Fandom ᴅᴇᴀᴅ ʙʏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʜɪʀᴛᴇᴇɴᴛʜ, ɪᴄ.

[lostbird]

DEAD BY THE THIRTEENTH.

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act 1

the entity

ㅎㅎ

where

beyond space

when

beyond time

why

beyond reason

MENTIONS

the killers

MENTIONS

the survivors

DEAD BY DAYLIGHT — MAIN THEME.

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THE ENTITY WILL PLAY,

with our souls for all eternity. an endless hunt of fear and hope, pain and sacrifice from which even death there is no escape.

CHAPTER 1.

ARCUS 02

I am going through some past scribblings and the notes of the previous unknown occupants, and I realise I should at least try to organise them. Reading these notes, I decipher several voices who I am aptly calling the unknown few who like myself had a fixation with the Entity and who like myself had an ability to experience the memories encoded in the fog.

I will include my past scribblings and number them as best as I can, referring to them as notes obscura, or just obscura, to try and piece together how long I've actually been here.

I think I may have found my first ramblings amongst the half-destroyed journals of the unknown occupants who struggled with infinite possibilities of whiling away the time except the one they probably missed the most. The one I miss the most—friendship, companionship, sitting with my father drinking whiskey and watching the Ancients swim across the night sky, or just losing time with a friend in a hearty conversation about the merits of art, music, laughter and stories.

All I have now are the memories of others. Second-hand experiences that constantly remind me of things lost and half-remembered.

SURVIVORS​

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whether stumbling, dragged, or being pulled through the fog, you've arrived at the campfire: an eternal fire that always burns, serving as the epicentre for whats the come. the edges of the site are surrounded by a thick fog, constantly swirling. gaps in the fog part like the wind, showing a peek into something traversable. finding yourself in the wrong place at the wrong time has never felt more absolute than this moment, more undeniable as you realise you're not alone in your misfortune.

multiple unmade strewn tents litter the forest floor. you have the sneaking suspicion that one thing is clear: if you tried to leave, you'd end up right back at the campfire.

KILLERS​

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a blink, and you're here—wherever here is.

it's familiar, a place you've been before with some added touches of a thick and dense fog surrounding your new domain. a realm, all for yourself. a playground, of sorts, with interconnected rooms and vast spaces. your memory of the realm is splintered, not fully matching up with the picture so clearly in your mind—the truth is, the Entity tried. replication was quite difficult with its limited understanding of your plane of existence, unremarkable compared to other planets it has already conquered and twisted into its own creation.

"corrupted one," it whispers, the distorted voice bouncing off the invisible walls of the fog in echoes. the entity speaks its intentions for you, calling back to the moments in your life that were so pivotal in its careful selection—sensing the killing potential within and rewarding you so. "entertain me."

♡coded by uxie♡

START DATE: SEPTEMBER 17TH​

 

[lostbird]

• greta waverly
• the doll

• 
  
  
  

  greta ─ spine chill.

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

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    mood

    
    
    
    

    scared, & confused.
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
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    outfit

    
    
    
    

    . . .
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
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    location

    
    
    
    

    the campfire.
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
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    interactions

    
    
    
    

    n/a
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  

  Damp leaves beneath her palms crunch as Greta manages to get to her knees. What just happened? She desperately searches her memory, staring straight down at the forest floor under her weight. Dirt found itself wedged under her recently trimmed nails and she blinks as the light emanating from the campfire glints─a flashlight, clutched in her left hand. A disturbing thought comes to mind: how did I not notice that before?
  
  Her usual perceptive nature, usually so hyperaware of her surroundings, had clearly taken a nosedive in the face of... Greta chances a glance up, to stare at the campfire and recall her last memory. Steve. He left the chamber door open. Greta releases her grip on the flashlight, on the ground, to lean back on her heels and allow reality to wash over her. The black mist.
  
  "This can't be real. This is not happening." Greta says under her breath, too quiet to hear over the roar of the campfire and the blood rushing through her ears, the thudding of her heartbeat.
  
  And she wasn't alone here.
  
  Not very comforted by the thought, Greta slowly gets to her feet and casts an untrusting look at the others in the clearing. She considers the odds of them being behind her sudden kidnapping, but she bites her lip, unsure. Their expressions were equal parts confused and nervous, like herself. This couldn't be some elaborate prank or ruse to keep her suspicions at bay─what was there to gain by taking her, anyway?
  
  And then she notices something of greater concern. Tents. Some still encased in their sleeves, others partially constructed. No, this is not happening. The insinuation of a more permanent stay leaves Greta's blood running cold. She moves towards a navy coloured tent bundle, constrained in a velcro strap and frowns; there's a darker splotch on the material, three drops in its immediate vicinity. Even without working at the mortuary, Greta could easily comprehend what she was seeing: blood. Old blood.
  
