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Fandom ᴅᴇᴀᴅ ʙʏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʜɪʀᴛᴇᴇɴᴛʜ, ɪᴄ.

Characters
Here










apolline súkeníková















role

botany knowledge; benevolent






location

by the fireplace






outfit

top. bottom. shoes. ; hair in two messy braids, the stragglers draped across her face. not shown is a thermal long sleeve top underneath the mohair hoodie.






interactions

jaxson armeen armeen ; alessandra CrimsonInk CrimsonInk






item

med-kit, unaware atm









The question hung in the air, pressing on him with an unsettling weight, prompting him to break their mutual gaze. In that fleeting moment, she felt a flicker of guilt. Her own fragmented memories haunted her, and she couldn't fathom what he had endured to find himself in this desolate place. And if his experience was any worse than hers, she felt a sympathy welling up within her–a quiet understanding over the apprehension.

At last, he met her gaze again. “I was trying to help someone and I ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time. Thought it was over for me…but now I’m here.”

She lingered on his words. They were simple, yet his eyes conveyed a depth of suffering that confirmed her assumptions. Apolline felt no rush to respond, slight relieved that he had chosen to continue speaking. Though this small sense relief felt only like a blip in her anxieties. Still, she sat struggling not to shudder from her fear–a mental game of back and forth, trying to control her mind from drifting off and thinking too heavily on any intrusive thoughts.

“The name’s Jax by the way. Wish it was under better circumstances but fancy meeting you here.”

Jax. She focused in and tried to shift her position, huddling her knees close to her chest--the cold still biting at her like a nagging dog.

“Apolline,” she replied softly, her fingertips barely grazing his before another figure emerged from the shadows, halting her movement. This newcomer approached with an unexpected lightness, exuding a strangely comforting aura that enveloped the moment.

As she stepped into the faint light, Apolline could see the blanket she held—a beautifully quilt.

Apolline was surprised by the gesture, meeting the girl’s eyes as Jax had already started to drape it over her.

Her hand clutched the blanket out of pure instinct, a strong desperation–her discomfort begging for relief. “I.. Thank you..” she responded, still bewildered by the gestures from the both of them. The dark-haired woman’s eyes seemed to serve as a window to her soul, reflecting Apolline’s own fear and turmoil in this bewildering situation. Yet, there was something else; a strange comfort emanated from her presence, something that felt like that of an old friend.

“Sit by the fire,” she invited, feeling a little more confident, “Please.”

Apolline scooted closer to Jax, allowing the girl to huddle in if she wanted to. Apolline scooted closer to Jax, making space for the girl to huddle in if she wished. She nudged the left side of the blanket toward him, hoping the gesture would extend the warmth of her newfound comfort. There was no need to keep this blanket all to herself when surely it was large enough to house all three of them in some way.





























♪ tomorrow's taken ♪

mojave 3






♡coded by uxie♡

 




  • alessandra — botony knowledge.





































    • mood



      Not okay
















    Soft eyes shifted toward the man and the blonde woman. For a moment, she felt a bit foolish for not being more aware of her surroundings. With the light now shining on them, she could see them more clearly. If only she could offer him something too, but he seemed to understand that the woman needed it most. There was a comforting feeling in the air, a sense of community and warmth that Alessandra appreciated.

    Her attention returned to the woman, who thanked her with a grateful smile.

    “You’re welcome…,” she breathed out.

    Alessandra considered her place between the two. She felt just as bewildered as they did about the situation. It struck her that she was her own worst critic, tormenting herself over how to be useful. These people didn’t seem eager to jump into action either; they were simply making the best of the moment. In those brief instances, she realized it was okay to not be okay.

    “Sit by the fire… please.”

    It was an invitation.

    Her lips parted to decline, but the words never came. The woman's kindness and compassion reminded Alessandra of her grandmother—her eyes were as warm and inviting as the nearby embers. Unbeknownst to the woman, this invitation made Alessandra feel wanted. It was unfair for her to put this weight on a stranger. She knows this. Right now, it was all she craved from another person. That comfort. After a brief hesitation, she took a step forward, accepting it.

    She made sure the other two were comfortable, draping a quilt over them. The warmth of the fire, the blanket, and the kindness of those around her enveloped her. Alessandra didn’t realize she might be overstepping boundaries as she wrapped her arms around the woman’s arm and rested her head against her, seeking warmth. It was a comfort she desperately needed, and the thought of losing it made her distressed.

    “Thank you…,” she expressed softly.

    The creeping of the black mist didn’t register for Alessandra at first. Her eyes closed momentarily trying to print this security she felt into memory. As they fluttered open, a moment of panic began to sit with the fog consuming them. The way it traveled up her legs and the quilt ready to engulf them.

    No, no!

    Her head whipped and she huddled closer to the woman before, only that she no longer felt physical body there. The moment the fog dissipated away from them did she realize the fog took away her comfort. Her security. Her hands shook desperately trying to find a feel of the woman’s presence from before. She raised the quilt and threw it off her quickly. Fair hands grasped the air even thinking that the fog must have tricked them instead.

    “W-where did she go?” she asked the man desperately, “s-she was just here! She was just here…”

    Her words may not have been loud, but they carried a melancholic weight to them. Lips quivered and her brows furrowed, she gathered herself up looking around seeing that half the camp was practically gone. Alessandra could feel the mix of panic and fear fighting for her to break, but she denied them of her losing it. She fought to keep it together. To keep some part of her for not thinking the worst. Features from her face began to twitch hearing another talking about how that other girl disappeared. The girl breathed heavily and chest rising looking around for the blonde woman desperately. Denial that the fog took her. That something took her.

































    Doin' Time



    Lana Del Rey










    ♡coded by uxie♡

 



catalina ─ built to last.





































  • mood



    perplexed, uneasy, and determined.
















A pang of guilt hits Catalina when the woman jumps at the sound of their voice. They find themselves wishing they had scuffed the ground beforehand to give her a heads up. “Um… I think so… I don’t know. Do you know what all this is?” Residual tension weaves its way through her words and curls her hand into a fist. “I think I got… lost or something, I don’t know.”

Catalina offers her a nod of understanding, knowing the feeling all too well. "Honestly, I'm not sure either. The last thing I remember is cleaning up at work, and then.. I was in the woods." They roll their shoulders back to release some of the energy that's been building up in their own body. Discomfort at the uncertainty of it all threatens to swell, but she pushes the feeling down as she retests her memory. "I could've sworn I had other stuff on me, but this was the only thing I found when that fog cleared up," she says while giving the toolbox in her hand a gentle shake. Their gaze settles on the woman's first aid kit. "Do you know if you had yours before?"

As they wait for a response, they take another look at each person around the campsite. Most voices melt into each other at this point, but a nearby group of three can be heard above the rest. Catalina's expression softens at how they snuggle close to find comfort in each other's presence. Though, it doesn't take long for the night's chaos to cruelly steal that away too.

Their lips part in shock as black tendrils slowly engulf the woman in the gray hoodie. What the fuck? Upon whipping their head around, they realize she's not the only person being taken. Instinct pushes them toward one of the troubled tent-making groups to try to keep them here somehow, but much to her dismay, they disappear before they can take more than a few steps.

Deafening silence follows after the camping gear clatters to the ground. Catalina looks at the blonde woman in the Pink Floyd t-shirt almost as if to question whether she saw the same thing. Then, the fallen materials. Then, everyone else. Barely anyone remains out of the original mass of people. How is that even possible?

"What was that?" A rattled woman asks. Without missing a beat, someone they recognize from earlier walks over to her and introduces himself. Another man dressed in an interesting cowboy-like outfit trails not too far behind him. Catalina can't help but raise an eyebrow while they glance Jon up and down, pausing at his outstretched hands. His eagerness to stick together comes as a surprise after how he initially reacted.

There's undeniable truth to his words, but is waiting for that to happen our only choice? She chews on the inside of her cheek as the billowing fog practically mocks them in the distance. The main thing she knows for sure is that there's no chance she's going to pick up where the others left off. Setting up to stay the night was already a strange notion before, but now? They try to center themself by taking a deep breath.

When Catalina finally speaks up again, their certain tone sharply contrasts their jumbled thoughts. "We could try looking around here for some sort of map, or whatever else we can manage. There might be something we're missing." Their eyes momentarily linger on the blonde woman as they introduce themself with a small but genuine smile, "I'm Catalina, by the way."

































no rulebook.



sammy rae & the friends.










♡coded by uxie♡
 
Last edited:





astrid ─ parental guidance.



































































  • mood





    nervous, paranoid






























As the person draws her attention back to the first aid kit in her hand, Astrid shakes her head no.
“I think I had a suitcase… I was going somewhere…”
She looked around at her surroundings and her frustration grew. Maybe if she remembered where she was going, she could remember how she’d gotten here. Or perhaps remember that she’d been asleep and allow herself to wake up.

That was the most logical explanation her mind could come up with – this was all a dream, some kind of nightmare borne out of her trauma-addled mind. Since her attack, she hadn’t gotten a good night’s sleep, worried about the danger lurking outside of her door. Including potentially seeing Simone. But perhaps it had all been some kind of dream? Maybe she was still unconscious in the hospital, these people around her a figment of her imagination. It would help to explain her memory issues, how she seemed to just… poof into existence in these woods. Maybe she just needed to wake up, get back to seeing Simone and visit her daughter.

But until that happened, she was here and she had to accept it. Which would have been a whole lot easier in that moment had the people around them at the campfire not been suddenly swallowed up by the smoke, an eerie silence filling the camp for a split second before people try to call out for their vanished friends. The panic swelled in her chest again but she swallowed it down and tried to shake the fog out of her mind. If she lost it, if they all lost it, the camp would be in chaos and they wouldn’t be able to figure out what was going on here. And that’s exactly what she needed to do in order to get back to Clementine, whether this was some kind of fucked up dream or not.

She looks up as the two men, one of them wearing a cowboy hat and a getup that looks like it was taken straight out of an old west film, approach them, especially the woman sitting down by the fire and listens as the more normally dressed man speaks, mulling over what he had to say. Sticking together seemed good except that sticking by the fire at this time seemed like an awful choice. Were they just supposed to wait around here like a bunch of sitting ducks? Ready to be plucked up by whatever was in that fog and taken who knows where? Would the others even return or was their fate sealed, with the others to follow suit? Her stomach twists at the thought and she turns back as her new friend begins to speak.

“I’m Astrid. That sounds like a wonderful plan,”
Astrid says, giving Catalina a small smile and nervously eyeing the man who wanted to group up.
“I think we must be missing something. Do you want to team up to look? I don’t think splitting up is the best idea.”


Astrid set off, turning back the way she had entered the campgrounds. If she was going to find a way back, it would surely be this way. If she wasn’t asleep and had somehow gotten lost or stumbled into the forest, then where she’d come from would have the answers. Except… everyone came here differently, from a different direction. There was no big mouth of the forest opening them up and funneling them in one direction.

She bit her lip as she stood at the edge of the campgrounds, where the fog grew thick, black swarming in all directions, seeming to have some kind of life to it. It made her shudder and she wondered if she could pass through it. If she should. She presses her fingers into the fog, to see if it felt as dense as it looked and it parted, allowing her hand to pass through it. Nervously, she checked to see if Catalina was following her and then pushed through the fog just on the outskirts of camp. She didn’t dare go further, afraid to press deeper into the fog addled forest. She didn’t want to get lost or swallowed up into the fog like the others.

Astrid searched the small area around her where she could see but there wasn’t much. On the ground beneath her was mostly forest undergrowth and leaves that crunched beneath her feet, but every so often she saw the glint of something hidden beneath – objects scattered throughout. She picked up one, a beaded wooden necklace, and examined it closely. She didn’t understand what it was doing here, or what the significance of it was.

Except that it caused a feeling in her chest to pang and she panickedly looked down at her wrist where a patented beaded bracelet had sat for the last six years. Now, only her bare wrist looked back at her and though she knew it was small, it felt like everything that could go wrong was going wrong all at once and her guts twisted. She flung the wooden beaded necklace she’d found on the forest floor and turned back to re-enter the camp to search the grounds for the bracelet her daughter had made.



























































rabbit heart





florence + the machine

















♡coded by uxie♡
 
trial #1

the doll
F
og obscured Bethany's field of view as she stormed from the dance studio, fire humming through her circuitry. It was insulting that the Entity saw her as a spectacle, a plaything to point and laugh at as she tried and failed to dance to the standard she once held. She would not try, not for it.

She barely breaches into the mannequin room before the fog thickens, swirling up her plastic prison of a body. Bethany hesitates in the threshold, casting a wary glance around the dark clouds simmering atop the floor and how it gathers so effectively, a hive mind. By the time it engulfs her completely, she's somewhere else—a dark and manufactured dwelling. Leaky pipes, humid air, a bench pushed to the far wall and four cages adjacent it.

Bethany tilts her head as understanding sets in. Redirect your anger. Prey to torment. Entertain me.

Never one to question those above her, Bethany has half a mind to deny the request—send me back, leave me a heap on the floor. I'll gladly rot. But there's a tug towards the bench, to the mirror propped up beside it; covered in shades of paint all too familiar. This one in particular, warily, Bethany takes a step towards the painted glass, Coppélia. The performance uplifted her in the industry and Bethany had sat cross-legged in the studio, painting the colours of spring and with a striking shade of red crossed over her art.

Instinctively, Bethany relents and closes the distance, her hands snatching the object of her desire from the bench. A shard of glass. It's sturdy, giving the illusion of being crafted this way. Harsh swipes of black, red and violet paint adorn the glass, leaving her a small window to view her reflection—resignation glares back. There was no escaping what the Entity had made for her, not with the power to remind her of what came before; before Vaughn, and the factory, and the suit. Before it all, there was dance, and music, and art.

The Doll looks upwards, sensing the presence of others within her realm. The Entity itself looming above, taking a firm hold of her mind and instincts, guiding her to the one emotion she had never been able to place when so much was taken from her: rage.
For a while, Jack thought things weren’t going to be so bad—until he heard Rowan speak, his words daunting. All of this shouldn’t be here. “What do you mean?” he asked, his voice hitching as he pushed himself back up to his feet, trying to match Rowan’s height, that dreadful feeling back tenfold. “Wait—say it again. Please.”

But before he knew it, the fog was back, thicker than ever. The comforting light from the fire vanished, taking everyone else with it. Alone.

"Greta?" Jack's voice echoed as he called out, waving his arms through the dark fog, hoping it would be enough to cut through its suffocating grip. "Rowan? Where are you guys?" His words grew fainter, swallowed up by the heavy mist as it wrapped itself tighter around him. A shiver tickled down his spine, but he knew it wasn't from the cold. There was something deeply unsettling about the way the fog grew, as though it were alive, taunting him. Knock it off.

His heartbeat hammered in his ears, the oppressive darkness pushing in from all sides, smothering his senses. But then—almost as if obeying his desperate plea—the fog began to thin, its presence unraveling like tendrils of smoke dissipating in the wind. Slowly, the world around him shifted and cleared.

Jack blinked, disoriented, as the fog finally lifted, revealing a somewhat dim, empty room. The atmosphere felt heavy, unnatural. His heart told him to collect his bearings, but his mind told him that he wasn't safe. Feeling conflicted, he decided to do something in between, standing in place as he did a slow turn around the room, only to be met with the ungodly sight of white mannequins. "Holy fuck—" Okay...not at all creepy.

There were a couple of lights above him, casting jittery shadows as they flickered erratically, the light cutting in and out in a rhythm that set his nerves on edge. It didn’t help that the distorted figures of the mannequins before him looked worse for wear than he felt. None of this looked familiar—was familiar to him—but...neither was the campfire.

His hands shook with anxiety, hair sticking to his forehead. Jack did his best to pull himself together, the droop of his eyelids weighing heavily—he couldn’t believe his body was begging for rest when he was in the middle of fucking nowhere. Is everyone okay? Are they here with me? He tried to gather his bearings, to make out where exactly he was, but the only conclusion he came to was that he was in a disturbed room that made his skin crawl. Shielding his eyes from the flickering lights, Jack advanced toward the multiple rows of broken models, making out eerie appearances—fallen lashes, missing and contorted body parts of the marionettes—smears of makeup and something else Jack couldn’t quite make out from his angle.

A storage department, maybe? he thought, eyeing the scattered boxes littered around the room. He felt compelled to walk through the displayed dolls, a table peeking out at the other end of the room. Swallowing the lump in his throat, Jack squeezed through, doing his best to avoid touching the damn figurines. Through the cracks, he could fully make out the sight of a workbench with various belongings placed on top, and there was a distinct feeling of need pulsing in the back of his head. Feeling rushed and uncoordinated, Jack caught his foot on the leg of a mannequin, a yelp of surprise escaping him as he struggled to catch his balance. Successfully, he stumbled away, no longer within reach. Unsuccessfully, though, he made a shit ton of noise as the row of disturbed dolls tumbled to the floor.

"...Fuck."
The Doll pivots sharply as a clatter of noise resonants from above. Her face turns imperceptibly to follow the commotion and pinpoint exactly where it originated from. Her feet carry her to the basement stairs, though she hesitates at the bottom step—catching sight of the mirror, a compelling urge to. . . walk into it? It feels like a lifetime before The Doll can tear her gaze from it and continue her ascent up the steps.

She navigates from the backrooms and onto the stage where she danced her last performance, adding to her fury. She treads across the vinyl flooring, the pitch bouncing off the expansive space and The Doll clenches the shard in her hand. It was curious, to hold something so sharp and feel the weight, the sharp edges and not suffer the pain of its bite.

Diverting off the stage, The Doll throws herself from the elevated floor and onto solid ground—the jeté sneaks itself into her leap. Satisfaction seeps into her wiring at her landing such a simple but graceful move, sharing the space with her growing rage.

Cast in golden hues from the spaced sconces on the walls, The Doll sticks hard left to the endless rows of seats covered in a striking red fabric until she reaches the entrance of the Manufacturing Center. Ignoring the points of interest such as the fabrication machines and workshop tables with blueprints littered across the space, she makes for the source of the commotion: the Mannequin Room, where she'd lingered just moments before.

Coming to a halt at the doorway, The Doll's head falls into the angle of a silent question—what are you doing here? Get out. Her insistence to make this stranger leave has nothing to do with concern for his well-being, to warn him against the Entity hiding in the depths of darkness around them; eyes embedded in the walls so as to not miss a single second of the entertainment it desires. No—it's none of those. Get out before I make you.

The lone intruder, two inches shorter than herself, stands at one of many workbenches in a sea of fallen mannequins. His mess of dark hair conceals his face, but she notices his attention fixated on a box of doll legs—the same she almost toppled into herself. She takes him in, all of him; the slouch of his pinched shoulders, frustration mixed with exhaustion. The Doll blinks slow, a mechanical fwick reverberates softly as plastic meets plastic.
Richie didn’t make it all the way to the campfire before a swirl of the fog seemed to swallow him whole. It happened too fast for him to even notice what had happened until his vision cleared up and he was enclosed within four walls. “Dude?” He called out as if it wasn’t immediately obvious that he was alone. After a few more seconds of reorienting himself in his position, he finally began to move. He tightened his grip around his flashlight and flicked it open.

Dressing racks littered the entire room, and various costumes hung from them. He flipped through them— they weren’t theatrical outfits but seemed more in line with something for dancing? A lot of them seemed fitting for ballet. Regrettably, none of the costumes seemed to be his size or practical enough to wear instead of the scrub suit he had on. Oh well.

He continued to make his way around the room, curiously peeking through everything. Richie didn’t know where he was but he felt like he needed to memorize it— just in case he needed to run or hide or something. It was just a gut feeling but something like dread had sunk into his very being and if there was something he learned over the years, it was that he had to trust his instincts. Besides, everything about getting teleported somewhere within practically a few seconds by some weird fog was wrong no matter what angle he looked at.

He ended up in front of a red cloth that was hung, forgotten to the elements. Something about it looked so… important? Enticing? Or rather, something that he should grab. The streamer grabbed it and laid it out on the ground. For a moment, he expected to see something like instructions sewn into it like one of those horror video games he loved to play so much. Alas, there was no such thing to guide him and he had to bite down the disappointment. He reached down to fold it up again when there was a sudden crash from beyond the room.

Other people are here?

