. “Right, there’s four options on the menu.” I muttered to myself impatiently. Once they were finished looking at the menu, they looked back at me.

“Cheese pizza. Nothing special, my son might throw it up.” they demanded. I wasn’t a big fan of their attitude, but I added it to the register anyways.

I eyed them closely. “And that would—”

“—be all. Yes.” they quickly said. I fought the urge to quip back. I didn’t have anything to lose if I said anything back—just the chance to repay my college debt.

“Alright. That’ll be seventeen dollars.” 

They crossed their arms. “I’m sure that payment comes after the food?”

“The system’s different. Find another restaurant if that’s the case.” I clenched my fists, biting my tongue so nothing else would come out. Only a nod came from them, then they slipped the money in cash on the counter. I took the money and placed it into the cash register.

Something about that person.

About that guy.

He sat down at the seat near the wall with his so-called ‘son,’ which didn’t even look like his son. Some red pill-baby that was the same color as my uniform. Whatever it was, it wasn’t any of my business. 

If I had known better, I would’ve never made this mistake.

Once Lulu finished boxing the pizza and everything, I brought the box over to him. I didn’t want to say a word to either him or his son. Back at the counter, I waited in the still-empty restaurant. I couldn’t help but think to myself—who the heck orders pizza this early in the morning? Is his organs doing well, or his son’s? A pill baby— pfft , can it even digest the pizza?

Oh.

Oh my heavens.

I can almost envision my face again. When I saw that pill baby swallow the whole thing. By the whole thing, I mean the whole pizza box and pizza. Did I feel disgusted? Kind of. Frightened? Yes. 

Well, that just gave me a perfect reason to stay away from both the baby and the father.

Oh, and I know you’re getting bored of my talk-to-self-and-sulk-podcast. I’ll hurry up, I promise. 

After serving a few customers and having to ride back and forth on my motorbike to deliver pizzas to different houses, I saw someone. Both before being taken into the Spectre and afterwards, I knew them for a considerable amount of time. Lots of people pester me with the question: ‘Yeah, well why do you favorite him?’ Have no fear, ‘cause your local yapper is here to show and tell you.

Ring!

Words cannot describe how fast my attitude lit up. Distinguishable stuff—a dark fedora hat, a tie, blazer, headphones, and shades. 

“Hey, Chance!” I greeted first, waving. The internal, screaming YES inside of me unwavered. 

He slid one side of his headphone off his ear to hear me better. It was a small thing that I noticed him do. “Hey kid. I just wanted to order a regular pepperoni? Just for my friend.”

“Friend . . . iTrapped, right?” I thought I remembered him talking about this before. “Unless it’s someone else? . . . “

Chance gave me a small smile. “So you do remember stuff. Yes, that guy.” He seemed a bit surprised. I nodded, adding the order to the register. “Dang, Eli. You’re a pretty good listener. I thought I mentioned that weeks ago only once.”

Good grief. He remembered . I wasn’t going to tell him that it was because he was my only friend. He’d think that would mean I was pathetic—and no one wanted to talk to me. It’s best to keep the truth to myself sometimes. “Yeah, I just . . . happened to pick up the name!” I laughed it off, scratching the back of my neck. 

A moment of silence passed. “Being a pizza worker, or whatever. It doesn’t take away your personal life, does it?” he asked. 

I thought for a moment. Even if I didn’t know the answer, I responded with, “No, it doesn’t.” 

Did it really? Did the whole job feel like it was taking away my life? I wasn’t sure, and I’m still not sure today. All I know is that it’s the only job that accepts me, even with my . . . “invalid” resume background. It’s my only hope to get my family dinner everyday, ever since my dad has been less active emotionally. It’s what sustains me. It’s what I’ve devoted every cent , every willpower , every second , every prayer to. It’s what I worship . 

“I-I have to go.” Chance looked rushed and nervous, looking behind him constantly.

I tilted my head. “What? Do you need help with something–”

“No, no, Elliot, I have to go. I’ll come back next time, I promise I just—” Chance waved quickly, running towards the door.

I furrowed my eyebrows. “But your order is—”

He already left by then, the door closing. I stood there, confused and a bit terrified. If you were born yesterday, you’d know I was so surprised because he’s never done that before, and it would only be a matter of time before I found out.

Once there was no trace of Chance, I went on my phone, back against the counter. Maybe I’d deliver him the pizza later on. I’d have to tell Lulu to leave it in the delivering room for me. 

Ahem.  

My fingers flinched, ready to hurl my phone, but I shoved it into my pocket instead and slowly turned.