  Greta turns on her heel, staring at the vast nothingness that stretches on for what seems like miles, that same black mist obstructing any real view of what's beyond. The mist swirls, thickening in areas and she can't help but feel empty. Hopeless. Nothing could force her to venture into it, to be swallowed up by the same thing that brought her here─what if it spat her out somewhere else, somewhere worse?
  
  Bending on shaky legs, Greta retrieves the blood-spotted navy tent and peels off the velcro. "Do we─just, set up?" She's not sure who she is asking, or if anyone can even hear her breathless whisper.
  
  But she acts on her instincts, too cowardly to dwell on the implications of why, when, where, how. Fanning out the canvas material─a thought that sickens her, as the heavy duty material again implies permanence─Greta searches the forest floor, looking for other necessary materials and finally, her eyes have appropriately adjusted to the darkness. There's nails, stakes, rope, a hammer, and tarps. And... a sign? Her eyes narrow as she drops the material in her hand, discarding it as she edges closer towards the mist and wooden sign hammered into the dirt.
  
  Scratched into the plank reads: 'The Shed'. Black mist parts just behind the sign, inviting and taunting.
  

  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  cry for love

  
  
  
  

  백현

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  ♡coded by uxie♡
• 
  
  
  

  bethany 'the doll' ─ floods of rage.

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

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    mood

    
    
    
    

    hurt, & angry.
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
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    outfit

    
    
    
    

    . . .
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
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    location

    
    
    
    

    relic robotics.
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
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    interactions

    
    
    
    

    the entity.
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  

  Bethany awakes, heavy and still. Her eyes pop open, accompanied by a subtle fwick as plastic rubs against plastic. The sudden friction causing a spark. Unlike usual, she needs no time to adjust to her surroundings─it's all clear as day. The toy factory, in a foreboding contrast against the twilight sky, stares right back at her and the memories rain down on her like hail. The number, the costume, the mirror.
  
  She stays on her side, a heap on the parking lot ground. Her arm moves, clunky and unpracticed to touch her face and feel─something? Plastic and metal. Her fingers flex before her eyes and Bethany understands her reality perfectly well. She's in the doll suit, stuck. Dead. Rotting from within.
  
  With minimal effort, Bethany sits up and attempts to arch her back, pleasantly surprised at how much sensation she can feel from within the suit. As if her spine was being stretched. Her eyes blink, once and then twice. Rapidly. Confused, she attempts to furrow her brows but cannot feel the movement, so instead tilts her head inquisitively, wondering how she's supposed to work around her typical human-tendencies.
  
  And it dawns on her. She died, or─no, it was close to death. Her head slammed into the mirror, the impact causing an explosion of metal and electricity inside the robotic suit. Plucked from the brink of death, promised─
  
  "CORRUPTED ONE," a distorted voice echoes inside the suit with her, a cacophony of sounds not belonging from this world. Not the world she knew. "MY GIFT TO YOU. A CHANCE TO REDIRECT YOUR ANGER, YOUR FURY, YOUR RAGE TO THOSE OF MY CHOOSING; PREY FOR YOU TO TORMENT AT MY BEHEST. ENTERTAIN ME."
  
  Bethany rises to her feet, awkwardly. Not at all graceful and careful, how she was used to. Looking down at herself, a deep hurt settles in her chest amongst the wiring; where her heart should be. "What am I?" She extends her leg, as if she were about to leap into a jeté. Her fair but muscled thighs replaced with a smooth white plastic, diverging into indigo 'ribbons' towards her ankles. Am I still... me?
  
  "MINE." The whisper returns, harsher than before. "A PRODUCT OF MY OWN DESIGN."
  
  Liar, she thinks. Vaughn created this design, based on the likeness of a woman's descent into madness at the hands of men. How fitting, I'm his design.
  
  Dismayed by the unproductive conversation and reminder of how irony worked, Bethany walks on strong but shaky legs towards the toy factory. Fortunately, she felt her body quite nimble despite the added weight plastic and metal had brought her. Approaching the revolving doors, she attempts a pirouette─she lands it, but wobbles and has to catch herself on the glass. And her hurt becomes sorrow becomes anger as she notices her reflection.
  
  Her striking pink lips were parted in silent shock, her irises the same shade. Cartoonish, but sleek. "What am I?" She asks again, marvelling as her lips move with the words. There's a glimpse of wiring and metal in the depths of her mouth, but she's able to express her emotions─her lips are pulled down, mirroring her sadness and the eyebrows she had no feeling of are pulled close together in fury.
  
  "RAGE, LITTLE DOLL. YOU ARE RAGE."
  

  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  cry for love

  
  
  
  

  백현

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  ♡coded by uxie♡