Richie stood up and headed to the door, forgetting about the red cloth entirely. For the first time, he opened the door. Beyond it looked to be a big stage which he guessed made sense considering he appeared to be in a dressing room. The lights flickered and that was when he noticed it. She? Whatever it was. But something moved across the stage, entering another room further in, but it looked big. And it looked metallic. He quickly, but gently, closed the door again and crouched down. It looked distracted so there was no way it spotted him. What was it anyway? It reminded him of those animatronics in Chuck E. Cheese but more advanced? Where was he?

But the feeling of terror was undeniable. Whatever that was, it was dangerous and he didn’t want to run into it without anything to protect himself with.

He took a few deep breaths before standing up. There had to be something in this dressing room that could help him. Richie began to open every drawer, cupboard and trunk he could find. Maybe a lead pipe or even a cane or—

Or… a baseball bat!

Richie pocketed his flashlight for a moment to try and swung the bat a few times. It was a bit too light and definitely wasn’t up to par with professional bats but it could probably give a solid hit. He’ll take it. With that, he felt brave enough to venture out of the dressing room. Maybe he’ll find someone else that wasn’t that weird robot.
“Definitely not normal.” Cyra agreed with the man with brown hair, her dark gaze giving him a once-over as if assessing him. He didn’t seem threatening but in a situation like this Cyra knew she couldn’t be too sure. They may have been stuck here like her but that didn’t mean they would have her best interest at heart.

Both of you. Where were you before this?

Fingers deftly tapped against her arm. Should she be honest? There was no way either of them would believe her if she said that she was swallowed up by fog before waking up here. Saying crazy things like that is what landed people in mental hospitals, but was it crazy if it was the truth? And judging by what the woman had to say Cyra’s experience didn’t seem too far off.

She opened her mouth to speak, ready to talk all about how someone- or rather something, took her away while she was trying to head home from skate practice but before she could speak the fog came back, just as cold as before, swallowing her whole. “No, no not again.” Her heart began to hammer loudly in her chest and she shut her eyes close. Why did this keep happening to her?

It was dark all around and somehow Cyra felt even more unsafe than she had when she first woke up in the woods, almost as if her body and nervous system knew that she was in danger without her even knowing where she was going or what was happening. I just want to go home. Eventually, the fog began to disperse but the unsettling feeling in the pit of Cyra’s stomach refused to go away.

She blinked her eyes, raising a hand to help shield them as they began to adjust to the light source that seemed intent on blinding her. As she looked around, something in her mind told her to stay on guard. She once again found herself in an unfamiliar location, the only difference was that this time Cyra was completely alone and she couldn’t figure out if that was better or a million times worse.

For a moment Cyra considered calling out to see if either the woman or the man she had just been talking to were around but before any words came out something in her mind told her to shut up and be quiet. Where am I? She wondered as she began to look around. All Cyra could see were a bunch of paintings— on the wall and scattered across the ground as if something tossed them around haphazardly. Am I in an art studio? She wondered as she traveled around the area, brows furrowed in thought

Cyra eventually found herself standing in front of a desk, a pile of art tubes sorted off to the side. As she stared she noticed something that didn’t fit into the surrounding area and her mind told her to grab it. Reaching forward, Cyra's hand wrapped around a..bat? “Huh.” She muttered quietly to herself, spinning the object around lazily in her hand. It felt lightweight like it would snap in half if she swung it just hard enough. Still, it didn’t hurt to have the extra protection right? I wonder what else is in here that I could use…

She jumped in her skin when the sound of a loud crash reached her ears. Was someone else here? Goosebumps rose along her skin and Cyra decided that maybe staying here wasn’t a good idea anymore.

As she was about to leave Cyra spotted someone through one of the studio rooms. It wasn’t anyone that she could remember seeing at the campfire but they looked just as lost as she felt. Should go meet up with them. Strength in numbers or whatever bullshit they said in horror movies to make themselves feel safer.

Walking through the entrance to the art studio she was in, Cyra vaguely noticed the shape of what looked to be a can used to hold gasoline. Something in her body screamed at her to take it, her mind recognizing that it was important— even more important than the bat she was holding— though Cyra wasn’t sure how she could even tell. If there was a gas can here though maybe there was a car somewhere as well. That on its own was enough motivation for Cyra to grab the can in her free hand. Worst case scenario she would just have to ditch either the bat or the can.

Exiting through a door to her right Cyra found herself in a large parking lot. For a moment she thought about making a run for it but something told her that running would be futile. The sight of a car caught the corner of her eyes and she began to walk towards it. Can I use this can on it?
For some time, Jack was glaring at the box filled with what appeared to be broken-up body parts—legs, it looked like. Despite the ruckus he made, he was lucky enough to reach the workbench, his eyes catching sight of a lonesome walkie-talkie alongside a piece of red cloth, the fabric soft against his fingertips. It feels real, all of this. Weird. With that thought, his eyes flickered back down toward the large box again, no doubt deep and unnerving just to torment his already weakened state. And was it working?

Pocketing the walkie in his back pocket, Jack bravely reached into the box. Last second images flashed through his head as he touched a leg—the mouth of the cave, the tendrils sneakily extending, and then him being stabbed through the shoulder—yanked into this very nightmare. Startled and with his head pounding, Jack yanked his hand away, a gasp escaping his lips as he practically threw himself back. He brought his hand up to rest against his head, a huff of frustration slipping out as his leg moved before he even had time to think. His foot connected with the box, kicking it over with a grunt of exhaustion that was as clear as day—and then the bat rolled out, along with the other useless crap.

Catching his breath, Jack realized he felt like he was going to drop any second—his body trembling even though he was warm, his concentration slipping by the minute. Drowsy and beat, he advanced toward the discarded pile, bending down to pick up the bat. He tested the grip of it in his hand, quickly concluding that the thing was rather flimsy. Well, this will be useless, he thought, tempted to toss the damn thing back into the box—the mess not worth it in the end, it seemed.

Turning on his sneakers, Jack moved to walk out of the room, only to freeze mid-step—his shoes making an uncomfortable squeak as he paused, staring at the figure blocking the doorway.

The Doll lingers in the doorframe, blocking the only exit not leading straight into a dead-end. She notes how his face falls from its disgruntled image and gives way to shock. Expressions of awe and wonder were more expected when she had been human, when she was Bethany the ballerina—now, being scrutinized in such an apparent frightened manner, she felt. . . offended.

He wasn’t sure how long he stood there—one hand gripping the bat, the other halfway up in a faux surrender just above his hip. He knew he looked pathetic; sweat clung to his hair, his brows pinched as his eyes remained wide with fear because what the hell is that? But he couldn’t help staring, his gaze flickering between the mess of scattered legs across the floor, the body parts of disfigured mannequins—and then back to what he thought might have been some huge freaking robot.

Holding back his nerves, Jack probably did the second stupidest thing that day: he broke into a sprint toward the other entrance at the end of the room, animatronic be damned.

The Doll observes his attempt at an escape for a moment, oddly amused as he trips over the scattered doll limbs in search of solace. The seconds tick by as her gaze tracks him around the workshop, the lights begin to flicker in earnest—perhaps sensing her anticipation to engage in the chase, to remind any and all trespassers that this realm belongs to her.

He manages to stumble his way to the Dance Studio, and The Doll thunders forward to prevent him from seeing the remnants of what the Entity had left behind for her, the evidence of who she was before. No one can see it, The Doll seethes inward, nimbly navigating the mess of mannequins as she gains on her target, no one can know.

Weapon in hand, she advances fairly quickly despite the added weight of metal within her—the sound of her approach deafening as a result.

With his back to it, Jack thought this was it—the sound of heavy machinery clanking and thudding was deafening, his mind betraying him into believing he was back at his job. The faint smell of something fried hit his senses, causing him to recoil even further away from the colorful robot. The hesitation on his end was enough for a hand to grab hold of him, an arm pinning his shoulder back against the wall—preventing him from discovering more of the room.

Slammed into the wall, Jack felt a fresh wave of pain shoot through his skull. Alright, that hurt. What the fuck. Grunting in pain, he instinctively tried to reach up to grab his head, only to realize his hand was still very much holding the bat from earlier. Without thinking—running purely on fear—he made a split-second decision to swing the bat with force, the sound of it splintering on impact meeting his ears. The arm holding him back released, giving him the opening he needed to get the hell out of there.

The Doll reels back sharply before her body freezes up, the circuitry within sputters and sizzles at the collision. The mechanisms within try and fail to spark into action. The bat lay useless and splintered at her feet, broken on impact. Why can't I move? The troubling thought morphs into concern as her vision tunnels, darkening at the edges.

Running straight to the door, Jack quickly glanced over his shoulder to see the figure of the robot standing eerily still, her back now turned to him. The smell returned, stronger, and he could make out the sound of something sparking, flashes of white and blue flickering off the walls. Moving backwards with his gaze fixed on the robot, Jack stumbled out, the fear leaving him chilled throughout his body. I need to get the hell out.

A mirror propped up along one of the work tables reflects The Doll's crooked stance. Her vision just barely notices how she's bent at the hip, angled to the right—exactly the robot caricature she had performed on stage. Travelling up the length of her stilled body, she flinches in alarm—a small twitch in her neck pivots her head the opposite direction—her eyes, blackened save for the pinpricks of white that act as pupils; replacing the shade of pink the Entity had granted her.

She stares and stares and stares until The Doll can force a blink. Her eyes are normal, back as if none of it had transpired. Disgruntled by how the bat had stunned her, she kicks the offensive object across the room. It slides on the concrete, splintering further as it catches on limbs and workshop table legs. With full control of her inner-workings, The Doll exits the Mannequin Room in search of him.

Not looking back and working overtime, Jack sprinted from one room to the next, his thoughts locked in a frantic loop of wake up, wake up! — refusing to accept that this might be his reality now. Consumed by his panic and tunnel vision, he felt something solid collide into him. Disoriented, he only realized after hitting the ground that it was someone he had run into. The two of them lay there in a heap, and for a brief moment, Jack was content to just stay down, the crushing fatigue of sleep making his limbs feel heavy, the adrenaline wearing off.

Blinking, he took in the sight of the stranger—a man in scrubs. Scrubs? Is he hurt? Is this… a hospital? "It... it isn't safe here," Jack started, his voice raw and strained as he raised a trembling hand to rub at his chest where they’d collided. "We have to get out. Now."
An ally, thank God. The man Ben was talking to seemed nice enough, if a bit overeager. He patted Ben’s back hard enough that they almost stumbled forward, but years of training to be a knight helped them keep their ground. They blinked, giving the stranger a small smile before opening their mouth to reply. But just as they started to speak, Ben’s words got washed away by the sudden influx of fog. It had been pervasive before, but not nearly this dense.

Ben glanced around, trying to make out anything in the sudden darkness, but it was nigh impossible. The friendly stranger had completely disappeared from sight, and Ben couldn’t hear his voice either. She took deep breaths, trying not to freak out. This fog was just a strange weather occurrence, surely. Living in England had meant she had seen her fair share of fog, but this was something else. Like a living beast, almost, the way it writhed and thickened of its own accord. There was something sinister in it, like the folk tales she had heard when she was young. It set her on edge even before the fog started to clear again, revealing vastly different scenery than before.

Ben blinked to clear his eyes; was this a strange dream? Perhaps this entire day had been a dream, and he would wake up in his bed with the day to himself to wander the woods. But it certainly looked real. And, he discovered as he brushed a finger across an odd mask, it felt real too. He shuddered, taking in the new space he was in. There were jovial lights strung in the ceiling of the hut, contrasting the otherwise dejected atmosphere. The wall of masks was unsettling, but nothing in them moved, so it was probably fine. The hut had an odd striped pattern in garish colors, which seemed to be the theme for the room. Was this a large version of the cloth buildings the group had been putting together earlier? But if that were the case, where were the others and how was he already inside? He frowned, creasing his eyebrows as he headed outside the building, intent on figuring out what had happened in the brief moment where the fog thickened. It almost seemed as if he was somewhere else entirely, and if that had happened earlier, logically it could happen again, couldn’t it?

They frowned as they exited the cloth building, taking in the smooth, dark surface of the ground below them. Lines were painted on it–perhaps they were some sort of language or instructions? There were plants around and the sky was a stormy gray, so that much at least was somewhat familiar. The texture of the ground was interesting; much smoother than any road Ben had traveled. The horses much love this terrain, since it was probably easy to traverse. As they stopped staring at the scenery, they noticed what appeared to be another person heading towards a large, metal object with wheels. Some sort of carriage, perhaps? But where were the horses? This new setting was even stranger than the last one.

Ben walked quietly towards the person, studying her. She didn’t seem hostile, so it was probably fine to speak. Having allies would definitely be helpful in this situation. So she called out, keeping the level of her voice from getting too loud (due to a vague feeling of unease that her years of training had taught her meant this place was not safe): “How fare thee?”

Spinning on her feet, quick and precise, Cyra dropped the can of gas she had been holding before lifting the bat behind her head ready to take a swing at the sudden sound of a voice behind her. Shock clouded her features as she took in the site of someone dressed in...a knight costume? “….Hi.” What kind of old fashioned greeting was that? And why would they wait until they were right behind her to say something and let her know they were there?

Realizing that she was still holding the bat as if she were going to hit him, Cyra dropped the object down to her side. “Sorry you scared the shit out of me.” Hopefully he didn’t take offense, not that she really cared if he did but considering the circumstances she didn’t want to potentially start off on the wrong foot. Clearing her throat Cyra gestures over to the car. “I’m trying to see if I can get this car running. Mind helping me?” Four hands were always better than two and if they worked together Cyra had a feeling that they could get it running much faster than if she had to do it alone.

Thankful that he hadn’t been hit with the wooden object, Ben could only blink at the girl in front of him. What was a shit and how did one scare it out of someone? And more importantly, what in all Hell was there a car? And why did it run?

Feeling incredibly foolish, Ben ventured to ask “Uhh…what is this car you speak of? And how dost thou maketh it run?” They tried to project a friendly presence, but that was difficult when half of the words out of this girl’s mouth might as well be a foreign language. Had Ben washed up elsewhere in the world? This certainly wasn’t England. Everyone here had strange accents and clothing, despite the fact they were clearly speaking some form of English.

One thing that Ben had noticed was the jug that the young woman had been holding earlier. Was it a type of waterskin? Ben realized suddenly how thirsty she was. Maybe she could ask for a sip of the wine this girl had. “If it pleaseth thee, I would also like a sip from your waterskin.”

Cyra couldn’t help but to stare at her new companion as if they had grown a second head, her brows furrowed in confusion and brown eyes squinting to look them over. He didn’t look like he was hurt physically but that didn’t mean he hadn’t gotten hit over the head at some point and was now acting this way. “Look if you’re not going to help me that’s fine but you don’t need to keep up with the weird medieval act you have going on either.” Frankly it was a bit creepy and considering the circumstances Cyra found it to be annoying. Her annoyance only grew as the man continued, her eyes closing and her brows pinching.

“Why would you drink out of that? It’s gasoline not water.” Cyra stated before her brown eyes reopened and she looked toward her new companion with a perplexed expression. Anyone with eyes could see what Cyra had carried over with her so either this person was completely clueless, and idiot, or suffering from a head injury.

Ben blinked, unsure what this girl was trying to insinuate. It clearly seemed that she thought them to be jesting about something, though what, Ben did not know. They were not acting, and though confused, they wanted to offer what assistance they could. There was some sort of communication barrier; it seemed their dialects must be quite different than Ben had originally thought.

“Ah, I thinketh perhaps our dialects of the English language are unknown to each other,” she admitted, scratching the back of her neck awkwardly. “I fear I do not understand. What is this gasoline thou speakest of? Not a type of wine, I suppose, or it could be drinken. ‘Medieval’ is a strange term as well, to be sure. Pray, where dost thou hail from?”

Where dost thou hail from? Seriously, was someone playing a practical joke on her right now or something? Cyra took in a deep breath and waited a few seconds before blowing the air out through her mouth. Getting annoyed and frustrated wouldn’t help her right now. Clearly whoever this woman was she didn’t understand what was going on. “I’m from Los Angeles.” she finally answered.

Picking up the jerry can Cyra began to examine the car, clearly looking for something. “It’s gas.” She repeated, throwing the woman another confused look. Cyra let the can hang limply at her side as she kept walking on the vehicle. “You know? Gas? For the car.” Was she really having to explain how gas worked to a grown woman right now? What had her life become? Eventually Cyra found what she was looking for. “Ah ha!” The gas cap! Opening up the cap Cyra twisted off the little cover that protected the fuel tank. Once it was off she began to pour the gasoline into the tank until there was nothing left in the can.

The explanation that the young woman gave him only served to make Ben more confused. She clearly seemed to think Ben was foolish, but her strange terminology and these foreign objects did not make any sense to him. So he felt a bit chastised despite not entirely knowing what for, which angered him a bit, if he were honest. He was no fool! This place was just strange, was all. And so was this woman. What was Lost Angeles? Certainly not anywhere Ben had ever heard of before.

“Prithee, what manner of beast is a car? These terms do not maketh any sense! Using a shortened form of a word as an explanation tells the one who asketh nothing! Why, thou might as well telleth me that a clergyman is the same as one who works as a member of the clergy.” They huffed, crossing their arms. Though they were upset and confused, they did feel they should be working with this woman instead of arguing with her. “I haileth from London, where the good King Henry VI resideth. And I apologize for my outburst. This place is disorienting and I fear our dialects are too different for me to make sense of some of what thou speaketh of.” They frowned, still trying to parse out what exactly the woman meant for them to do.

Cyra tossed the now empty jerry can onto the ground. Now that she no longer had any use for it she didn’t see the point in hauling it around with her. As the woman began to go on a rant she felt a migraine beginning to form in the crease of her brow. All she could do was stand there, face twisted into a look of astonishment as this strange woman continued. Oh my god I’ve died and this is my own personal hell. She lifted her arms to cross over her chest, hips shifting to rest her weight against her good knee.

“King Henry the VI-“ She scoffed, now utterly convinced that a prank was being played on her. Either that or this lunatic wasn’t taking any of this seriously. Last Cyra checked the person in charge of England was Queen Elizabeth, not Henry the VI. “Seriously? You’re claiming that King Henry the VI is your ruler? That dude died hundreds of years ago.” Cyra rolled her eyes before she began to make her way towards the driver’s door of the car. “If you’re going to fuck with me at least try to be convincing.” Pulling open the door, her eyes landed on where the car keys would typically be in the ignition- cursing silently to herself when she realized that they weren’t there. Closing the door harder than she needed to, Cyra lifted her hands to cover her face. If the car keys weren’t in the car that could only mean that they were somewhere inside of the gigantic building and Cyra truly did not want to go back in there.

Ben blinked, frozen to the spot. Dead? Hundreds of years ago? That could not be right. Did this person mistake the ruler for someone else? But Ben had clearly said Henry VI. He chewed his lip, trying desperately to understand the situation. Strange language, strange contraptions, this woman getting more and more angry at his lack of knowledge of these things. Either Ben was far away from Christendom, or he was in another place entirely. Was this perhaps Hell? Had he somehow died out in the forest, alone? Was this his punishment? But for what? He wasn’t perfect, but surely he didn’t deserve Hell.

The only other explanation for this could be…some sort of witch’s spell, perhaps? Had they been sent to another time entirely? Was that the cause of the ornery reactions to their (quite understandable) questions? Were they in the future?

“Who is the king then? If not Henry VI?” Ben asked, wanting to help but feeling entirely useless. Her hands dangled at her sides, itching to join and get working on this…car. But even if she wanted to, she had no clue where to start. “Dost thou knowest who rules Christendom? And who rules…Lost Angeles? Is that correct?”

“The Queen is Elizabeth-“ Cyra cut herself off with a pinched brow, a hand raising to press against her forehead in aggravation. There was no way she was having this conversation right now. She must be going crazy.

For a moment, Jack didn't pay attention to anything but himself, trying to steady his breath, his hand running through his hair, messing it up further. Did we live? Is it over? The thoughts swirled, but something about it felt too easy. As he gathered himself, he looked around, taking in their surroundings. It was dark, just like he thought—nighttime—and there, parked not far from them, was a car. Two people stood near it, one of them oddly familiar.

With a gesture toward the man, Jack motioned for him to follow. His body moved on instinct, the exhaustion momentarily forgotten, as hope surged past his nerves.

"You—" he called out, voice raw with urgency as he closed the distance. "I remember you. I saw you at the campfire. Is—" Greta, Rowan...are they here? "Is anyone else here?"