Towering—seemingly looming over me was a group of five. All dressed in the same outfit but different hats, one of them taller than the rest and was the only one wearing a different outfit. I only picked up the similarity that the tallest one had the same hat as Chance—just striped. Their hat overshadowed their eyes, so I couldn’t pick up on half of their facial features.

The group’s presence made me feel shaky, but I composed myself. “Good evening, what can I get you today?” The amount of voice cracks made me wince. Hopefully they didn’t notice.

One of them with a top hat interjected unexpectedly. “I like your hat.”

My . . . hat?

“Huh . . . ?”

“The visor you have on? It’s really cool! Nice color too,” he smiled. I blinked.

“Thank . . . you?” The simple compliment lightened the atmosphere, which made me feel much better. Two of the boys on the left were whispering and laughing to themselves, another one with shades and no hat just stood there, looking annoyed at them. “ . . . And what are you all getting today?”

“Whatever the boys want,” the tallest one said with a sigh. His voice was so deep that it echoed off the restaurant’s walls. The group immediately broke out in chaos.

“I want—”

“Shut up, Contractee! You got to order last time!” The one with the ushanka pushed who I’m guessing was named ‘Contractee.’ Who names their child that.

“I called dibs last time! Back off!”

The guy with the shades helped Contractee up. “Can’t we all just vote?!” The three snapped their heads at him.

“That’s so boring!” complained the same one with the ushanka. I stood there awkwardly, shuffling my feet. 

The tallest one was just watching the group argue, smirking. “They all want the same thing everyday anyways. Two cheese pizzas, four sodas.”

I tapped the register, and the rest of the group that was arguing in the background faced me. I tensed up.

“Wait, that was so cool! Do it again!” the ‘Contractee’ guy said. 

I paused, watching them stare intently at the register. “T-the ordering mechanic?”

“Yeah, yeah! That thing!” the top hat guy pointed at the register eagerly. The tall one in the fedora hat stood there watching, staying unnervingly quiet. 

I pointed at the register as well. “It’s . . . a register .”

“Spare him some grace, men—(the title wasn’t exactly fitting to their mannerism)—I’m sure he has important things to do after this. Thank you, Elliot Builder.”

My breath hitched. He could’ve gotten my first name from my tag—yes, but I wasn’t going to dismiss the fact that he said my full name. I didn’t want to question him, since he had already left to take a seat with his ‘men.’ I had stopped moving completely, my eyes wide because what the heck happened. Once I snapped back into reality, I looked over to where they were sitting.

I didn’t see him do anything threatening. He was just fixing up one of their ties. He was being . . . surprisingly nice to them. For his whole attitude and look, I didn’t expect him to act so diligent. They seemed like a family of some sort, even.

It made me wish I grew up somewhat like that, no matter how strange they were.

“Hey, Elliot?” Lulu asked from behind me softly. I waited for her to continue. “We’re running out of supplies, so I was going to head to grab us more. Could you make the pizza while I’m gone?” She seemed a bit nervous to even talk to me, since I don’t talk to her much, or at all.

It wasn’t much of a problem. So I agreed, heading to the back where the kitchen was. She exited the building and went to the back door, and I looked up at the screen. Two cheese pizzas, four sodas , I replayed in my mind. I began to roll some dough.

I’m determined not to forget things. Ever since my dad said I was diagnosed with dementia, which made me forget most of the memories with my mom and even some things before that, I’ve always repeated things in my head. Again, again, and again. I find it weird though—my so-called ‘dementia’ doesn’t act up.

I threw the pizza in the oven, repeated the process to make two, then took them out of the oven. I took some boxes from the delivery station and shoved the pizzas inside. Stacking the boxes on top of each other, I left the kitchen and made my way to their seating. They were giggling and talking, the tall one who knew my name was only supervising them, leaning back with his arms crossed. I quickly dropped off the pizzas to rush off and grab the sodas they ordered as well from the mini fridge. Four sodas .

I placed the sodas down as well, the tall one giving me a thank you. I survived the day. 

I waited until everyone left and no more customers were around. I helped Lulu unload some supply boxes, hoisting two of them up from the truck. “ . . . What?” she gave me a side-eye, noticing me zone out.

“Nothing. Just thoughts.” I answered honestly, carrying the boxes I held in my arms to the conveyer belt. Once everything was unloaded, I walked past the manager’s office to make sure everything was in place for my next shift—until I heard some talking in his office. Dued1, my manager. I never really saw him around the pizzeria. Sometimes I forget he exists. He was inside the building today. 

Insignificant priorities, Elliot. It’s best to keep doing your job rather than linger around noisily . I thought, walking past. The tables seemed clean enough, and nothing was that dirty. I exited to the back, then saw something in the corner of my eye. Chance’s pizza . 