When Cyra heard the sound of someone calling out to them she picked up her bat on instinct, body too highly strung to keep being surprised like this. When the man got closer and she could make his face out more in the darkness she felt a faint wave of relief wash over her at the familiar face. “Jack.” Cyra could vaguely remember that being the man’s name and if she was wrong then she wasn’t sure she really cared right now.

At his question she shook her head, “I haven’t seen anyone else besides her,” She jerked her head towards the woman in her knight costume, her eyes moving in a slight roll. Out of anyone she’d met so far Cyra knew that she was her least favorite at the moment. “Who’s that?” Her attention turned towards the other man that had come running out of the building with Jack.

Jack listened quietly to everything Cyra had to say, feeling the little hope he had left flicker and fade at her mention of not seeing anyone else—except for them. Okay, that's a group we can work with, he thought, trying to stay pragmatic despite the grim situation.

When Cyra asked about the man he had been with, Jack shrugged, the answer as uncertain as his feelings about their next steps. "No idea," he replied, his voice curious as well, "but he's quick."

Richie followed close behind, thankful to see other people and one of them even knew the man he was with! So Jack was his name. He really did look like a Jack now that he thought about it. For a moment, he surveyed the surroundings— there appeared to be some weird fog on the horizon. Something about it felt off yet familiar all the same.

When he was addressed, he pulled his gaze back to the woman and gave her a two-finger salute: “Richard… or Richie, whichever you prefer.” He offered what he hoped was a friendly grin even in their circumstances, but he turned back again to the factory doors. No crazy robot had come out to kill them yet thankfully. What a nightmare. Once he was satisfied with their apparent safety, he turned back to the group and now observed the woman’s companion.

“Cool ren faire costume by the way.” He threw the compliment to the “knight”. It wasn’t all that rare to see people with seemingly authentic costumes wandering around during this time of year— cool enough that standing outside in full plate wasn’t going to cook you alive but dry enough that it wouldn’t rain. “Does this bad boy run?” He asked, patting the car that looked like it had seen better days. In fact, he was pretty sure he was looking at an antique sedan.

“Cyra.” She introduced herself out of habit rather than politeness. Her hand held on to her bat tightly and her gaze followed Richie’s to the car. “I wish. I found a gas can earlier and put the gas in it but there aren't any keys and I don’t know where to find them.” Hot wiring the car entered her brain but something in her gut told her that they weren’t getting this stupid vehicle to run without getting the actual keys to it.

"Maybe—" Jack stopped himself, the words catching in his throat as he contemplated the idea he dreaded mentioning. Maybe we should go back inside. Look around. The thought unsettled him, but he knew they might not have a choice.

"You said you found gas earlier?" he asked, his voice hesitant but probing as he turned to Cyra. "Inside the building…right?"

Cyra nodded her head, gesturing over to the empty gas can she’d tossed aside as she no longer had any use for it. Perhaps it could be considered littering but they were the only people here that she knew of and the fact that they were more than likely kidnapped and being held against their will trumped her feelings about the environment and ecosystem.

“Yeah it was in some weird art room I woke up in.” She answered, turning her gaze back to Jack. “Maybe the keys are somewhere inside too?”

Jack's gaze followed the direction of her gesture, landing on the empty jerry can. His mind raced, weighing their options, as he crossed his arms tightly over his chest. His brows furrowed as he tried to make sense of the situation they were all caught in.

“I woke up in some storage area. There was—” he began, casting a quick glance toward Richie. Should he tell them about what they both saw? After a brief hesitation, Jack decided against it, giving a curt nod in her direction instead.

“I think it might be our best bet to head back inside—together.” The words felt heavy as he exhaled deeply, his hand finding the back of his neck, rubbing away the anxiety. “And probably make it quick too,” he added, the unease in his voice betraying his attempt at remaining calm.

Cyra nodded her head in agreement. There was strength in numbers and with four of them here surely they would be fine right? “I think that would be our best bet. We can’t stand out here forever expecting the keys to just magically fall into our hands.” Thought that would be fantastic if they did.

Ben watched the conversation, utterly flummoxed. There were more of them?? Where were these people coming from? Their attire and speech was equally as strange as his companion, and he could barely keep up at attempts at conversation. How did everyone else seem to understand this “car”? Was it a cruel joke they were playing on him? If it was some sort of jest, it was not funny.

So Ben focused on the comments directed at them. “Ren faire…?” they asked, brows furrowed. “I do not knowest a festival by that name. And I am not donning a costume. The name is Ben, knight of the land of England, servant of King Henry VI. I do not comprehend of which manner of thing thou speaketh, with words such as ‘gas’ and ‘car’.” There. They said their piece. And they prepared to continue to be ignored. Where was the kind man from earlier?

The knight’s manner of speaking was pretty ancient— almost as if he was watching some sort of period drama. Richie was about to make another joke to jab at the knight until he looked them straight in the eyes and found genuine confusion and curiosity. Was… was the knight actually telling the truth? That they were actually a knight of King Henry VI?

That would be… so weird, wouldn’t it? Then again, when had he seen animatronics walking around with no effort at all? Even in his time, technologically advanced as it was, Richie had never seen such advanced AI. So why wouldn’t there be a knight of some medieval age of England here? He looked helplessly to Jack and Cyra before going back to Ben. “So you’re… you’re legit, er, actually a knight, huh? Well, um, a car is basically a… carriage without a horse?” He supplied, trying to think of which time-appropriate invention was present during Ben’s life. “And gas is like… shit, you have coal right? It’s something like that.”

Jack's attention snapped to the side at the small commotion, his conversation with Cyra interrupted by the unexpected scene unfolding before him. Flashing her a brief look, he advanced toward the source of the noise, eyes narrowing as he took in the sight—a knight, or at least someone who looked like one. Jack blinked, feeling a wave of disbelief wash over him. A robot earlier, now a knight?

Despite his confusion, Jack didn't make a jab. His features softened, even if the confusion lingered heavily on his face. He gestured toward the knight, trying to connect the dots. "You were at the campfire, right?" His tone was cautious, unsure if he was remembering correctly. "Did you also just—wake up out here, or—" Jack turned briefly to face the entrance of the building, still trying to make sense of everything. "In there?"

Ben blinked, a bit surprised at the contrast between these people and her earlier companion. They both seemed to genuinely believe her, thank God. At least they did not continue to accuse her to coming from a gathering called “Ren Faire.” Which Ben still had yet to understand. But as the man, Richie, explained, Ben nodded, finally starting to understand. They must be in some more technologically advanced space, though where that was Ben had no clue.

And the other man seemed to recognize him. Good. So he wasn’t a complete fool after all. “That is correct,” he replied, glancing in the direction of the cloth building he awoke in. “I awoke in that cloth contraption after finding myself at the fire with that group of people. Wast thou also there?” As he turned to Richie, though, he frowned slightly. “A carriage I understand…but how dost it run without a horse to power it? ‘Coal’ is a foreign word to me also.”

As Jack’s attention was pulled away by the other two, Cyra decided to stand off to the side. Her arms lifted to cross over her chest and she leaned against the car with a tired huff. Brown eyes glanced over and she listened in on to the conversation, annoyance building in her veins. Were they really entertaining this behavior? They could seriously believe that this man was an actual knight from hundreds of years ago! That wasn’t physically, scientifically, or even religiously possible.

Richie slowly nodded but didn’t respond for a moment. How was he going to explain what a car was and what coal was? What was the medieval equivalent of power?! Richie wasn’t even a suitable person to learn this from. Every technical thing his friends had taught him flew over his head! Still, he wasn’t going to give up! “Well it runs thanks to— wait give me a sec…” He tested out the door and was relieved to see it open. However, much like what Cyra said, this damn thing wouldn’t run without the keys. He reached down to pop the trunk and circled around to raise the hood up. “That’s the engine. It’s… it’s practically the horse! The gas is like the, um, the grass? That feeds the horse? Which is this engine.” That sounded… kind of right?

Then, his eyes roamed to a glaring problem. “Um, guys?” His gaze remained glued to the empty socket where the car battery was supposed to be. Both of the clips were dangling with nothing attached to the other end. “Looks like the keys aren’t the only problem. We need the battery too.” Richie wanted to suggest that they should just make a run for it but another shiver down his spine convinced him that it was a bad idea. They either had to finish this car or not leave at all. He turned to Ben and the struggle truly began. “The car battery is like… this rectangular thing? Fuck I don’t know what this car’s battery looks like. But we really need it if we want to use the car to get out faster.”

Jack's eyes darted between Richie, who was animated while trying to explain what a car is to Ben, and Cyra, whose exasperation practically screamed, we're wasting time. He was starting to feel the same, his thoughts racing as he tried to assess their next steps. His gaze kept bouncing between their little makeshift group until it finally settled on Richie, who abruptly stopped talking and popped the hood of the car.

Jack’s frown deepened when Richie beckoned them over. Keeping his arms crossed, Jack approached slowly, his nerves on edge as a sinking feeling crept up in his gut. “What’s wrong?” he asked, already suspecting the answer but hoping he was wrong.

But when Richie stepped aside, Jack’s heart dropped. The battery was gone. Missing. Jack let out a frustrated exhale, his earlier sense of dread solidifying into a knot in his stomach. Of course, it couldn’t be easy. "Maybe—maybe it's inside?" Jack offered, “it has to be somewhere...right?

When beckoned over Cyra let her arms drop to her sides with a sigh. What now? She thought as she moved to stand beside Jack, her eyes rolling to the back of her head as she turned away from the car and brought her hands up to cover her face for a few seconds. She sucked in a deep breath to keep from screaming out of frustration. What the fuck was this? Some sort of sick joke? How did the car not have a battery of all things? Keys, gas, those things she could understand being missing but the fucking battery?

As Jack spoke Cyra let her hands drop from her face. Feeling sorry for herself wasn’t going to help and standing out here questioning what to do wouldn’t help either. “The only place to look is inside.” Her gaze drifted to the building, “Might as well get it over with right?” Despite the fear that clutched at her heart Cyra let her feet begin to lead her back to the entrance she’d left through earlier.

Richie glanced at Jack with some uncertainty. He had a point. If the jerry can was obtained inside, then that would logically mean the other things they needed would also be inside. But there was a fleeting moment of fear that threatened to overwhelm Richie. He really didn’t want to know what tons of metal and an advanced AI could do to a flesh body. Still, this was their ticket out and he didn’t want to leave everything to his new companions because of some stupid fear.

He always faced these head on!

“Yeah! Robot thingy be damned!” Richie cheered as he followed behind Cyra. At least Cyra also had a bat to be used when they do encounter her. Two hits is better than one, right? Surely this would give them ample time to escape. They just needed to find two things and they were out of here. “Went through the costume department and stage earlier but I didn’t see anything like a car battery by the way. Those are like, extremely far back the building.” Oh how he wished he had a map or something to show the layout of this place to make it easier for all of them.

Jack stood by the hood of the car, his eyes flickering between it and Cyra as she descended toward the building. Guess we’re doing this, he thought, the anxiety bubbling up in the back of his mind. He could only hope that she—or whatever it was—wouldn’t be around.

Just as Richie followed behind Cyra, Jack froze. Robot thingy be damned!... Dammit. His gaze snapped to Ben, and he offered a sheepish look before advancing towards the two, nerves flaring up again, his head spinning with apprehension.

"Yeah...about that," he started, clearing his throat, his eyes darting guiltily to meet Cyra’s questioning gaze. "There's, um...there's a robot sort of lurking around. She chased me—that's why we were rattled as fuck." His voice trailed off, but the tension remained, the memory of the encounter suddenly a bit foggy. Weird.

Cyra was within a few feet of the door before Richie’s voice cut threw the determination that was controlling her mind. She came to a complete halt, body stiffening. Robot thingy? Her head turned first, brown eyes finding Richie’s with an intensity hot enough to burn. Before she could ask what the hell he was talking about Jack spoke up, adding more context that only made her skin bristle and a slew of curse words formed in her mind that she had to force back down her throat before she went on a tirade.

“So what you’re saying is that there’s a man-chasing robot in there,” Cyra pointed towards the door, “and you’re just bringing this up now?!”

“I, uh—I actually think it’s a girl,” Jack corrected, his hand instinctively rubbing at his neck as the anxiety clawed at him. Why the hell am I getting worked up again?

"Look," he added quickly, trying to keep the peace, "I didn’t think it’d be an issue. If I could outrun her, then we all could." He gestured between the group, including Ben, his voice picking up momentum. "Bigger in numbers, right?"

Richie felt like he said something he shouldn’t have when Cyra stopped and Jack looked defeated for some reason. This feeling solidified into fact when she glared at him and his entire body froze. Forget about getting killed by the robot, Cyra might just kill him first! The heat was off him when Jack, mercifully, spoke up.

“So you didn’t see it when you were in there?” Didn’t that just mean that their little monster of the week robot was just a singular entity? That would mean that as long as they kept their distance at all times, they would be safe. “A-Anyway, even if there is a killer robot in there, we really need to find those items. We got a bat and we got each other! ‘Cause it’s either that or walk through the fog and that shit is giving me the creeps.”

“Of course I didn’t see it!” There was no way she wouldn’t have mentioned seeing a robot chasing after her! It sounded delusional, it sounded made up like a kid’s fairy tale, but with the day she was having Cyra decided that it was not out of the realm of possibilities. She turned back to face the building, anxiety causing goosebumps to rise along her skin. Were they really going back in there? We need the keys and the battery. She told herself. How else were they going to get out of here?

Ben was listening to the conversation but only half-comprehending due to their limited knowledge of the specific dialect the others spoke. But they had gathered enough to know that this “car” was important, would get them out of here, and they were working together to escape the clutches of a strange woman. Wanting to get out of here as soon as possible, it seemed that Ben had no choice but to agree and help the others. “I may not understand what is going on, but I shall do my best to help us all escape this horrible place. I am eager to be on familiar ground once again and away from this terror of whom you speak.” They looked at the others, determined to get out of here if nothing else.

“Thank you...Ben,” Jack felt his features softening as he listened to Ben's determined words. Something about their confidence sparked a flicker of reassurance in him, grounding him for a moment. We’re really doing this. Despite it being his idea, the unknown gnawed at him—she, or whatever that thing was, might be lurking just beyond the door, waiting for them.

Jack took a deep breath, glancing around at the group. His chest tightened with unease, but he knew they had to push forward. Swallowing hard, he silently hoped they'd make it out—together.

Cyra closed her eyes for a few seconds, mentally counting to ten before reopening them. Maybe Jack was right. There were four of them and apparently only one robot, even if it did show up it couldn’t take on all of them could it? It was just a bunch of metal forged together. “Yeah thanks.” She responded to the knight though her face still looked towards the doors. Fuck this. Despite the nerves in her body telling her she was heading towards danger Cyra walked forward. “I’m going in.” She stated, not bothering to turn to see if anyone else was going to follow her even if silently she prayed that they would. Grasping the handle to the door in her hand Cyra pulled it open, a chill looming over her as she stepped back into the building. She swallowed the moisture in her mouth, dark eyes glancing around as she debated which way she should go.

“I’ll head in second,” Jack said, his voice steady as he tried to meet Cyra’s gaze. He watched her carefully, noticing the way she took a moment to hype herself up before stepping towards the building, which loomed ominously before them. True to his word, he followed close behind, feeling the tension creep up his spine the moment he crossed the threshold.

Once inside, the air seemed to thicken, his limbs feeling heavier as though the very atmosphere was pressing down on him. His head pulsed with a dull ache, but he did his best to mask it, walking with purpose despite the growing discomfort. “Did you guys…also get a weird feeling?” he asked, rubbing his forehead as he ran his fingers through his damp hair, collecting moisture.

Sweat, he told himself, must be catching something. Gross. Still, he couldn’t shake the prickling sensation that something more than just nerves was at play. “Let’s make this quick.”

With everyone seemingly convinced that they should all go back, Richie let out a breath of relief. At least they were all going back together, it gave him an extra push. It wouldn’t be wrong to say that he seemed to be a little more energetic despite everything. He rushed over to follow the others, leaping into the fray of this freak-ass factory. Immediately, he looked over at Jack who seemed to have paled a bit. Feeling bad, he hung back a little and gave Jack a little pat on the back.

“Weird feeling? Aside from feeling like I want to throw up from nerves, I feel fine?” He contemplated for a moment. “Maybe after this, let’s get some Tylenol or something?”

Resisting the urge to lay on the ground and make a fool of himself, Jack did his best to keep everything down. The constant spinning in his head and the whiplash from feeling okay one moment to sick and tired the next was getting to him. A hand patted him on the back, and he glanced at Richie in confusion. I didn’t… flinch away? What gives? Instead of dwelling on it, Jack gave out a weak laugh in response. “You think they’ll have some of those hanging around?”

“Man, I do hope there’s a pharmacy nearby.” It wasn’t that hard to procure some over-the-counter medicine like those anyway. Even if it wasn’t a pharmacy, a gas station store had them too. Granted, they could find some on the road back to civilization… if there was one. Surely! Surely, there would be at the end of whatever miserable road had brought them here, weird kidnapping fog shenanigans aside.

Cyra ignored the men chatting behind her. This wasn’t what she was here for, if she wanted to talk she would have stayed outside. Looking around she felt overwhelmed. This place was huge—how were they supposed to find a car battery and a pair of tiny keys in this place? How did they even know that they were here, what if the car was just a piece of junk that had been dropped off at this place and left to rust? She clutched at the handle of her bat tightly taking her frustration out on the poor piece of wood.

“I’m going to go in there.” Cyra pointed towards the room on the opposite side of the art room she’d woken up in. It seemed as good of a place to start as any. Looking over her shoulder she looked at the others, “Anyone want to come with me or are we going to split up to cover more ground faster?” The thought of being alone with a robot on the prowl sent a chill down her spine but the faster they could find the parts they needed the faster they all could leave.

Ben had stood outside for a little longer than everyone else, mentally steeling themself against so many unknowns. But they had to follow the others eventually; if not, they would be alone and that was a terrifying prospect with something so far beyond their understanding running around. So they entered the building to hear Cyra speaking. Split up? Was that truly a good idea? They glanced at the others for their opinion.

“I’ll follow,” Jack responded, his words spilling out before he had time to second-guess them. But as the silence lingered for a moment, he realized he meant it. He’d said it before—there was strength in numbers, and sticking together was their best chance. There was no room for hesitation now, not with what he knew was lurking around.

Without another word, he fell into step behind Cyra, who led the way toward the room she had mentioned waking up in earlier. Just before stepping through the doorway, Jack paused, glancing back at the others. He gestured for them to follow with a quick nod, his eyes meeting theirs briefly in silent understanding.

“Same. I don’t really want to split up so soon.” Richie admitted as he followed the others into the party room. He pulled out his flashlight once again to give the party some more visibility besides the dim, flashing light that the factory provided them. “Just holler if you need any extra light.”

He began to wander around the room. It was pretty big with a lot of places that this weird robot could suddenly jump out from. Still, with each turn he did down a the room, the animatronic didn’t appear. Richie let out a breath before noticing something different— something bulky in the middle. “Pretty heavy duty generator…” He mused out loud as he approached it. Was the reason the lights were flickering was because the generator was broken? Interesting.

Ben nodded, trailing behind the others. “It may be best to stay together,” he agreed, casting a hasty glance behind the group. He was on high alert, nervous that some spector would jump out at any moment. As Richie approached the metal…thing (“generator?”), Ben glanced over at yet another foreign object, curious how the others might interact with it.

Cyra would never admit it out loud but she felt herself relax significantly as the others agreed to follow after her. As they entered the party room she followed Richie’s lead and pulled out her flashlight, flicking it on and watching as the bright light helped to illuminate the room. She began to look around, noting how creepy the place felt. For a party room it didn’t bring any feeling of joy into Cyra’s spirit. Everything in this building made no sense.

As Richie loudly showed off his finding Cyra made her way over. “Is it broken?” She asked, looking the generator over with a curious gaze. What would happen if they began to mess with it? Would it fix their lighting issue or would it make it so much worse?

Turn it off. Jack chided loudly to himself, his eyes flickering to the beams of their flashlights. Were they too bright? His mind immediately spun into overdrive, worrying that the lights would give away their position, revealing them to the robot from earlier. He grimaced at the thought, his memory dragging him back to the entrance of the cave, where his helmet light had barely pierced the thick, oppressive darkness. Don’t think about the cave.

Swallowing his unease, Jack moved around the room, his nerves fraying at the edges as the sight of an old machinery caught his attention. The place looked unsettlingly familiar. His pulse quickened, the room starting to feel too much like his job. The creeping fog, the blackened, twisting tendrils that always seemed just out of sight. The memory gnawed at him.

Without thinking, his hand snapped forward, reaching out to touch the generator—why? He didn’t know. The cool, hard surface beneath his fingers shocked him out of his thoughts, dragging him back to the present. What the hell? Jack pulled his hand back, unease prickling up his spine. The sensation that something was wrong, deeply wrong, settled into his gut as he stood frozen in place. “I don’t know why I just did that.”

Richie turned to the others as they made their way and he shrugged. “Don’t know too much about these things but I think so?” Still, he wasn’t going to risk and make things worse by diving into that. He could already hear Tammy loudly berating him about trying to fix things again when he clearly didn’t know how to. As he was talking, Jack seemed to have some sort of weird, mystical calling to the broken generator as he laid his hand on it.

For a moment, Richie honestly thought it would magically fix under his touch. Unfortunately, nothing of the sorts happened and Richie couldn’t help but feel a little bummed out. “Place got you on edge, I guess?” He looked around again, already feeling like the generator was honestly a lost cause. Who knows how long it would take for them to figure out what was wrong with it. In any case, they hadn’t really searched the room in earnest yet. “Well, our priority is the car right now so I’m gonna keep looking around if you guys wanna mess with the generator.”

At Richie’s words, Jack gave a solemn expression at the machine, his jaw tightening. “Yeah, you’re probably right about that.” This place was unsettling him.

At a suggestion that didn’t involve messing with the foreign technology, Ben immediately perked up. She had eyes! This was something that she could actually help with instead of standing awkwardly to the sidelines. Maybe then Cyra wouldn’t look at her like she was the town fool and had made a particularly embarrassing blunder.

“I can helpest thou look around,” Ben volunteered, hoping to be of some use. Standing around was really starting to make them feel like a leech, clinging to the others anxiously. He would be glad to busy himself with a real task.

Richie grinned and gestured for Ben to follow. “Yeah dude, I can tell you what a car battery looks like when we find it. Or like, whatever you don’t know just ask.” The man realized that might be… literally everything around them that was scattered on the ground but whatever, he liked talking. It put some of the edge of being inside this building off.

“We should all look around.” Cyra decided, removing her gaze from Jack after he weirdly touched the generator. Seems he didn’t even know why he had done it. At least nothing bad happened because of it so she would keep her thoughts about his strange actions to herself. For now at least.

As the others walked away, Jack lingered in front of the machine, the odd compulsion from earlier still haunting him. He couldn’t shake the unsettling urge that had made him reach out and touch it. Why? The question weighed heavily on him, nagging at the back of his mind.

Bending down, he examined the machine more closely, noticing it was missing several key compartments. Are they scattered around somewhere? In this building? The thought was absurd, but the simmering need to search for the missing pieces tugged at him, drawing him in deeper. I can’t be the only one feeling this way. It wasn’t just curiosity anymore—it was almost like something wanted him to find them. Curiosity in him stirred, the quiet compulsion now morphing into a gnawing itch to explore, to track down what was missing.

She walked away from the rest of the group, flashlight tightly gripped and illuminating her way. Honestly, despite the creepy vibe the party room had, it was well decorated. Cyra had a feeling that if it was properly lit in here that it wouldn’t be a bad space for a kids party.

As she walked Cyra shined the light across the various arcade machines there were. I wonder if any of them turn on, she thinks before deciding that trying would be a risky decision. What if she touched one and it roared to life, making a bunch of noise and alerted that thing Jack and Richie warned them about? “God this is such a fucking mess…” The woman whispers to herself. She’s almost ready to turn around and search another part of the room when something beneath one of the arcade machines catches the light just right and draws her attention.

Hopeful, the brunette walks over and crouches down to get a better look. When her eyes land on the battery that they need she almost feels as if she could cry in relief. “Hey guys I found it!”

Cyra’s shout jolted Jack out of his thoughts, and he quickly straightened up, his heart still pounding from the strange event that had overtaken him moments before. “Find what? Keys or the battery?” he asked as he hurried to meet her halfway, noticing the object in her hands. It took him a second to register it, but when he did, relief flooded his system.

It was the car battery.

Jack let out a heavy sigh, his hand instinctively going to rest on his chest. “Holy shit, thank god,” he muttered, the tension in his body finally easing. For a moment, he allowed himself to relax. “Looks like luck’s on our side for once,” he added, offering her a half smile as the weight of their situation momentarily lifted.

Richie perked up at Cyra’s voice and he urged Ben to follow to her. “Nice! We just need the keys and we should be golden.” They were so close to getting out of this place. Never had a place put him on edge so much as this one so he was more than happy to be one step closer to leaving. Worst of all, he couldn’t even take a video for this!

“We could keep looking around while you install the battery?” He suggested warily. Splitting up was rarely a good idea but he felt like they were on a good streak. They hadn’t encountered the weird robot yet so maybe they should keep riding on that luck. “You know, just so we’re more productive. And if anything happens, just… shout to alert the others?”

“I think Richie’s right,” Jack said, flashing Cyra an apologetic look. His eyes shifted from her face to the battery she held, a heavy reminder of what they were up against. “It might be for the best if we split this round—find the keys and just get the hell out.”

His voice was steady, though his mind still raced with the uneasy thought that maybe—just maybe—the robot he had seen earlier wasn’t real. He kept convincing himself it was a trick of the mind, even though Richie had confirmed seeing the same thing. “I’m sure you can handle it,” he added, offering her a small, tentative smile, hoping it would be enough to ease the tension.

Cyra wasn’t sure how she felt at the prospect of splitting up but someone did need to go install the battery so that when the keys were found they could book it out of here. Plus, the three of them would still be together and she would just be going outside…

With a nod she turned back towards the battery. “Alright.” Hopefully it wouldn’t be too hard as Cyra had never been the mechanic type but if it meant they could get out of here she’d do her best. Perhaps a little selfishly she wanted to get out of this creepy place and leave the searching to the others. After all she had been the one to find both the gas can and now the battery. She could leave the keys to the others. “I’ll go install this,” she tapped the battery for emphasis, “and if you guys haven’t come out by the time I’m done I’ll come back in to help search.”

With a plan out of the way Cyra stuffed her flashlight back into the pocket of her hood. If the robot Jack and Richie had mentioned was still somewhere out there no way she was parting with the bat she was holding in her other hand. “Try to find those keys quickly, yeah?” She sent a look towards the others before making her way out of the room and outside.

Jack's mouth tightened into a thin line as he mulled over Cyra’s words. Hope we’re being smart, he thought, swallowing down the urge to just say, forget this, let’s all run out. But instead, he forced himself to nod. “Be safe,” he said, his voice firm but low, as he watched her walk out. There was a sinking feeling in his chest as she disappeared from sight, the anxiety growing all of a sudden.

Once she was gone, Jack turned to face Ben and Richie, locking eyes with both. “I think I know where we could start,” he said, his voice gaining a bit more resolve. The memory of that robot figurine freaking out when he’d entered the room full of mirrors had been bothering him ever since. There was something off about it—something the robot maybe didn’t want him to see. That had to mean something, didn’t it?

“I think...maybe we could head to where I woke up,” Jack continued, the idea solidifying in his mind. “There was a back room there. I didn’t really get the chance to explore it.”

Ben bit his lip, thinking nervously about the mention of a robot. He still didn’t entirely understand what was happening here with that, but he knew enough to know it was very bad. The idea of heading straight towards an area where Jack had faced the thing was enough to fill Ben’s stomach with dread. But he was a knight, so it wasn’t as if it was the first time he was faced with a daunting task. He had pressed on before, and he would continue to do so now. He couldn’t let his fear stop him–even if this was a completely different situation than he had ever faced before.

So Ben nodded slowly, resolutely. They would understand what was happening here eventually, and until they did they supposed that they’d be following the others’ lead. “Then let us go anon. It seems to be a potential way to flee this place.”

Richie tried to think back to where he had bumped into Jack. So there was a back room from where he had come from? Damn, how big was this place? Then again, considering everything, it did make sense. “No complaints here. Any place we haven't combed through has the chance of having those keys.”

He went out of the room first, throwing a look to the exit where Cyra had disappeared from. Richie felt his heartbeat pick up as if he was going straight into danger… which, to be fair, he probably was. He swept his flashlight back to the inner rooms of the building and then flashed an uneasy grin to Ben and Jack. “Well, no time like the present. Lead the way Jack, I'll light the way.”

Jack hadn’t noticed Richie leaving the room until the movement startled him out of his thoughts. Snapping back to the present, he followed, stepping into the hallway just as a wave of pain shot through his skull. His head pulsed violently, the migraine hitting him hard and fast. He winced quietly, raising his hand to pinch between his brows, barely holding back the curses building on his tongue. Get me the fuck out of here.

He could feel his body growing heavier with each step, exhaustion pressing down on him. Fighting to keep himself steady, Jack gave a sharp nod, signaling the others to keep moving forward. Every muscle in his body screamed at him to rest, but he forced himself to push through. I’m about to pass out, he thought, his mind repeating it like a broken mantra as he blindly led them down the narrow hallway.

Finally, Jack gestured weakly toward the room on his right. His eyes flickered over the scattered mannequins inside, but he pointedly ignored them, his focus on the far end of the room. He moved toward the back, his finger trembling as he indicated the door he was chased into earlier. “There,” he said, his voice strained. “Last time she wanted me out of there desperately. I bet— I bet there’s something in there.”

The Doll circled back to the Stage, combing the rows of seats with a purpose so deep-seated she couldn't make sense of it. He was nowhere to be found.

A thought breaks through the static, why do I care so much? She stills, her pointed foot suspended in the air as she weighs it in her mind, tossing it around until something coherent falls from the jumble of white noise. Obsession. . . ? OBSESSION. It answers, ever present. Closer than before. Intending to banish the incessant whisper with a derisive 'go away', a feeling alerts her. There's more than one person here, in her realm.

Motivated, The Doll turns on her heels and thunders down the stage towards the place she intended to protect from outsiders.

Jack stood frozen for a moment, trying to appear unaffected as the others moved ahead. But the chill creeping up his spine overwhelmed him, his senses drowning under the pressure. His breath hitched, and he staggered slightly, his hand slapping against the wall near the entrance in a desperate attempt to steady himself.

“Hey— wait—” he mumbled, his words barely coherent, slurred under the weight of his growing dizziness. His free hand reached out weakly, grasping for someone— anyone—but his vision blurred, a dark haze quickly closing in. The sensation of his body betraying him was terrifying, but he couldn't fight it anymore. What the fuck—

His eyes rolled back, and in the next moment, everything went black as his body collapsed, hitting the ground with a dull thud.

Thankfully, the way to the room Jack was talking about didn't have them encounter the animatronic. It meant that they were relatively safe, praise the heavens. Richie kept his eye and ear out. The robot was, after all, huge and likely heavy so they'd hear her first before seeing her. Hopefully. God, he really hoped so.

“Jack?” He called out as the man swayed before them, mumbling something Richie couldn't really hear or understand. “Jack-!” He choked back the yell as the man dropped before them and he raced for Jack before he hit the ground. He flinched when he didn't make it in time. Instead, he dropped to his knees and began shaking him. “Dude, what happened? Get up, we can't stay here.” When Jack didn't respond to his call, he moved to start lightly slapping their friend on the cheek. “Come on bud, wake up.”

Panic began to settle in his gut as he looked up to Ben. What happened? Was there a trap somewhere that they didn't see? He could still see Jack breathing and his heart was still beating. He wasn't dead. “Wait…” He leaned back on his ankles and looked back down at Jack. “He's just… sleeping?”

Ben stared back at Richie, clueless at any idea of what to do. They could dump on water on the guy to force him awake, but where would they find that? Clearly, Richie’s slapping had no effect. Why had Jack fainted so suddenly? He had seemed normal only moments before.

“What couldst hath happened?” Ben asked, a nervous chill creeping into her spine. But before the words were out of her mouth, she knew that Richie wouldn’t know the answer either.

The Doll comes to a skidding halt in the Manufacturing Room, catching sight of her reflection in one of the scattered mirrors. Why is it here? Pulled towards it, The Doll allows herself a momentary lapse in her quest to find the intruders, moving forward on auto-pilot. She expects the Entity to admonish the distraction, to set her back on track, but it stays silent—the only evidence of its presence is the soft flickering from the overhead lights.

A thud sounds from somewhere nearby, sudden and heavy. Her body flinches as if to pull away, but her legs refuse to move—INSIDE. Her upper body tips forward, inches from the painted glass. It distorts as she moves closer, her reflection sprinkled in waves of other scenes, of rooms? Her head tilts in interest, watching the snapshots of her realm in real-time until one snatches her curiosity—the Dance Studio, occupied.

Fury bubbles in her chest, at the intrusion of the scene of her death—a snore resonates through the mirror, the glass warbles the vibration and without thinking, she seizes the urge she felt back in the basement, the whisper telling her to go inside. Her hand passes easily through, the glass dissipating into what seems like water, and she steps fully through.

On the other side, her body smashes through the glass—it shatters upon her entry, the glass sprinkling the floor in a flurry of shards and fine dust. Part of her wants to marvel at what just happened, the transportation she'd been able to do, but her sights zero in on two figures besides the sleeping object of her obsession. There's a breath of silence and then she lunges forward, her hand outstretched for the nearest person.

The sound of glass breaking— the mirror right beside them shattered with no warning. Richie stumbled back from the shower of glass shards on them, the force enough to cut through his skin and landing on his hands with them was even more of a bad idea. Whatever scream of pain that he was about to release got stuck on his throat as the animatronic lunged forward— from the mirror? — and Richie forced his body to move.

His heart beat loudly against his ears as pure, primal fear was injected straight into him. The next thing he knew, he was already scrambling on the floor, pushing himself up and away from the Doll, ignoring the sting of his many cuts and the glass embedded into his hands and knees. He managed to keep his hold on the flashlight but he tried to grab his bat while scrambling but the pain of the glass caused him to let go. No time, no time, no time. He didn’t look back as he fled back into the mannequin room, frantically looking for a place to hide.

Ben froze as the mirror erupted in shards of glass, terror rooting his body to the floor. He had never seen anything like this creature. It was not of organic origin, no human or animal that Ben could recall. Instead, it seemed entirely manmade, cold and smooth. It was so far beyond the sort of inventions that Ben had come into contact with that it stole the breath from his lungs. How were they supposed to fight something so inhuman? It probably couldn’t even feel pain.

As the thoughts whirred through Ben’s head, they realized they had been standing there staring at this thing for entirely too long. They had to move before they met their untimely demise at its hands. But where could they go? They didn’t want it to follow them right to Richie, so trailing behind him seemed less of an option. As they searched frantically for something helpful to do, Ben knew they were wasting time. Too much time.

But, like it had so many times before, adrenaline kicked when nothing else did. Despite the hesitation, Ben ran after Richie for the moment. They could maybe lead the robot (that was the right word?) in the other direction after leaving the room? All Ben knew was they were no help if they were killed for standing still instead of running off.

The Doll pursues the two figures rushing out of the Dance Studio with a passing glance to the sleeping man on the ground—afterwards, she would return for him. Striding into the Mannequin Room, hot in their heels, The Doll maneuvers through the boxes of parts and doll limbs still strewn about the floor from him. Her fury rises into a crescendo at their carelessness, at the intrusion of her realm—get out, she might’ve warned under different circumstances, if the Entity wasn’t swimming behind her eyelids.

Glass shard in hand, she swipes at the one nearest to her—the one appearing to be from a different time period, one she had seen in movies and read about in novels.

As Ben ran, she heard the robot pursuing close behind. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears as she did her best to maneuver around the doll pieces placed around the room, trying to force the robot to make tight turns and hopefully put some space between them. But she knew that things were dire when the robot lunged for her, glass fragment in hand.

Ben tried to dodge at the last minute, so luckily the glass didn’t hit anything vital, but a thin line of blood appeared on Ben’s cheek. The robot was too close. But Ben wasn’t sure how to pull ahead, trying to sprint faster as they examined their surroundings.

Richie held his hand against his mouth and watched as Ben bolted out of the room with the robot following straight towards them. His stomach churned with guilt— but his fear kept him in place behind the rows of mannequins. Some of them had been tipped over, likely what he had heard earlier from Jack. It seemed like the robot was so hyperfocused on Ben to notice him there and he let out a shaky breath.

Once they were further away, Richie ducked down and moving back to Jack’s unconscious body. His breath become ragged as he tried picking off the bigger shards in his hand and flinging them off to the side. He wrapped his hand on Jack’s shirt and began shaking him more vigorously. “Come on Jack, the robot bitch is here. Wake up please.” He choked out, wondering how Ben was doing. However, no matter how much he was shaking Jack, the man was simply not responding. He grimaced at the blood that had imprinted itself on Jack’s shirt and neck from his shaking and slapping the man.

Jack’s thoughts were a jumbled mess, slipping in and out of focus as the world around him blurred. Where the fuck am I? His head felt like it was splitting in two, the throbbing pulse behind his eyes making it impossible to think straight. There was someone nearby—talking, yelling maybe—but their voice was distorted, drowned out by the relentless ringing in his ears. Every word was muffled, as though he were underwater. He heard his name faintly, something about waking up, and a curse, bitch, in there somewhere.

A sharp sting brought his attention to his cheek, the pain cutting through the haze for a brief second. What happened? He tried to focus, tried to open his eyes, but they felt impossibly heavy. The shadows around him swam together, and even though he could feel someone shaking him, trying to wake him, his body wasn’t responding. A faint grunt escaped his lips as he sluggishly raised a hand to squeeze the arm shaking him, a weak acknowledgment that he was still there—barely. But the effort was too much, his grip loosening as consciousness faded once more.

Inside of her mechanisms, her body thrums when the shard connects to skin, leaving a swipe of blood in the wake of The Doll’s slash. A sickening thrill at the clear evidence of bloodshed, even something so minor, awakens the presence nearby—a cavernous wanting opens inside of her, one that demands more.

Dizzy from her growing rage, The Doll’s hand falls heavy on their shoulder, her rounded fingers pinning them in place and the plates of her face shift, showing the gaps and wiring underneath, the rising whirs reaching a crescendo in her anticipation. “Why have you come here?” Her voice is melancholic, calm, but deafening in its intensity.

Ben’s blood ran blood as he felt the robot’s hand, freezing through the thin fabric of his shirt. He glanced up at her slowly, terrified, but still tried to buck out of her grasp. As long as he was breathing, he would put up a fight. “I…did not chooseth…to venture here,” he huffed between attempts to breaking free. “Release me…foul witch!”

The Doll’s head falls on a ninety-degree angle at their language, allowing herself a moment of confusion before she yanks them off the floor, using her newfound strength to hold them suspended in the air. “I don’t believe I will.”

The plastic of her eyelids blink and the power shuts out. There’s a soft but present alarm in the distance, sounding from the edges of the realm—from the fog. There’s an occasional flicker of light from a single bulb dangling between their position and the Dance Studio, a stuttered blink lacking the consistent rhythm the Entity had allowed before.

There’s a soft pink glow cast over the person she grasps tightly, from her eyes. Righting her head from its fallen position, she lowers them with a sudden jolt, their knees hitting the ground as she turns and pulls them by their left shoulder back towards the Dance Studio, towards her obsession.

Ben tried to escape from the robot’s clutches, but the strength of this inhuman thing was much greater than Ben’s own. They scrabbled at the ground, clawing on the hard floor until their nails started to bleed, probably leaving rusty streaks on the floor. Ben yanked as hard as they could against the creature, but the only thing that came of it was a sharp pop as their shoulder dislocated from its socket, causing them to cry out. “Thou livereter! Fie! Plague be upon ye!” But their cries were growing weaker as their struggle was clearly useless. They still kept wriggling, through, trying to break free.

Ben’s voice was getting closer and so were the footsteps of that robot. Jack was conscious but he didn’t seem like he was going to wake up. Richie sucked his breath in and grabbed his bat and moved forward, looking at any place in the dance studio where he could hide. The gen was… big enough and it was so dark. Where did the lights go? Whatever, whatever, he just needed to hide. Explanations could wait until later. Richie pressed against the generator, trying to keep his breathing under control as the Doll came closer and closer.