Picking up the box from the table, I hoped it wasn’t too cold to deliver. I wanted to deliver it to him. I stepped outside to be met with an indoor waterfall–? Oh, it was just rain. 

I stared at the rain for a second, bringing my hand out. It made a pattering sound on the ground, each droplet falling in a pattern. I took a deep breath, taking off my uniform and wrapping the pizza box to cover it from the rain. My black turtleneck underneath clung slightly to my skin from the rain, cold air hitting my arm.

I sat on my motorbike, setting the pizza box on my lap and tying my uniform around my waist to keep it in place. After backing up my motorbike, I started to drive past the houses. He was more likely to live near the richer areas, further from my neighborhood. I drove down the street for a while, my hair getting damp from the rain. If I was correct and remembered their address, it was 3 . . .

My thoughts trailed off as I stared at the estate standing in front of me. I could’ve mistaken it as a hotel based on how big it was. At least four or three stories high, not blending in with the houses around the area at all. A garden filled with flowers and vegetables were displayed on the porch, two garages on both sides of the house. I parked my motorbike right on the curb and stepped foot on the property. I felt out of place in such a high-status plot. I cautiously approached the front door, walking up the steps. 

Knock knock .

My heart felt like it was going to beat out of my chest while I waited, my finger tapping on my leg. The door creaked open. 

“ . . . Elliot?” Chance opened the door.

I nervously smiled. “I thought I’d deliver the pizza after you left so abruptly and–”

“It’s raining! You’re all wet!” he pointed out, his eyebrows creased in a concerned manner. “It’s past your shift too!”

He was right, and I didn’t have an excuse for that. “I just wanted to deliver the pizza to you. That’s all. I’m going back home now, so . . . “ I unwrapped the pizza box from my uniform and handed it to him, thankfully still dry. I put my uniform back on and ran a hand through my hair. 

Chance peeked above my shoulder. “In that ?” he muttered in disbelief. “Look, it’s raining, there’s going to be a storm, and you’re dripping wet. I could just drop you off at your house or something. I’ll put your motorbike in the back trunk and—”

“No!” I quickly said, a bit too fast. “I mean, no. I’ll just ride home. I’m fine. Just a bit of water, you know?”

If he saw where I lived—a house probably not even as big as his garage—he’d think too lowly of me. “Look, kid. You’re drenched. Just let me drive you home or something. Drivers aren’t the kindest during a storm, especially not at this hour.” he insisted. 

I shook my head. “I’m . . . just fine. Okay? I–”

“At least come inside.”

“Come . . . inside?” I repeated in confusion. Inside his parent’s house? I didn’t look right even standing outside on their porch. I was dripping wet , and he wanted me to come inside ?

The rain outside poured heavily, and I looked back. “Well?”

I fidgeted with my hand. “ . . . It’s not a good idea, it’s your parents house and—”

“My parents are too busy getting drunk with their friends or something back at the casino. They’re not here.”

I swallowed, thoughts racing to make up an excuse. “I’m wet, your floors will get all–”

He held up a finger to stop me from speaking, sliding his blazer off his shoulders. He stepped towards me and wrapped his blazer around me. “You still have a problem?” he asked a bit teasingly. I flattened my lips.

“ . . . No.”

“Then I don’t see why you can’t come inside, come on.” he waved his hand to follow him, and I stepped inside his house. Looking around, I felt like I could get lost inside of this place in a few seconds–the top had a massive chandelier which felt like if it fell it would kill me instantly, and there was a terrifying amount of space. Window sills were decorated with these fancy patterns and curtains, the staircase spiraled upwards to heaven knows how many floors. He checked behind him to make sure I was following him. “So . . . you didn’t get hit by a car before arriving?”

“Huh?”

Chance smirked. “I’m joking. Lighten up.” he nudged my elbow. “The plan is, if my parents come home, you hide or something cool. Disappear if you’re a magician. You do you. Or . . . “

He pulled out a coin from his pocket, one having an R logo on it, the other side having some sort of crying face. Chance cleared his throat. 

“I kick him out, or I let him hide–’

I grabbed his shoulders. “Wait, I’m going to what !?” 

He held his hands up in surrender. “Woah! Calm down! My parents sometimes don’t even come home. They’re too caught up with their own business on how to expand the casino’s popularity.” Chance raised an eyebrow in thought. “Though sometimes they do come back with a butt-load of people . . . “

His blazer had a faint fragrance of cologne, and could think of is why he’d so free-willingly let me in. He probably didn’t notice who I was compared to him. At least his blazer prevented me from leaving any puddles on his perfect floors. Actually, why would he even give that to me either?