The Doll pushes through the Dance Studio’s door left ajar, tossing the person in her grasp on the floor besides the sleeping figure. Her fluorescent eyes land on him, pink rays of light falling over the man pointedly. She longs to speak, to pry out the answers to questions she understood would fall on deaf ears if she posed them to the Entity. It all felt suddenly very wrong. The vulnerability in the Studio, where she once was herself, a gasping and heaving mess at the mercy of a force much greater than herself.

As if sensing her small discomfort, it whispers, KILL. And she answers in kind, bending at the waist to grab the person she once held and reaching forward for him.

Behind Jack's eyelids, Jack could faintly make out colors through the sea of darkness, slowly being stirred back awake. Please—no more, he begged silently, feeling his chest tighten as memories of the cave resurfaced. The suffocating black fog, the way the colors of red and blue clashed and merged into something unnatural, flooded his thoughts. He knew what was waiting for him if he let himself slip again—those haunting, disjointed images, the terror he couldn't shake. He couldn't go back to that. He didn’t want to go back there.

His hand felt like it weighed a ton as he lifted it, desperate to shield himself from the blurry light that pierced through the haze. The brightness was disorienting, but then—just beyond his fingers, he saw a shape. At first, it was indistinct, a shadow against the light, but as his vision slowly cleared, his breath hitched. Oh fuck... it's her.

The second Ben was let go of, they started to crawl away, wincing at the sharp pain of their dislocated shoulder but pressing forward anyway. They would not give up even in the face of impossible odds, fighting to keep crawling in spite of the red hot stab of pain each movement of their shoulder caused. Blood from their facial wound dripped onto the floor underneath them, another reminder of their hopeless situation.

But before Ben could get far, she was once again being reached for by the robot. She tried to kick the creature, wondering if it would do any damage or just be a slight annoyance, like a fly buzzing in front of one’s face. But she had to try.

The Doll gives a frustrated yelp as the person kicks at her—her hand jolts back, shocked at their attempt to prevent the inevitable, before seizing them by their injured shoulder, her fingers digging into the tensed muscles purposefully. Try again. With her other hand, she grabs the sleeping one by the collar of his shirt, pivoting on her heels to drag them both towards the only exit of the Dance Studio.

Ben gave a ragged cry, almost a sob, as his injured shoulder was roughly grabbed. The white hot lance of pain temporarily caused him to cease his rebellion entirely, gasping.

Richie pressed his hands against his ears, trying to drown out Ben’s cries and the robot’s sounds. It was all too real. What would happen now? Should he go back to Cyra? He should probably go out and warn her. But… he’d be leaving both Jack and Ben. He peeked around the generator but he couldn’t see anything past a few inches in front of him due to the lack of lighting and he didn’t want to risk using his flashlight. Where is she taking them? He decided to follow behind them to get a sense of what was happening. Ben wasn’t dead yet so maybe… maybe there was a chance to get them out.

He followed them all the way to the manufacturing room and the robot seemed to be laser focused on going somewhere. Did she need to drop them off somewhere? He crouched behind a doorway as he watched those bright eyes head back to the stage— familiar territory for Richie. He looked back towards the area of the exit where Cyra would be. A part of him wanted to bolt out right then and there but…

Ben took the hit for him. Jack was still semi-unconscious.

He felt a loose piece of cement near his foot and he rolled it against his bruised hand. The pain grounded his fears. He was given this one chance to relive some part of his life, but that didn't mean he could just let others die in front of him, right? Richie took a deep breath and chucked the cement to Jack— hoping that the force would jolt him awake and let him have a moment to struggle.

The sudden impact against Jack’s chest knocked the breath out of him, panic searing through his body as he tried to make sense of what was happening. What the fuck? That hurt! His mind scrambled, still sluggish from the haze of unconsciousness, but the pain and confusion jolted him awake. His hands immediately clutched at his chest, where the ache spread like wildfire, and his legs kicked out, desperate to anchor himself to something—anything.

The realization hit him like ice water. He couldn't move. He was being dragged, his body limp and uncooperative. His heart raced, each beat echoing the dull throb in his head. The footsteps around him were heavy, purposeful, and mingled with the sound of someone crying—was that him, or someone else?

"Let—go," Jack rasped, his voice barely more than a strangled plea. His throat burned as he struggled against the hold, every muscle protesting as he tried to break free. His chest felt like it was going to burst, the pressure mounting as panic clawed at him. He twisted, weakly pulling at the bruising grip that held him.

The Doll falters, struggling with the both of them fighting against her grasp. She pulls and yanks at them, hard and hoping they just submit to their fates. “I won’t.” She bites back at him, ignoring the appeal in his tone. Her attention is drawn to the direction of where the cement had been thrown from. The weight of them both exhausts the clunkiness of her nimble body she has yet to get used to and she drops them both with a heavy sigh, reluctant. “Wait for me.” She sneers at them, blinking her large eyes before setting her sights on a man in hospital scrubs.

Jack’s world spun violently as her grip yanked him backwards, his body barely holding on. The harsh manhandling sent his thoughts into a spiral, making it difficult to latch onto anything but the dizziness and nausea clawing at him. His eyelids fluttered, each blink heavier than the last. It’s happening again, the words echoed in his mind, filled with helpless resignation. He wanted to scream—to tell her to fuck off—but his voice was gone, swallowed by the fog of pain and confusion.

The figurine's fingers released him suddenly, like a puppet cut loose from its strings. Jack's body crumpled backward, his head hitting the ground with a sickening thud. A sharp, white-hot pain exploded at the back of his skull, and his hand shot up to cradle his head. Wait for me. Just kill me.

Glass shard in hand and infuriated by his diversion, she descends on him, her eyes roaming over him as she considers her plan—it takes her all of a few seconds to reach for his arm, ripping it upwards and sending the weapon through the palm of his hand.

It was a mistake to think that a robot would be slow. He saw her chase Ben around so he should have expected it, and yet he was still caught off-guard when she dropped both of them and turned to him. Those menacing bright eyes being the only thing illuminating the area— and the spotlight was straight at him. But, well, Richie was used to that, wasn’t he? “Run! Go!” He shouted, trying to back away as quickly as possible. Get as much distance to give them more time.

But time was not something he could give. He couldn’t even get to his bat before Bethany had sunk a glass shard— not even a knife! — into his hand and he let out a scream of pain. His vision blurred for a moment yet he tried to struggle, to break free from the grasp of the robot. It was in vain, of course he knew that, but if he moved enough, she would spend more time orienting him properly. “Let go of me, you sad excuse of a Chuck E. Cheese animatronic!”

“Go to hell, bitch,” Ben spat out after being told to wait by this horrible creature. Like hell they would. With their remaining strength, Ben worked on crawling away again with one arm, their injured one trailing uselessly at their side as they determinedly inched away. Even if they could find a small place to hide for a moment while they were able to catch their breath and get back to their feet it would be immensely helpful. They wouldn’t waste the distraction that Richie was giving them, heeding his words as best they could with their injuries.

Ignoring the animatronic comment, The Doll pulls hard on the weapon still embedded in his palm, satisfied as his body rolls forward from the force and slumping onto his chest. She drags him by the shard in his hand, back to where the injured one attempts to crawl away. She presses her foot onto their shoulder, pushing until she hears the crunch of their shoulder—the bone splintering under the pressure—and bends at her waist, towering above them. Go to hell, bitch. “I’m already living it. With you.”

Snatching them up, she drags both bodies towards the stairs she had ascended at the beginning of this. There’s an absence in her mind where the Entity once was. Gone, completely. She’s acting on her own accord and the thought is both frightening and freeing. She doesn’t spare a glance for the exhausted one, flat on his back and cradling his head—her desire and want to punish him evaporated, he could wait.

She descends the steps with the two figures in tow, exhaustion setting in—it wasn’t a pain in her non-existent muscles, or sweat beating on plastic, but an overwhelming weight in her body. The metal within her growing white hot, simmering under the surface. The Doll takes her time caging them, wrestling with their frantic but tired movements, slamming the cage door closed on them both—and the power comes back on, the alarm from the edges of her realm quieting as quick as a heartbeat.

She watches in fascination as black spider legs, the Entity, fastens its black tendrils around the cage, locking them in place. CAGE HIM. The voice returns, desperate and demanding, and she turns to tread back up the stairs and find him.

The damn robot had no mercy and Richie couldn’t think of anything else besides the pain in his hand and how he couldn’t feel anything from it anymore. He tried to struggle but couldn’t help but feel like he had done it all in vain when Ben was reclaimed too. He slumped back, trying to keep himself awake even when it was so tempting to just slip into some form of unconsciousness when all he could feel was pain.

When he came to, properly this time, the robot had placed them inside cages. Richie blinked a couple of times as the lights went back on, assaulting and insulting him all at the same time. Where had those been earlier! If he could see properly, maybe he could have hidden better! Or maybe even run away instead of feeling out spaces! But none of his complaints came to be heard as he backed away and leaned against the grates of the cage, holding his hand to staunch the bleeding to no avail. “W-What the fuck are you-” Tendrils around the cages, they’re alive and he scrambled to the middle of the cage just to avoid being touched by them. “Where are you- hey! Get back here!” The robot was leaving. Cyra and Jack were still in trouble. His eyes leveled to Ben, an apologetic look coming to pass. “We need to get out of here. Fast…”

Ben felt dizzy, their vision swimming with pain at the ruined mess that was their shoulder. If they thought the dislocation had hurt, it was nothing compared to this. Once the adrenaline was started to wear off as they realized the horrible predicament the cage presented, their wounds hurt more starkly than before with nothing to blunt them. The gash on their cheek stung. But they were still cognizant enough to understand Richie, glancing over to look at him after finishing their staring at the retreating back of the horrid robot.

“Yes, we shouldst attempt to find a way out of these cages,” she agreed, biting her lip. But that was easier said than done, and the black tendrils now enveloping the cages made it all the more difficult. That didn’t stop Ben from trying to find a weak bar or a way to pick the tightly shut door open with her uninjured arm, useless as the attempt may have been.

As Cyra exited the party room she did a Quick Look around just to make sure that the robot Jack and Richie had mentioned wasn’t hiding in the darkness ready to attack. Maybe they were just imagining it, she thought. They were in a high stress situation, who was to say that they thought they saw something that wasn’t actually there?

Using her hip to push open the door that led to the parking lot Cyra walked over to the car. “Okay this shouldn’t be too hard.” It was just a battery, surely it couldn’t be that difficult to put in. Setting down the bat she was still carrying Cyra popped open the hood of the car to see what she was working with. It took a few tries for her to figure out how the battery was supposed to sit but eventually Cyra managed to figure it out and when she did she shut the hood of the car back down with both hands, closing it harder than necessary in her frustration. Thank god that’s over. Now all she had left to do was wait.

She turned and rested against the hood, her arms crossing over one another as she waited for the others to come. As the minutes passed on, Cyra felt herself growing impatient. Seriously, how long did it take to find one pair of keys between three people? She’d already done the hard part of finding the gas can and the battery. Was she going to have to do everything herself?

No. No way.

She’d already done her fair share so if they wanted to take forever to find the keys then that was on them not her….

“Ugh!” This was so fucking annoying. The sooner she could get away from this hellhole and back home the better. With a loud huff of air Cyra pushed herself off of the car, snatching her bat along the way and stomping her way back towards the entrance.

The first thing Cyra noticed as she stepped back into the building was how dark it was now. She swore it was brighter in here before she left, what the hell happened? Did Jack mess with that generator we saw or something? She reached for her flashlight, pressing her thumb against the button. As it came to life, light illuminating her way, Cyra slowly walked towards the party room. With the lights off this place got ten times more creepy and she found herself regretting suggesting that they all split up.

She pushed open the door, wincing as it made a small creaking sound. “Jack, Richie?” She called out in a loud whisper. When she got no response back, Cyra had to assume that the others had left this room already and were somewhere else.

As she made her way back the way she came, something, or rather someone, on the floor caught her attention. “Jack!” Cyra knelt down beside the man. She pressed a hand against his chest, feeling for a heart beat and when she could sense the slow buh dum against her palm Cyra let out a relieved sigh. So if he wasn’t dead then what was wrong with him? Cyra attempted to shake him to see if that would stir him to life but he was as limp as a rag doll under her hands. Is he sleeping? Cyra felt another surge of annoyance building under her skin as she realized what his problem was. “You have got to be fucking kidding me.” What was she supposed to do, carry him around? And what happened to Richie and the weird cosplayer?

When The Doll reaches the top of the steps, a sensation rolls over her in a wave—akin to her skin prickling. Sparks just underneath the plating of her body; a warning or her intuition, she couldn’t be sure. Until her fuchsia eyes settle on the sleeping figure, with a girl kneeling beside his body, a hand pressed against his blood coated chest and frustration set into her hard features.

Another one.

The Doll surges forward, her plastic feet hitting the Stage’s floor announcing her approach as she closes in on the two of them, her hand outstretched for the girls’ mess of dark hair, when she slips out just beneath her grasp last second—her fingers snag on the curls when the girl dances out of reach, leaving her towering above him and with a choice to make. Obsession, or another intruder. The Entity feels an indifference towards the decision, leaving her slightly perplexed. . . and perhaps that is what causes her to leave her obsession behind, pursuing the girl with her own free will.

The Doll leaps over his body and towards the girl with a menacing tilt to her head. “Why have you come here?” She repeats her earlier question, her voice clipped.

What is that noise? It sounded like footsteps running towards her but they sounded too heavy to be from Richie or the knight. She wasn’t sure if it was instinct or perhaps a sixth sense that alerted her to the danger approaching but either way Cyra felt an incredible urge that told her she needed to move.

She jumped away from Jack’s body just as the feeling of someone reaching out towards her startled Cyra out of her position. She could feel fingers weaving themselves through the ends of her hair as she scrambled to her feet. Cyra clutched her bat between her hands so tightly the skin around her fingers began to lighten. Her heartbeat loudly in her ears as she took in the sight of something looming over Jack’s body. Her eyes widened in fear and she lifted the bat next to her head ready to swing if necessary.

Her throat feels dry. She isn’t even sure she can speak with the fear and shock coursing through her veins but somehow Cyra manages to force something out. “Get away from him.” She tries to keep her voice firm, to stand up straighter to show that if this hunk of metal wanted to take her or Jack that she wouldn’t let it happen without a fight. She ignores the question the humanoid creature sends to her since Cyra has no way of answering it. How was she supposed to know why they were here? She wanted to scream that they were trying to leave but she forced herself to stay as calm as possible even if survival instincts told her to make a run for it.

Her eyes glanced down at Jack before looking back up to meet the eerie purple of the creature above him.

Get away from him. “Get away from here.” The Doll speaks, slow and precise. Her legs carry her forward at the same careful but purposeful pace, shortening the distance. Logic swims just out of reach, the knowledge that the Entity had orchestrated all of this—that no one was here of their own free will—but her barely contained fury cannot reason with it all, not when he sits behind her eyelids, watching the exchange with amusement.

Deciding to put aside her questions, The Doll makes another attempt for the girl.

I don’t even want to be here! Cyra wants to shout, to scream at the robot because who in their right mind would ever willingly be in a place like this? But Cyra does neither of those things. Instead she steels herself as the robot grows closer to her. Fear and anger nip at her consciousness but the primal urge to survive out weigh both.

Once the robot was close enough Cyra closed her eyes and swung. A loud crack could be heard as the bat she used broke upon impact. Cyra didn’t care though because it forced the robot to stumble, giving her enough time to turn on her heel and make a run for it off of the stage.

Again. The Doll hangs forward at the waist, arms dangling down with her fingertips brushing the floor of the Stage. Her eyes are narrowed, her field of view forced to tunnel as her pink eyes are once more replaced with pinprick white lights in the dark void of her eyes. Again. Her rage overtakes every other instinct within her, the one screaming to pick up the sleeping one and make peace with those three.

Shaking off the stun, her eyes blink back to normal and she wastes no time leaping off the stage, pursuing the girl down the aisle of seats. Exhaustion gives way to her tactful approach, no longer needing her strength but her nimbleness to carry her towards her target—she advances on the girl, her hasty movements desperate and wild.

Don’t look back, don’t look back! Cyra ran as fast as she could, feet pounding against the floor as she traveled down the aisle. She could hear the robot chasing after her and knew that if she slowed down even for a second that she would be done for. Her nimbleness allowed her to weave through the different aisles and seats, years of dancing giving her the skills she needed but despite how hard she tried to evade she could still hear that stupid chunk of metal behind her.

To make matters worse the longer Cyra ran the worse her healing knee began to feel. She wouldn’t be able to keep running like this forever but how was she supposed to out run something made of metal and wires? Cyra did her best to ignore the pain in her knee and tried to tell herself to keep going but it was to no avail. “Ah!” Her knee gave out and Cyra fell to the ground. No no no! she screamed in her head, body contorting on itself as she hugged her knee to her chest.

The Doll’s hand closes around Cyra’s ankle, dragging her body along the carpeted floor and silently hoping the rug burns hurt. Silent as a mouse, the only sound emitting from The Doll comes from the motors within her body, whirring sharply with each step she takes down the aisle. Placing her free hand on the stage, she hoists her body up with a newfound strength she was surprised she had, but drops to her knees to lift the girl up with her.

She drags her past his unmoving body, flicking her eyes over him absently to check if he was still breathing or even conscious. Satisfied she’d have enough time, The Doll tightens her grip on the girls’ ankle and pulls her down the stairs, her mouth spreading into a wide smile with each thud of her body on the steps.

Moving towards the free cage beside the one in scrubs, The Doll chucks the girl inside with reckless abandon and slams the cage shut, waiting patiently until the Entity closes its legs around the metal grid of the enclosure. She stares, hard. Roaming over the girl one last time, fixated on what had allowed her to catch up to begin with—her knee. No stranger to injuries such as that, The Doll feels a pang of something close to sympathy and turns abruptly before she can dwell on a former life, one that no longer was.

Returning up the steps to the object of her obsession, The Doll does something similar—she stares. Blood coats his neck and chest. She bends, sinking to her ankles and pokes at where the blood had smeared on his darkened shirt. Is he already dead? She didn’t remember hurting him, so she pokes again.

You seen it, didn’t you. Jack wandered through the endless void, Anderson's voice echoing in his ears, sharp and loud in the emptiness. He walked aimlessly, shoulders slumped, doing his best to ignore the flashes of scenes that were nothing but lies: Anderson alive, laughing, and no red on blue haunting him. Not real, Jack told himself, forcing his mind to remember the truth. He knew what had happened. He knew what killed Anderson.

The deeper he sank into the darkness, the louder Anderson’s voice grew, relentless, forcing him to relive what he wasn’t ready to face. Jack felt his body grow cold, almost numb to the surroundings, until a sharp poke stirred him. Someone—something—was touching him, forcing him back.

Purple and red flickered across his vision, and for a fleeting moment, Jack saw a woman with long red hair, dancing gracefully on a stage while the crowd clapped in applause. The sight captivated him, and for the first time since entering the void, he felt a pull, a desire to see more. He ignored the nagging sensation of the jab, inching closer to the vision. The hair, the dance—I don’t remember this.

Not yours to see, a voice whispered, and just like that, Jack was yanked back, the dreamlike scene torn from him. He blinked his eyes open, his body feeling heavy, his head still pounding. The dim light above blurred as it revealed the same figure from earlier, her mechanical body looming over him, stained with splotches of blood. The whirring of her gears sounded offbeat, distorted, but steady as she stood over him.

You took me away, he thought weakly, staring up at her. The sight of her brought a wave of defeat washing over him. Maybe she didn’t want to be here either—just like him, stuck, stolen from a life she once knew. "You don’t want to be here," Jack murmured softly, unsure if she could even understand him. His voice was a rasp, tired and hollow. He stared into her mechanical eyes, convinced now that there was more to her, a stolen past, a possibility. And neither do I.

With that, he laid still, feeling the weight of resignation press against him. Whether the others were dead or gone, he didn't know. Part of him hoped they'd escaped, found some way out of this nightmare. He wasn’t sure if he’d be that lucky. “What happened?” Why do I keep blacking out?

The Doll freezes, jarred from his statement. You don’t want to be here. But I am. Those steady jolts return deep in her chest, the ones that mimic a heartbeat, and her lips part to respond and confirm his assertion. His head falls back, defeated with another question on his mind. “The Entity.” If she were kinder, The Doll might’ve elaborated or left him to stew on it, to succumb to whatever infliction he seemed to be under as he came to and from consciousness.

Instead, her plastic hands wrap around both of his wrists and drag him down to the basement, where the others await him. Placing him in his adjoining cage, The Doll steps back to observe them all—encased in metal and claws of the Entity.

. . . Nothing happens.

“What—?” The Doll’s voice comes out as a breathless whisper, barely audible above the echoing sounds of wind from the fog, black smoke trapped in the wooden walls of the basement. Take them. I did what you asked.

Ben watched as the robot stared at them in dismay. She seemed frustrated, confused, desperate even. Despite the blood dripping from their wounds, Ben couldn’t help but feel a sick pang of satisfaction. Whatever she was trying to accomplish, it wasn’t happening. If Ben couldn’t escape, at least the robot could be inconvenienced. He let out a shaky laugh, knowing his sense of triumph was petty and likely short-lived, but he didn’t care. “It appears your scheme is not working,” he managed, wiping some of the blood off of his cheek.

“Aw, expecting something else to happen?” Richie wasn't much for pettiness and vitriol, but seeing the thing that stabbed you and your friends lost gave him some sense of comfort. His eyes swept from Jack to Cyra then back to the Doll. Still, with the robot around, there was no way they would be able to figure out how to escape the cage and get away. She would just overpower them so Richie sat there, glaring at their would-be killer.

The Entity. The thought consumed Jack as those cold, unrelenting hands gripped his wrists and dragged him mercilessly toward the basement. His body hit the ground hard, and without care, they threw him into a cage that looked like it had seen better days—if any. His eyes locked onto the swirling, inky tendrils moving just beyond the bars, his stomach churned with recognition.

It's you, Jack thought bitterly, his mouth forming a hard line as the memory of those tendrils stabbing deep into his shoulder returned. The searing pain, the helplessness, all of it came rushing back. He clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white as a frown settled on his face. I know your name, you bastard.

If The Doll could retreat into herself, she would. What is happening? She questions it, knowing the presence lingers around them. Spider legs twitch around the cages intermittently, toying with the prey caught in its web. Her sigh comes out forced and harsh, stepping close to the one from a different time—their laugh cutting through her haze of confusion like a knife.

“Not my scheme.” She insists bitterly, her composure shattering in the face of their triumph even when caged.

Seconds stretch into minutes and her dwindling patience snuffs out. She paces around the basement, casting a look at the boarded up walls with smoke wisping through the open slots every so often. Do something. I want to be alone. Her misery of stalking her realm, made up of fragmented moments in time, memories she ought never forget—it was worth it over sharing the space with others.

“Yes. I am.” Expecting something to happen. “Why aren’t you dead!” ‘Dead’ breaks into a frustrated but frantic scream, the usual calm and melancholic tone The Doll had as a human fracturing along with what was left standing of her dignity.

“Why do you look and smell like shit?” Cyra couldn’t help but to snap at the robot, her voice bitter. How could she not be when her knee was in pain and she had just been dragged around like a fucking rag doll tossing her into a cage that was surrounded by weird black tendrils? If it wasn’t for the jacket she was wearing Cyra was sure that she’d have carpet burns all over her back and shoulders.

She sat in the corner of her cage, hands rubbing over her sore knee. She had been doing such a good job of taking care of it like her doctor told her to do. A few more weeks and she could have been back on track to compete. Now it looked like it didn’t even matter, if the robot was telling the truth they were all going to die. They couldn’t even attempt an escape with her right there and even if they could break out of the cage with her knee Cyra was in no position to run.

Her brown eyes looked over the robot with a sneer. “Clearly you don’t even know what you’re fucking doing.”

Cyra was right— this robot didn't know what she was doing. Richie thought back to it all. She expected something to happen once all of them were inside the cages but nothing did. They apparently were supposed to die, and the thought made him shiver, but they weren't. They were all still there well and alive. So, they all had to be locked up? So why was nothing happening? He didn't know either but he had enough information to create an excuse.

Put on your best smile Richie. “Well, I guess that means Cheska is still out there right, Cyra?” He said, confidently but with a bit of quiver in his voice. Fear, he should be afraid that “Cheska” will be caught. “I bet she's already halfway through with the car. Can't believe someone as confident about this whole thing would forget about another one of us.” Richie shrugged, ignoring the pain shooting up his arm. Damn, that robot did not hold back on gripping him while dragging him down here. “You really don't know what you're doing, huh?”

The Doll brushes off the majority of the girls’ insults, finding her voice grating in comparison to the unknown of what is happening. Clearly you don’t even know what you’re fucking doing. She drags her gaze up and down the girl on her hands and knees in a cage with a look that clearly says, and you do?

Her interest piques considerably at the mention of a new name—and a name to put to the girl with dark curls and impaired knee—and her frustration reaches a boiling point. Four cages, but five people? Why else is nothing happening?

For a reason unbeknownst to her, in a display uncharacteristic of her, The Doll’s hand curls into an iron fist around the cage of the injured one, the metal somewhat pliable to her plastic prison. I have to leave. Her glare finds him, where he’s all but dissociating, and knows she has to take the risk and leave—damn it. Her leg connects briefly with the cage under her grasp, a sharp and sudden kick that satisfyingly doesn’t harm her in the slightest, but dents the metal inwards.

“Don’t go anywhere.” The Doll sneers, a jab at their inability to leave and disappears into the mirror propped up in the far corner, bound for the Parking Lot.

The sharp clanging of metal against metal jolted Jack out of his thoughts, making him flinch where he stood, trapped in the center of the cage. His eyes darted toward the sound, just in time to see her figure disappearing through the mirror. A scowl twisted his face as he returned his focus to the claws of the entity that wrapped around the cage. His fingers twitched, half-tempted to reach out and pinch at the monstrous thing, though he knew it would do little good.

Cyra watched with bated breath as the robot disappeared into a mirror. What. The. Fuck. Was she actually in hell? Things like this just weren’t possible. Talking robots with a fully developed conscience didn’t exist, traveling through mirrors didn’t exist. She didn’t have time to waste on thinking about how impossible this all was though. As soon as that freak figured out they were lying they would have lost the one opportunity they had to escape.

Holding on to the bars of the cage Cyra used the metal to stand up, her face contorting slightly in pain as she stood on her bad knee. “We need to figure a way out of these things before she comes back.” How, she wasn’t sure but there had to be some way. She stared at the entrance to her cage. She had the intense urge to shove at it, something in her mind telling her that if she pushed hard enough that the opening would relent to her. She limped over and put her hands up against the metal before she began to push. The sound of metal creaking could be heard and Cyra swore she saw the section push away from the rest of the cage the tiniest bit. “Guys, I think I can force my way out of mine!” However, just pushing it with her arms clearly wasn’t going to be enough.

Taking a few steps back Cyra willed herself to ignore the throbbing pain in her knee. She took in a deep breath before she ran full force at the wall of metal in front of her, throwing her entire body weight against it and letting out a squeak of surprise when the cage actually relented to her and she fell forward onto the floor. Turning over onto her back she let out a low groan. God that felt like shit.

Ben watched Cyra escape her cage with wide eyes, impressed at the display. If she could get out that easily, surely the rest of them could manage? But as they looked back to their own cage, despair pooled like sludge in their gut. Unlike the rest of the group, their cage was dented where the robot had kicked it, leaving it potentially much more difficult to pry open the way Cyra had opened hers. Knowing it likely wouldn’t end well, they tried in vain to either pry or brute force it open with their uninjured arm, hissing in pain once they realized all they were doing was hurting that hand. Just perfect. Maybe after the others escaped, they could help Ben before the robot reappeared.

“My bars doth not open,” he added, staring dejectedly at the dent in the cage, just in case the others hadn’t seen him struggle.

He flinched when the door to Cyra’s cage broke open without much resistance and sent her hurtling to the ground. “You okay, Cyra?” He asked, worried that she had injured herself during the escape. He wasn’t sure how much time they had before the robot finally caught onto the ruse and returned to finish them off once and for all— but, even then, he didn’t want to rush Cyra and risk even more time spent on it.

He turned over to Ben. The cage itself was warped because of the Doll’s little temper tantrum. “We can probably find something here to open it with.” Richie reassured the knight, trying to sound as confident as possible. If they could find car parts here, surely there was a crowbar they could use to physically pry the bars. Or… anything that could help really. “Once we get out of here.”

“Yeah I’m fine.” Or as fine as she could be considering the circumstances. She pushed herself to her feet, thankful that nothing seemed to be hurting aside from her knee. “I have no idea how long your plan will keep her occupied so let’s try to make this quick.” Cyra limped her way over to the cage Richie was trapped in. Maybe his would break as easily as her’s did.
She wrapped her hands around the bars before pulling and her face scrunched up as she used as much of her strength as possible. Perhaps luck was on her side as the door pried open and freed Richie.

When Cyra made her way to his cage, Richie closed in as well. While he couldn’t use his other hand, he still figured he should help with forcing it open. He held onto one bar that she was and pulled with her— and it budged. Miraculously, it budged. Richie couldn’t help the incredulous laugh that came out of his lips when they had managed to secure an exit for him and he quickly slipped out. Still, he cradled his still bleeding hand close to him, returning to applying some pressure to it. “You’re a lifesaver.” He cast a worried glimpse to Cyra’s leg. She was limping and that would be detrimental during a chase. “I’ll get Jack out. You sit tight for a bit just to rest your leg, okay?”

He made his way to Jack’s cage, thankful that the man was at least awake this time around. He had a few choice words to say but he swallowed them back. That was frustration talking and arguing about all of it now would be detrimental. “Glad you’re awake, Sleeping Beauty.” He joked before moving to position himself to push open the cage’s bars using his relatively uninjured hand and his leg.

Jack's grip tightened around the cold metal bars of the cage as he watched Cyra break free and, with quick determination, release Richie from his own confinement. Relief mixed with an overwhelming urge to speak—to apologize for the chaos and confusion, to explain what little he understood about the situation. The robot, the one with the colored hair and adoration from the crowd—he couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe they were wrong about her. Maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t their enemy. The thought terrified him. Was he falling into a trap, wanting to see the best in someone he should fear? What the fuck.

He bit back the words that clawed at his throat, shrinking into himself, a deep disappointment settling in. The signs were there, all too familiar—the same naive hope that had gotten him in trouble before. The shuffling sound of footsteps pulled him from his spiraling thoughts, and Jack glanced up, catching Richie’s concerned expression. A frown formed on Jack’s face, the instinct to push away rising. Just leave me, he thought, ashamed. I don’t know what happened.

But before he could voice his doubts, Richie cracked a joke, a lighthearted jab that somehow soothed the knot in Jack's chest. A choked laugh escaped him, despite everything, and he found the nickname strangely endearing.

"It’s…good to be awake. I’m—" Jack hesitated, wanting to say so much more. Sorry for everything—for not doing enough, for not understanding. But all that came out was, "Sorry for being an easy target." His voice was low, weighed down with guilt. He leaned his head back, closing his eyes as the familiar fog of exhaustion crept in, swirling behind his eyelids.

"Don’t know what came over me, passing out like that," he mumbled, glancing back down before helping Richie pry apart the cage.

Ben watched with no small amount of relief as the others got free, glad that things were going so smoothly. But their cage’s desire to stay wedged shut was anxiety-inducing. A small line formed between their brows as they struggled once again to open their cage. Please open, they begged internally.

“Should have just told me you were a narcoleptic buddy.” He said with a shrug and slowly the bars parted to allow Jack passage through it. “I wouldn’t have thrown that concrete block at you. It was pretty small, hope that didn’t hurt too much.” Even with some amount of remorse of what had happened after that, Richie had to admit— he was a pretty damn good shot. Maybe all those times spent exploring abandoned areas and throwing random rocks to check if something is structurally safe or not did have its uses.

“I’m not, but…first time for everything, right?” Jack flashed a weak smile, trying to match the lightness in Richie’s tone. He gave a half-hearted shrug before stepping out of the cage, the relief of being free washing over him. The air felt cleaner, lighter, as if the weight of the disgusting metal bars had been pressing on him more than he realized.

"Don’t worry about it—uh, it woke me up," Jack added, rubbing at his chest as he spoke. The pain still lingered, a dull reminder that it pulled him out from his slumber.

He stepped back to let Jack out before turning to Ben’s cage. “Maybe we can find like… a crowbar or something?” He stepped forward and tested the if it would budge but the warped part of the cage stubbornly kept it closed and a lot more difficult to move. “Let’s look around for a bit?” He suggested as he turned to Jack and Cyra.

When Jack reached Ben’s cage, he winced at the sight of the deep dent stamped into the metal. Damn, he thought, running his fingers over the boot mark. There was no way they were going to shimmy Ben out of there; the cage was too bent, too tight. He swallowed hard, trying to keep his own anxiety from matching Ben’s wide-eyed expression.

"Maybe—" Jack started, but his words trailed off as he tried to piece together a solution. His mind raced back to how they even got here. Cyra. The jerry can, the car battery, the way she somehow managed to force her way through the cage—everything had gone smoother once she joined. Looks like luck’s on our side for once, he recalled saying that to her. Worth a shot.

Jack straightened up, a spark of hope igniting in his chest. "I think we should get Cyra to help us out," he said, his voice a little too hopeful. “Trust me on this, we might all have a chance.”

Richie nodded and he peered around him to look to Cyra. “Yeah. What do you say, Cyra? Ready to move on again?” He didn’t want her to overxert herself but it was undeniable that her skill and extreme luck was doing them a big favor. Maybe they could even find the car keys while they were at it. They were all going to get out together.

Watching the guys work together was…something to say the least. The only upside was that it gave Cyra enough time to give her knee a break. Hopefully she hadn’t injured it again during the chase and the pain would subside once they were out of this place. She rubbed her hand along it, trying to massage out any pain when Richie and Jack’s voice reached her ear and she moved her gaze from her leg to look at the two.

With a nod she pushed herself to her feet and walked over. She wasn’t limping as badly anymore but if they needed to make a run for it again she’d definitely have to ask one of them to help support or maybe even carry her. “Let me give it a try.” She had been able to free herself and Richie so what was one more cage? Honestly, this was all going pretty smoothly. Almost too smoothly.

She looked at the knight’s cage, resisting the urge to cringe at the noticeable dent left by the robot during her little temper tantrum. “Okay, let’s all try.” Perhaps it was wishful thinking but maybe if all three of them tried with Ben pushing it would be enough to pry the door open.

Jack glanced over as Cyra approached, giving Richie a brief nod before stepping back to give her room. He watched her inspect the damaged cage with her usual focus, the doubt creeping back in. It was hard to shake the feeling that getting Ben out of the mangled metal was a lost cause, despite Cyra’s…unusual streak of luck lately. His arms crossed loosely in front of him as he stood to the side, keeping an eye on her while trying not to get his hopes up.

When she asked for them to help, Jack hesitated for just a moment before stepping forward again, placing his hands reluctantly on the rusty bars. He felt his jaw tighten, forcing himself to ignore the disgusting texture beneath his fingers. He was beginning to be weary of his own plan, but they had to try something. His voice low but determined, he muttered, "Count down?" glancing at Cyra and Richie, waiting for the signal to begin.

Richie followed the two towards the cage and gripped the bar with his uninjured hand. He wondered if the nausea he was feeling was from how tense everything was, the tentacles or the active blood loss he was experiencing but he grit his teeth and prepared himself. He didn’t want to drag the group down and hopefully it would all be quick and they can find a first aid kit. “Alright. On the count of three. One… two… three!”

At the end of the countdown Cyra pulled with all her might but even with all three of them trying to pry the cage open the damned thing wouldn’t budge. She tried again, straining until her muscles began to protest but it was to no use. “Fuck..” she muttered, looking over to Jack with a regretful expression. How were they supposed to get the knight out if the dent was preventing them from doing so? They also had no idea when the robot would show back up and Cyra knew that they were running out of time.

The Doll combed every corner of her realm, her footsteps deafening as she frantically searched for 'Cheska', impatience wearing beyond a thin line. Her penetrating eyes sweep over every nook and cranny in the Party Room, seconds away from lifting the arcade machines and throwing them out of her way, when a careful warning resonates in her mind: ESCAPED.

Frustrated at herself for falling for such a clear and obvious bait, The Doll wastes no time stepping into the closest mirror—resting at the back of a still-operating pinball machine—and crashing through the other side, into the basement with three of the four catches prying at the final cage. She doesn't dwell on the particulars of how one of them had managed to escape, her legs carrying her towards them to prevent the final escape, ready to embed the shard in her hand into the closest person.

From his position inside the cage, Ben noticed the robot emerge from a mirror, eyes wide. It would be better for the others to leave him in the cage and save themselves; it was what he would do if the roles were reversed, after all. How could he expect them to stay and turn what might only be his demise into a four-person slaughter? They hadn’t died the last time they were supposed to, but Ben wasn’t sure how long their luck would hold out. So, in spite of his body screaming at him to flee, he couldn’t, and he yelled to alert the others to the robot’s presence, in case they hadn’t already noticed.

“Run! The robot hath returned!” Their wide-eyed expression became one of defiance, eyes hard, as the robot got closer. Even if they were stuck in their cage, at least the others would escape, and she would still lose. The others would find a way out and live. And Ben would try to sneak again once the robot pursued them.

There had been little to no time for them to recover from the failed attempt of opening Ben’s cage as the mirror at the basement shattered and their killer appeared through it. This was, at least, something he already witnessed so the shock value had worn off. He quickly moved a few steps to the side, trying to get her attention on him. You’re not going to catch me again. He was only given a few seconds to react but she always charged forward with reckless abandon. So he prepared himself and just as the robot’s shard was going to make contact with him, Richie quickly moved out of the way and hoped she would crash straight into Cyra's ex-cage.

“We’ll be back, Ben!” Richie shouted as he ran for the stairs. It would be no good for them to stay in the basement while the Doll was present. Hopefully, by leading her away, Ben would have some chance to open their cage— or they could just return later with a better tool to help him with. Either way, they needed to focus on their survival and freedom first.

Jack spotted the shard in her hand just before realizing she had come from a mirror. His instincts kicked in immediately, yanking Cyra away from the looming figure as the purple figurine narrowly missed its mark. Seizing the moment, he followed Richie’s lead, grabbing Cyra’s wrist as gently as possible to guide her toward the stairs. He positioned her in front of him, ready to shield her from any incoming attack—the least he could do.

Sorry, Ben, he thought with a pang of guilt as they rushed forward. With his hand firmly on Cyra’s arm to support her entirely, he helped her navigate the stage once they emerged from the basement, their attacker still hot on their heels.

With the help of Jack Cyra was able to move much faster than she would have been able to on their own. She’d have to thank him when this was over as she was sure her extra weight was slowing him down. “Fuck does she never give up?” Cyra could still hear the robot chasing after them and it formed a pit at the bottom of her stomach. She knew they wouldn’t be able to outrun her forever and without the keys- shit the keys!

“Were either of you able to find the keys before she took you?” She asked Jack since Richie had run further ahead.

Jack did his best to keep Cyra steady, gritting his teeth against his own pain as he focused on getting her out. The escape was so close now, the basement behind them. His muscles screamed in protest, but he kept moving. At the mention of keys, he froze for a second, eyes darting wildly around the stage area. The rows of seats stretched out before him, overwhelming under the bright, warm lights. Damn it...

“Ge-Get to Richie, I’ll look around,” he said, voice strained as he took in their surroundings. Glancing over his shoulder, he didn’t spot the robot—at least not yet. Maybe he had a minute, just enough time to search. He nudged Cyra forward, passing her along to Richie with a small, strained smile, watching them retreat towards safety before turning back.

“I’ll be quick!” he called out, forcing confidence into his voice as he backed into the room. His heart pounded in his chest as he ducked between the rows, hunting desperately for the keys. His eyes darted anxiously from seat to seat, his pulse quickening with each second that ticked by. Fuck, it has to be here somewhere...right? He muttered a curse under his breath, hoping for a small miracle—that maybe, just hopefully, Cyra’s luck could rub off on him.

With that thought in mind, Jack's gaze landed on a glimmer—a faint shine catching his eye beneath a crooked seat. Relief flooded him as he exhaled a heavy sigh. There they are. Without wasting a second, he dropped to one knee, yanking the keys free from their hiding spot.

His heart pounded as he bolted from the room, adrenaline surging through him. Bursting through the doors, he spotted Richie and Cyra just ahead. “Let’s get the hell out of here!” Jack shouted, tossing the keys their way with urgency.

Cyra caught the keys as they flew through the air towards her, stuffing them into the pocket of her jacket. She clung onto Richie as they all made their way through the building and to the exit. “I can drive but what are we going to do about the knight?” she asked as they pushed their way through the back doors, relief flooding her senses as she took in the car. Gas, new battery, and the keys there was no way it wouldn’t work now.

She didn’t want to be the one to say it out loud but the chances of them managing to sneak back in and help the man were slim to none. The robot was already chasing after the three of them so they had no way of sneaking back in, Cyra was unable to run on her own, and the door to knight’s cage was dented so even if they could make their way back without getting caught, how were they supposed to get him out?

"Better we make sure the car moves then we can plan around getting back to Ben?” Richie suggested, making sure to keep in pace with Cyra so they don't both stumble down. Still, he kept looking around to make sure the robot wasn't too close to them. Between the three of them, he had the best chance of distracting it enough so the others could get away. “I… I don't know how we'll get ‘em out but… we can't just leave Ben, right?” He asked them both, a bit worried.

Practically speaking, it would be for the best if they just left them behind but that didn't sit well with Richie. Ben had saved him, after all, and he had to pay them back for that. But even Richie's boundless optimism couldn't think of a way to get the knight out.

Ben watched as the others ran, part of them feeling doomed, but a bigger part of them feeling relieved that the others would make it out, even if they were forced to stay in this cage for a bit longer. Though they weren’t completely sure when or even if the others would be able to get them out of the cage. Well, for now they supposed they just had to wait it out and hope for the best. There was nothing else they could do, after all. So they waited for the robot to chase after the others.

But as she waited, Ben got a sinking feeling in her stomach. The nightmare claws of the thing Ben did not yet know the name of tightened their grip on her cage, inching towards her as the chase continued. She sucked in a nervous breath, glancing around in uncertainty as the appendages drew nearer, creeping inside the bars of the cage and reaching for Ben, almost hungrily. As a reflex, Ben threw up her arms to protect herself, wincing in pain as she blocked the creature’s first strike. She cried out the second time, narrowly avoiding being speared through the heart. But the third time, in pain and full of confusion, Ben was too slow to block the reaching grasp of the nightmare creature. The third time, the gangly limb grabbed her, squeezing as it pulled her up up up. She felt her body go limp, vision going fuzzy before all at once, nothing.

The broken knight looked almost like a toy in the grasp of the creature, life gone from his eyes before he disappeared entirely, gone to who knew where. That was it for him. Game over, thanks for playing.

We’ll be back, Ben! The Doll’s strike had missed by a hair, her obsession snatching the girl away before her weapon could connect and she turned, furious to watch the trio escape up the basement steps. She hangs back, staying near the person—Ben—they left behind. She had to be sure of what the Entity had expected from her. Kill him already. I did what you wanted. And it relents, tendrils snaking through the gaps of the metal prison and the spider legs strike, one by one.

She watches in fascination as Ben’s body fades, becoming incorporeal—a wispy smoke, resembling the fog surrounding the edge of the realm. Satisfied and motivated, The Doll marches up the basement steps to pursue the others—her basement mirror broken, unable to be used—in search for the nearest one she can use to cut them off. Closing in on the Manufacturing Centre, she wastes no time disappearing into the mirror and appearing in the Lobby, her graceful legs carrying her towards the entrance for the Parking Lot where she spots the three of them, nearing the lone red car.

With the keys now in hand, Richie held on tightly to Cyra to assist her in walking a little bit faster. As they passed by the manufacturing room, he spotted where his bat had been dropped— the blood on its handle a clear reminder of what had transpired mere minutes before. He let Cyra go on her own for a moment to retrieve the bat, giving them an uncertain look. Hopefully, the bat would be enough to deter the robot so they could get back to Ben.

Richie let out a breath of relief when they had reached the parking lot with no sign of the murderous robot anywhere. “Almost there guys. Once we get the engine revving we can-”

A loud, reverberating sound of a bell— a church bell? — but it didn’t give the same relief. Instead, he felt his hair stand on their ends and his stomach dropped. Something had happened. Something bad had happened and he frantically looked behind them. The toy factory seemed larger now, looming even, and Richie had every urge to drop everything and run. “We… we gotta…” He stumbled over his words as his movement became more frantic, hurrying Cyra along the parking lot carefully.

“Do you think Ben… should we still…” He couldn’t bear to finish the thought, fighting back the tears in his eyes. Was it from grief or pure terror, he wasn’t sure anymore.

Jack felt the vibration from the bell before he even heard the haunting chimes. A bell? He turned toward the building, dread washing over him, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling as if warning him of something dangerous lurking nearby. “We…we need to go,” he stammered, backing away, his gaze shifting urgently to Richie and Cyra as he moved to catch up with them, the car just out of reach. He pointedly ignored Richie’s obvious distress, biting back his own grief. They were noble a person. “I don’t think Ben’s with us anymore.” Admitting it felt like a weight settling in his chest, and the ominous toll of the bell seemed to echo the finality of it—a death knell, cold and taunting.

The sound of the bell sent shivers down Cyra’s spine and she took the chance to set her eyes back to the building. What was that? Something in her mind told her that whatever the bell signaled couldn’t be good. The arm she had wrapped around Richie’s shoulder tightened slightly as the feeling of despair settled over her, her eyes leaving the building to look at Jack as he confirmed that the knight— Ben must have been killed by the robot, or perhaps something even more sinister. The feeling of guilt settled into her stomach. “What the fuck…” Realistically Cyra knew that there was nothing they could have done differently. Ben’s cage had been warped beyond repair and they hadn’t had time to find something to pry it open with before the robot came back but just because she knew something didn’t mean that she had to be happy with it.

Before she could try to push away the suffocating guilt that she felt, something in her body felt as if she were in danger again. Hurry, her mind whispered to her. It still isn’t safe. Cyra’s eyes trailed away from Jack slowly moving back to the looming building before her throat went cold at the sight of their tormentor standing near the entrance, watching them.

“She’s here- get in the car, get in the car!” She pushed away from Richie, instinct forcing her to move as she practically yanked open the door to the driver’s seat, pulling herself in and slamming it closed behind herself.

The confirmation was something Richie dreaded— the others felt it too. They didn’t need to see it at all. Cyra’s urgency had been the one to pull him back from his grief spiral, finally beginning to notice the heavier footfalls of the robot behind them closing in faster than ever. “Right, right!” He went around the front and vaulted over the car’s hood to save some time before opening both the passenger door and the rear passenger door. “Come on Jack! In!” The Doll was closing in far too closely, far too quickly and Richie gripped the bat tighter, prepared to smash into the robot if it came too close to Jack.

She's here- get in the car, get in the car! Jack nearly stumbled out of shock when he risked a look back. There she was, her figure looming ominously by the building she called home, then steadily closing the distance with unnerving speed. Startled into action, Jack picked up his pace, barely keeping up with Richie and Cyra.

He lunged for the car handle, wrenching the door open and diving inside, slamming it shut with a frantic clatter. "Drive—step on it!" he yelled, eyes flickering to the back window, scanning for any trace of her pursuing them. His breath came in shallow bursts as the tension began to ease, the world outside the window becoming a blur. "I think…I think she’s gone. I think we’re getting out!" His words tumbled out, a mix of relief and disbelief, his gaze never leaving the rearview.

Once Jack was safely inside the car, Richie slid inside the passenger seat, slamming the door closed. “Jesus Christ, I hope there’s something, anything, down this road we can stop over at.” He muttered, once more clutching his bleeding hand close to himself, grimacing at how some blood was now spreading across his scrub shirt.

The Doll pushes past her dwindling stamina, urged by the Entity to get her hands on the obsession—the others were bound to get away, but he would be hers. Nearing the idled car, and composure gone to the wind, The Doll's hand goes clear through the window. Glass shatters, just like the mirror, in a spray as she reaches in for him. With the last of her strength, she takes hold of his upper arm and wraps her free hand around his neck to pull him from the debris of glass and through the window.

I think we’re getting out! And what a load of bullshit that was.

The crash came before he fully registered it—glass shattering as shards exploded inwards, and Jack barely got his arms up in time, bracing to shield his face. The jagged pieces nicked his hands, but he was lucky enough to avoid worse. Then, a hand—livid purple and unmistakable—thrust through the broken window, fingers clawing at his sweater before tightening around his neck, yanking him forward.

He let out a muffled noise of distress, the shattered glass scraped along his body as he was ripped out of the window. Though his sweater took the brunt of it, pain still shot through him as he was wrenched closer to the nightmare, completely out of the car now. Jack hung a bit from her grasp, feet dangly as he did his best to break from her unrelenting grasp. I’m so fucking dead.

Knife. Pocket. Now. What?

Jack's mind raced as he chased after his intuition, releasing one hand from her wrist to fumble into the pocket of his sweater. His fingers met cold metal—a knife. Anger flared through him, irritation mingling with adrenaline for not doing something so simple to begin with since the beginning. He tightened his grip on the blade, frustration prickling his skin—thinking about the entity, being yanked and forced into this shithole—and he swung the pocket knife towards one of the figurine’s vulnerable neck slots. This has to work—this better work.

But it didn’t. Stunned, he kicked at the figure in desperation, confusion lacing his grunted breaths. It didn't work, what the fuck? Panic creeping into his voice, he yelled, "Let go—let go!"

The Doll flinches, expecting the stun to overcome her senses and leave her immobile, helpless but to watch him disappear safely into the fog. It skids off her plastic plating, just missing the mark and the whirring of her machinery reaches a crescendo, her anticipation vibrating through the body she’s imprisoned within. He kicks at her, desperate and panicked—and she feels the Entity attempting to pull her towards the Factory, the nearest mirror, to sacrifice him… but she relents. I don’t think I will.

Dragging her prey towards the upright mirror, balanced on the lone oak tree—a bed of foliage amongst the asphalt—she twists him in her grasp, her forearm tucked beneath his chin to hold him steady. She needed him to understand what she felt, the horror of seeing a fate impossible to overcome.

Jack fought against her grip, his feet scraping against the road as he twisted, desperate to escape. But it only seemed to draw him deeper into her grasp, a sinking dread clawing up his spine. His heart hammered, every ounce of his resistance feeling futile. Her forearm tightened around his head, holding him in place like a vice. Through the haze of panic, he caught sight of his reflection in the mirror that was before him, the robot holding him firmly in place. What the hell? His own face stared back, pale and haggard, dark circles stark beneath his eyes, and a sheen of sweat glistening across his skin. I look like I’m already dead.

It dawned on him suddenly—She’s holding me. And what’s worse, he wasn’t bothered by it, not the way he should be. This was the third time since arriving that he noticed something off, that he was allowing himself to be near people, that he didn’t feel the usual urge to recoil from another’s touch. The twisted irony hit him, and he let out a low, bitter laugh, a mixture of disbelief and annoyance all in one. Of course, the entity would be cruel enough to strip him of even that, meddling with his mind as well as his trauma. You’re the reason why I don’t let people be around me.

“You’re holding me,” Jack said instead as he mumbled out those words, a detached clarity in his voice. “This place is so messed up.”

“Yes. It is.” She agrees, honest—and smashes him forward, connecting his face with the mirror. It splinters on impact, a deafening sound that might’ve triggered her if it weren’t for the persistent hum of her own body singing with the anticipation of ending this, ending him. It felt rewarding, to rob the Entity of this sacrifice—all mine. The Doll repeats the movements, pressing forward, yanking back, until their reflection disappears under the painted blood. Until the bell tolls and signals his end, that his stay is over.

The brutality of the kill was well and displayed at the rearview mirror— and something Richie couldn’t take his eyes off. The shock of the robot managing to get all the way to the car while they were speeding away wore off to horror— he tried to shift in the front seat and grab Jack but he couldn’t even get a grasp of his clothing before the robot had claimed him for herself. Slowly, he shifted back in his seat. There was nothing they could do short of slamming the car full reverse on her but if that didn’t work, both he and Cyra would just be stuck with her too.

“Oh God…” He muttered, feeling sick to his stomach. The tears he fought hard to keep in fell freely down his cheeks. They should have been safe inside the car, they should have been able to get away. They couldn’t save Ben and Jack had to be taken from them at the very last moment? That was just unfair! “We- we need to go faster Cyra. She- what if she does it again and-” I can’t lose you too. He urged his companion, his words being cut off by sharp intakes of breath from his sobs.

Cyra pressed her foot against the gas pedal as hard as she could. Despite the fear that coursed through her veins and the want to look back to see if Jack was still alive she kept her gaze locked in front of her. She couldn’t look back, not when Richie was urging her to go faster. “I’m going as fast as I can!” Her voice choked on itself, tears brimming in the ducts of her eyes that she quickly blinked away. She couldn’t cry right now because she needed to be able to see. They needed to get as far away as possible before that thing chased them down and did the same thing to them that she did to Jack.

Risking a glance in the rearview mirror Cyra noticed that the robot was no closer than she had been when she reached her hand into the car and pulled Jack out. Her heart was hammering in her chest and her fingers wrapped around the steering wheel so tight that her knuckles were turning right. “I think…” She looked back towards the front. She somehow felt safer now than she had this entire nightmare. “I think she’s not chasing us anymore.” Had killing Jack satisfied her? How sick and twisted was that.

“Oh… that’s… that’s good.” He shifted in his seat, desperately trying to wipe his tears with the collar of his shirt. The exhaustion of the entire endeavor finally crashed into him as adrenaline wore off and he leaned against the door of the car, letting his gaze go from Cyra to the road before them— or, well, the lack of it. The fog was too thick to see even three meters ahead. “Hope we can find a payphone, or whatever. Call the police or an ambulance.” He was sure that it would take so much more than just a few stitches to fix his hand. He can barely flex it now that it had completely numbed over.

It was starting to get colder too. Tired. But he needed to keep awake. He had to keep being awake or else he was going to die. That was how it went in the movies, right? Something about suffering from blood loss and he was sure he lost a lot of blood. So, he tried to fight through the exhaustion but his head was on the window and it was so comfortable. Before he even knew it, his eyes slipped shut.

“Yeah…a…payphone.” Cyra choked down a yawn. Why was she suddenly so tired? Had the adrenaline finally wore off and now her body wanted to shut down from all the running and physical labor she had just done? She blinked her eyes, willing herself to stay up. She couldn’t fall asleep while she was driving but god she was so sleepy. The logical part of her mind told her that there was something wrong, that the fog and the tiredness were strange but Cyra wasn’t coherent enough to make sense of those thoughts. She leaned forward, nearly resting her head against the steering wheel, as her brown eyes slowly closed more and more. Gotta..stay..awake. Her eyes shut fully as the exhaustion became too much for her to fight. Stay…The thoughts trailed off as sleep finally consumed her.

The Doll only drops her obsession to the ground once his face is unrecognisable, those hard features turned lumpy. Bending at her hips, she leans forward—enough to drag her plastic finger across the glass, painting a frown-y face in the blood. It's not personal, she thinks, glancing down as she steps over his body and strolls back towards the Factory, a bounce in her steps. She doesn't turn around as she hears the Entity's tendrils penetrate through the ground one by one, closing around the leftovers and pulling what remains into the void.

Jack Dollard, Cyra Ashford, Richard Tarly, Ben Banister, & Bethany Dunne 'The Doll'.

escapes:
location:
relic robotics

tags:
jack dollard, cyra ashford, richard tarly, ben banister, & bethany dunne 'the doll'.
 



nellie ─ repressed alliance.





































  • mood



    positive, & exhausted.
















Nesting Doll in hand, Nellie follows the man-made path and thinks absently, must've been traversed often. It reminded her of the corn fields—the farmers walked the same track a hundred times, how the ground relented to the frequent activity and ceased its growth of grass, allowing the trail to exist. Comfort had been hard sought as of recent, but Nellie held onto the thought desperately, not the only ones.

Nearing what she hopes is the end, Nellie considers turning back altogether, suspicious of what might await her at the end. The ground crunches beneath her feet, kicking up dirt and flakes of bark. It's probably not even worth it. Pressing her lips into a thin line, Nellie is about to turn back when her eyes catch on a glint up ahead—a wired fence, an open gate—she takes off, jogging towards what could potentially be answers, freedom, and finds herself pulling short again as she breaks through the opening.

A shed, haphazardly constructed of wooden logs and the metal sheets of cargo containers is a short distance away. A singular bulb softly hums at the apex of the rooftop. She'd have thought it to be the home of whomever took them, some murderer lurking deep in the vegetation, if it weren't for the entrance being blown wide open—a table and chairs inside, shelves half-filled with provisions, sleeping bags, suitcases.

Nellie advances, cautious. Her grip on the doll she'd found being her only source of something real, grounding her.

The Shed is slight elevated above the forest floor, sitting on a bed of concrete. She enters, her free hand reaching out to grasp onto the dangling chain. She pulls, clumsy at first, and then determined as she's desperate for an extra source of light. It's too dark, please work. It caves under her insistence, flickering to life, the bulb swinging back and forth at her hasty attempts.

Canned food of vegetables, rice, beans, and lentils. Salt. Sugar. Honey. Oats. Vinegar.

This will work, Nellie thought, positive about their chances. Living off of only the essentials was part of the compound's way of life, temperance in all things—especially sustenance.

She moves on auto-pilot, grabbing and unfurling the yellow sleeping bag closest to her feet. Rolling in the jars and tins of food first, followed by slabs of rocks—it appeared to be makeshift plates, like someone had taken a small knife and worked at them overtime. Her relief almost chokes her as she finds pots and pans, two each, tucked away in a cupboard at the corner. Nellie explores the rest of the cupboards and boxes, finding a series of backpacks with names scratched into them—Megan, Adam, Jane, David, Rebecca. She takes the one named 'Megan', a reddish-brown backpack on the smaller side and tucks away her nesting doll within it before slinging it around her shoulder, shoving the other four into the sleeping bag.

Four suitcases are lined up an entire wall. Nellie sinks to her ankles, fiddling with the mechanisms to no avail—it requires. . . fingerprints? She presses her thumb into the slot, dismayed as it lights up red and makes a depressing sound, signalling her failure. Maybe we need all four people. With that in mind, Nellie exits the shed, dragging the sleeping bag with their provisions behind her. A sound of a babbling creek floats to her ears and she twists around, craning her head to peer behind the shed and noting the gentle flow of water. She glances down at her dirt-stained dress, knowing it was beyond saving, and continues back down the path towards the campfire.

The walk felt twice as long, lugging the weight behind her, but Nellie finally breaks through the clearing and notes the severe lack of other people. Did others leave to explore? "I found—" she pulls the sleeping bag before her, a short distance from the campfire and begins to unfold the stolen goods. "A lot of stuff. I think we're. . . meant to stay?" It was surreal to speak the words, to allow herself to think about a long-term placement within the woods—but it beat being back at the compound. And that was enough for her.

































cry for love



백현










♡coded by uxie♡
 



richie - diversion.





































  • mood



    terrified, confused, trapped
















Richie woke up with a start. He gasped as he shot straight up into a sitting position, completely disoriented. Where was he? Why could he feel the chill of the wind on his skin when he should be inside a stuffy car? Had he finally kicked the bucket and he was actually in heaven? Did he somehow die of blood loss while inside the car? All that effort to escape that killer robot, leaving behind Ben and watching Jack die, and he just... died before he could get to a hospital? But, this didn't feel like heaven. Heaven was supposed to be bright and cheerful and pain-free and this was definitely not any of those. Snapping back to reality, he looked around frantically and noticed the dirt beneath him— he was not in a car anymore. Did they crash?

No, no, no, where was the car? Was Cyra safe? Did they crash so hard that they-

Wait a minute.

Wait a fucking minute.

Richie's eyes focused on the campfire first, off in the distance like it was some sort of sick joke. Light and fire were supposed to be indicative of help, of hope, yet the familiarity gnawed at him. There were figures huddled around the campfire, some he remembered in the short moments before he was taken to the toy factory. Richie wasn't always the best at remembering things but that sense of dread settled back into his stomach, one that followed his carefree revelation that he could finally move. He was back at this place? How?! But- but if he was here, then-

He scrambled to his feet before realizing that the pain that should have been present had they been in a crash was... not there. He looked down on himself— his shirt had cuts all over as well as his pants with blood splatters across, he belatedly remembered it coming from the shattered mirror— but his injuries weren't there. He flexed his right hand, the one that robot had stabbed so cleanly through and had been the source of his pain and discomfort throughout the experience and it was just not there. As if the entire thing had been a nightmare if not for the fact that his clothes had been a testament to what had transpired. He patted himself down and, aside from the splitting headache and the soreness of his body, he didn't feel like he was squeezing lemons into open wounds. He was fine. A million questions raced through his head at that moment.

But no, his priority had to be searching for his companion. Then, maybe, they could think about this together.
"Cyra?"
He called out, starting to wander around without paying too much mind to the others in the area. That was a problem for later.
"Cyra! Where are you?!"
If he woke up somewhere close to the campfire, then logically Cyra would too. Then again, he would be more than happy to hear that Cyra wasn't here and had safely gotten to some sort of location that wasn't the camp grounds.


































Clair de Lune



Claude Debussy










♡coded by uxie♡
 



1730783281580.png

Diversion

Jonathan
Chen

Even as Jon spoke to the two in front of him, he looked around, taking in his surroundings and making a mental note of the people he still saw and those that had vanished. He didn't have all of their faces committed to memory, but he could at least start with the ones here. Fewer numbers were easier to work with anyway.

There was the Snow White looking one - pale skin, black hair, red lips - that painted herself to be just as much of a damsel in distress as Snow White herself. She'd need a comforter, a coddler, like the people she had drawn to - even so much as resting her head on a stranger's shoulder. Jon had to force himself not to gag - both at the thought of being so helpless and the thought of stooping so low as to making his shoulder available for her to lean on. However, the thought crossed his mind all the same. If nothing else, giving her a shoulder to cry on would make her easier to win over. And if he manages to win her over, perhaps he earns grace with others who more naturally fit the parental role.

Knowing he was being watched, he forced himself not to roll his eyes at the thought. He'd already made things hard for himself by expressing his irritation when he first came in - he was swimming against the currents from that moment forward.

As the pair closest to him speaks up and one even begins walking off, his brows furrow - and attempt to do anything but narrow his eyes. He knew that the chances of everybody falling in line with his idea were slim to none. But to see that they had come up with their own idea and moved forward without even discussing it further tasted like an orange peel in his mouth. You better get back here soon, Madison. Or I'm going to lose it.

"Sure. Let's not stick together and walk off into the fog we know nothing about," he muttered, barely above a whisper. Yet, lest he be called difficult, he complied. The way he saw it, there were only three possible outcomes. The first is one where nothing bad happens, in which case, he can make the claim that he listened and helped which might earn him a few trust points with the pair. The second option was that something bad did happen, but they returned to the campfire, in which case he could pull the "I told you so card" and earn a leg up the next time a decision needs to be made. Option two is his favorite. However, the third is that something bad happens and none of them reutrn to the fire. In which case he dies knowing that he was right - and, yes, he is petty enough to count that as a win.

However, even though he agreed to search around, he made for the entrance to the fog that was furthest away from where they were and made sure to walk slowly. This way, he'd get to see what happens to the other two and know whether to continue of not. To his surprise, the fog let them pass. It even opened up for them, almost as if inviting them in. For starters, the idea of being invited anywhere by a mysterious, black fog wasn't one he was excited to entertain. However, he couldn't help but wonder why it let them pass now, but didn't let him pass earlier.

So the fog acts differently from time-to-time, huh? Okay then. New plan. Make a break for it whenever next people disappear. See how well that works. Well...that or the fog is sexist and doesn't let guys through.

When he didn't hear any screams, he entered the fog in front of him, narrowing his eyes as it parted and allowed him access. At least we can cross out the fog being sexist, he thought to himself, a humorous comment to alleviate some of the stress that came with being in such an unknown and unpredictable situation.

He lost track of time in his search, his flashlight most definitely coming in handy. However, without knowing what he was searching for, despite seeing many artifacts that he would consider interesting, he didn't actually know what to do with them or what help they would be in this situation.

He must have been searching for a while before he heard someone crying out for a "Cyra". He raised a brow. Enough time had passed between when everyone disappeared and now that nobody should still be calling out for those that disappeared. Someone new then? Something's happened at the campfire.

He hurried back, using the voice of the person calling for Cyra as their compass. Emerging from the dark fog, not being able to see where he was stepping until he was out of it, he walked unalloyed into a smaller girl he hadn't talked to yet. He knew the face though. He had seen her walk into the fog a little while back.

He was, thankfully, quick enough to catch both her and the bag before they fell, not wanting to make an even worse impression of himself. He forced a bashful smile, one practiced enough to look natural. "Sorry about that. That fog's so thick I couldn't see-" 'a beauty like you'? No, too flirty for a stranger, not genuine. 'a single thing'? Absolutely not, too basic. Humor then? "-Rudolph if he was standing right in front of me. Hope I didn't hurt you."

Only then, after making sure she hadn't fallen, did he consider the fact that he was holding a bag. A bag that she was holding. A bag he hadn't seen her holding when she first went into the fog. "Well, I'll be damned. You actually found something in there. Wanna share with the class?"

New, new plan. Find as many things as I can and then make a break for it whenever next people disappear.

Interactions: Nellie ( lostbird lostbird )
 
iu

KILLER: The Swarm

REALM: Arduinna Jungle
basics
MENTIONS:
The Swarm nightshroud nightshroud Madison CrimsonInk CrimsonInk Apolline spareparts spareparts Vidar irregular-neptune irregular-neptune Marcey Bluesky_101 Bluesky_101
tags
TL;DR chaos sorry no tldr, i might write one later
tl;dr
trial 2: the swarm
madison, apolline, vidar and marcey

Something in the jungle shifted. Maybe it was a murmur of the sprawling roots below or a whisper of the lush canopy above. Or maybe it was just the way this strange place worked, something that the Swarm did not or could not spare all that much thought into. One thing was for certain though, something new was here. Or rather someones.

Some of the beasts began to paw at the ground out of eagerness, others let out a few excited yips into the thick atmosphere. Basking in the humid environment of their home was one half of nirvana. The other was the hunt. None amongst the group felt a particular void in their bellies. There was no hunger that craved to be satiated. Instead it was replaced by a warped sense of sadistic entertainment, as if there was a quota to be met for such twisted games.

And so the chase began. As if one big rippling mass, the Swarm began to bound forward with determined coordination. All they needed was a single scent to lock on to. When the creatures had that they would become relentless. They would have their fun at the expense of the trespassers who dared step foot inside the jungle’s walls.




The caliginous black smoke began to engulf around Madison’s leg and just before she could react, it traveled to the rest of her body. In a panic her hands waved around trying to dispel the fog from her body before she was devoured by its thick blanket. Even the gasp that resonated from her lips could be heard.

“Ambrose!” she cried.

Soon the black mist dispersed and scattered away from her body. Her brown eyes darted around trying to get a better grasp of her environment. Rocks formed twists and jagged towards the sky as neon green ores popped from its distinctive igneous home. Around the stone, her pupils pulsated looking at the bones that were placed with purpose surrounding this mineral. Madison gulped, footsteps tracing back from where she stood to get a better picture of what this was. The formations were obvious with its wider frame. It was a ritual of some kind, and she wasn’t staying around to find out.

Madison whipped her head trying to find some kind of direction away from here. Only that when she looked the other way something glimmered in the distance. Something instinctively made her move forward towards that flicker of light. Whether it was from actual survival instinct or memory from playing video games, she followed it with caution. It was a light area of rubble from the rest of the rock. Moving just at the right angle allowed her to find that flicker of light again. Her eyes widened and bent down on one knee moving the rubble to find a pair of keys.

“Hell yeah,” she muttered, “these have to go somewhere.”

She moved them to her back pocket and stood back up, looking about before deciding on a random path to take. This path led her more towards more dense vegetation, with all sorts of plants intertwining with one another as a whole. Tall trees reflected a gorgeous sea foam pigmentation with lambent purple veins beating softly against the wood. It was unimaginable how vibrant and iridescent they were from one another. It was like being on the set of Avatar in the alien world Pandora.

“Woah,” she gasped out loud, smiling.

Only she had realized that she couldn’t fully take this all in. Were there others here lost in this psychedelic jungle? Were there others in general? The thought of being alone did cross Madison’s mind, but she didn’t want to believe it. Not here. Now not. Her hands began to clam from the tropical mists around her. Inhaling the fresh air, she continued down the path with caution. Trying to not make much of a sound or too much, she didn’t know if there was something or someone dangerous out there.



Apolline’s senses tingled, the hairs on her skin standing straight up as a feeling washed over her like the onset of a fever. She thought she might pass out, her grip loosening on the blanket she had shared with her new acquaintances just moments before. There was no blanket anymore, neither was there Jax or the dark-haired woman. Is this... that feeling? Like before? Suddenly, her vision blurred, swallowed by a thick, black smoke that disrupted her focus. No... this is not like before...
She recoiled as the dark smoke rose around her, engulfing her almost entirely, plunging her into a world without sight. Apolline shut her eyes tight, fearful of the new air.

Open eyes revealed another reality. This one, unlike anything she’d ever witnessed in her life. Apolline dropped to the floor, her legs shaking from fear. It was apparent Jax, nor the kind woman were anywhere near her. Before her lay a jungle of amazonian properties, though nearly glowing in unnatural hues of purples, greens and glaring reds. It was horrifyingly beautiful–She thought, the unfamiliarity of it all did nothing but add to her anxiety yet she couldn’t look away. The ground below her felt damp below her sneakers and the air much thicker–sticky like the tropics. She felt a momentary gratefulness that this new place wasn’t as cold–in fact, the complete opposite. Apolline took a deep breath, adjusting her position on the ground. Something had been strapped to her hip, feeling the structure of it digging into her hip bone.

Before she’d arrived, Apolline often struggled with feeling either totally numb or gut-wrenchingly overwhelmed by her surroundings, forgetting simple, obvious things like glasses resting on her temple—even objects in her own hand seemed to appear and disappear without her realization.

Had this always been here?

Toying with the box, she opened it, peeking at the contents: one roll of gauze, a packet of bandages, two gel dressings, and a single syringe.

Apolline released the syringe from its clasp, examining it for a moment. Adrenaline..

Suddenly, a noise echoed from the distance, indistinct yet unsettling. Now it dawned on her that she didn’t know what lurked out here in this new space; everything had to be treated as a potential threat. She quickly snapped the syringe back into its place. Rising from the ground, she turned slowly–careful not to make too much noise.

Shocked by the sight of bones before her, Apolline gasped and covered her mouth with both hands. She couldn’t discern what creature the scattered bones belonged to—though evidently a massive animal that seemed to have perished long ago–its bones rotting yellow, a third of its body sunken deep into the dirt.

The trembling in her body began again, but she fought to steady herself. There was nothing alive here. No immediate threat. Please.. Please.. calm down. Calculating her movements carefully, she approached the bones, her gaze landing on what appeared to be a wooden baseball bat.

Looking around once more to ensure she wasn’t being watched, she bent down and picked it up.



Vidar had just been getting used to his changing surroundings when a dense fog swallowed him, overwhelming all of his senses and overcoming him with immense dread. As quickly as it appeared, it was gone, and he found himself in a… hut? A very sturdy square hut, with strange brown walls and plants poking through every crevice. Iridescent purples and glowing greens culminated in some of the strangest foliage he’d ever seen. Vines burst through the cracks in the building and ran along the ceiling that was made of a material he wasn’t familiar with, a material that vaguely resembled the rusty spearhead that he typically carried on his belt.

He blinked hard, his eyes focusing on the space around him. In front of him was a table, flipped over, its previous contents covered in a thick layer of dust. He stooped down, swiping away the dirt that obscured several of what looked like flat scrolls and other objects he’d never seen before and came away with a small neon orange thing with a handle, and though he didn’t know what it meant, something told him he needed to take it. Maybe one of the others at the campfire knew what it was… but how had he gotten here? He wondered if he could get back to them somehow, or if he was losing his mind, doomed to have his surroundings constantly shift around him. Perhaps it was some torture from his gods and it wasn’t meant to make sense.

Still, he was determined to continue on and kept searching the room, finding a dense wooden club tucked away in a corner behind some vines. He smacked it on his hand with a satisfying thwack, and while it didn’t look like any club he’d seen before, he decided that it would get the job done. He’d almost left, until he stopped at a shelf by the door, a small feeling in the pit of his stomach telling him he wasn’t done there just yet. He searched the metal shelf that was built into the wall until his hand landed on something. Pulling it out, it was a rectangular brick that fit in his hand perfectly, with grooves and ridges he didn’t understand, a stick branching off of its main body. He didn’t understand it, but felt compelled to twist one of the knobs on it. It clicked, and then emitted a sound like the ocean back at him.

His brows wrinkled in confusion, his mind trying to wrap around what he was looking at and hearing from all angels, but… he just couldn’t understand. He let the strange box make its noise and clipped it to his belt beside where he’d tucked the orange object he’d found.

Satisfied that he’d found all there was to find, Vidar takes a deep breath to overcome the sense of dread in his gut and grips his club in both hands before bursting out of the hut, brandishing the club threateningly for whatever might be out there. Seeing nothing but more of that strange foliage, Vidar relaxes, dropping the club to his side, one hand still gripping it firmly. Things are so strange around here… He begins his journey through the jungle, in search of something familiar.




Marcey’s heart pounded in her chest as she stood with the group, the eerie fog surrounding them thicker than ever. She couldn’t shake the feeling that something terrible was about to happen. Her senses had been strange since they arrived in this place, giving her unsettling flashes of dread that didn’t make sense, but now it was stronger, an unmistakable sense of impending danger.

She glanced around nervously, her eyes falling on the girl who had asked for a phone earlier. Marcey felt a pull in her chest, an unexplainable force that made her want to scream out a warning, but before she could speak, the fog shifted. In an instant, the girl was gone. No sound, no scream, nothing. Just gone. One moment she was there and then in the blink of an eye, the fog swallowed her whole. Marcey’s breath hitched in her throat, her hands trembling as she took a step back, eyes wide in horror.

Then, it happened again.

Another girl, someone Marcey hadn’t even caught the name of was yanked into the fog as if some invisible hand had reached out and snatched her away. The thick black mist wrapped around the girl’s body, pulling her into the abyss before she could even react. The sight sent a cold shock down Marcey’s spine. She needed to move. Now.

Without thinking, she turned on her heel and ran, her feet kicking up dirt as she sprinted away from the group, away from the fog. Her heart raced, pounding in her ears as she ran faster than she ever had before. She had to get out, had to escape before the mist could get her too. It was too late.

She could feel it coming, an icy grip that wrapped around her ankles, slowing her down. The air grew impossibly thick, the weight of the fog pressing in on her from all sides. Marcey tried to scream, but no sound escaped her lips. She struggled, thrashing her arms as the mist coiled around her legs, pulling her backward with a force so strong it knocked her off her feet.

“No!” she cried out, clawing at the ground, trying to grab onto anything, but it was useless. The fog had her and it wasn’t letting go.

In one terrifying motion, the mist yanked her into the air, dragging her through the dark abyss. Everything around her became a blur of shadows and fog, the world spinning violently as she was hurled into the unknown. The coldness of the mist pressed into her skin, and then – Darkness.

Marcey woke with a violent jolt, her eyes shooting open, heart pounding in her chest as she gasped for air. Her body jerked forward, a sharp inhale escaping her lips as if she had just surfaced from drowning. For a moment, her vision blurred, her mind still messy from the darkness and the suffocating grip of the fog that had yanked her away. She blinked rapidly and her surroundings came into focus. She was… somewhere else.

The sight that met her eyes was breathtaking. Towering, glowing trees reached high above her, their bioluminescent leaves shimmering with shades of blue, green, and purple. The air was rich and alive, the atmosphere charged with vibrancy. She could hear the faint hum of a strange creature in the distance. A river snaked its way just a few feet from where she sat. The water glowed in shades of neon green and blue, casting a glow that reflected off the rocks and plant life surrounding it. As mesmerizing as it was, there was something unsettling about the liquid, it looked acidic, bubbling softly at the edges where it touched the bank. There, partially submerged in the corrosive liquid, was a fuse. Its dark metallic surface was unaffected by the liquid, and Marcey’s breath caught as she eyed it cautiously.

For a brief moment, the beauty of the jungle pulled her into a sense of calm. The colors, the sights, the strange luminescence, it was all too unreal, like something out of a dream. She almost forgot about the darkness, the fog, the terrifying way she had been ripped from the campsite. It was hard not to be swept away by how stunning this place was, how peaceful it seemed compared to the nightmare she had just lived through, but then, like a sharp, cold knife to the chest, it hit her. The feeling of death.

It rushed back with an intensity that stole the breath from her lungs. Her pulse quickened, the weight of the unknown pressing down on her once more. Marcey’s hands trembled as she clutched at her chest, trying to calm the rising panic that threatened to consume her. This place… whatever it was, it wasn’t safe. She scrambled to her feet, eyes scanning the area. Her gaze caught something along the edge of the river, a walkie talkie, lying on the bank as if someone had dropped it in a hurry. She quickly knelt down and grabbed it, her fingers shaking as she flipped it over. It was still functional, but there was no telling if anyone was on the other end.

Before she could test it, she felt something in her back pocket. Her brows furrowed in confusion as she reached behind her and pulled out a folded piece of paper. A map. Her heart skipped a beat as she unfolded it, revealing a detailed layout of… this place. It was all here, the glowing river, the dense jungle, and several markers she couldn’t yet understand. She hadn't had this before. Panic swirled in her chest and she pressed a hand to her mouth, fighting to keep her breathing steady.

Marcey’s head swam with questions, but one thing was clear, she wasn’t alone. She gripped the map tightly, taking a few deep, shuddering breaths. She had to keep it together. Losing it here would get her killed, she could feel that much. Whatever had brought her here wasn’t done with her yet.



Apolline felt a faint memory reach the surface of her mind, but lost it. A deep yearning washed over her, urging her to sink into the earth, to curl up and shield herself with her arms, to close her eyes against the chaos. Dread gnawed at her, sharp and insistent, echoing the chill that had enveloped her moments before awakening in this unfamiliar reality. Though beneath that dread, she felt compelled by a current of resolve--just enough to propel her to keep searching for more clues. Alone, she felt the weight of solitude, a stark contrast to the groups of complete strangers that had surrounded her just moments ago; alongside it, a fragile peace emerged--granting her the space to think and strategize her next steps.

With a baseball bat in hand, she stepped into the hollowed-out structure of bones. As she scanned the interior, her brows furrowed at the glint of something metallic.

“Generátor…” she whispered to herself. For what? She set the bat down for a moment, running her fingers over the object. It was cold and rusted, but still seemed capable of functioning with the right repairs. A memory flickered in her mind—her father using a generator to power their home during blackouts.

…

Apolline shook her head, struggling to hold onto the fragments of that memory. The vision of her childhood faded, yet the item in relation to her surroundings remained. This generator, nestled among the rib bones of a creature so foreign, felt significant. Why else would it be here? In both realms she had traversed, nothing seemed easily explained, but something told her she had to uncover the reason behind its presence. At the same time, it felt like there was nothing better for her to do. It was better than sitting and crying like she always seemed to do first.

She picked up the bat again, resting it over her shoulder as she exited the structure. Glancing back only for a moment to cement the area in memory.

Approaching the glowing water she had spotted from the high bank, Apolline crouched to examine it more closely. The stream flowed like the ones in her own reality, but every so often it would bubble up, as if something heated lay beneath. She placed her palm over the surface, but she felt no heat.

Suddenly, a foreign cry shattered the stillness, jolting her upright. Taking a few steps back, she glanced up and turned in a slow circle—whatever it was, it was getting closer. As she finished the turn, her heart raced--gaze fallen upon another figure further down the riverbank. A prickly sensation crawled up her arms and legs, mingling with a dissonant flicker of relief at finding another person in this jungle wasteland.

But as she got a better look at the stranger, her hope faltered slightly. This person was neither Jax nor the dark-haired woman—just another unknown. Apolline raised a shaky hand, trudging forward cautiously. She hoped to avoid startling the girl, opting not to call out just yet. The distant wail echoed in her mind and she wanted them to avoid any potential for fast encroachment.




Madison brushed past giant leaves, patches of moss, and something that was similar to a river. The running water didn’t look appetizing whatsoever, no matter how thirsty she was. Since she was taken by the fog there was this rejection of consuming anything in order to keep her mind occupied. Madison knew that she needed something to keep up this energy, but she didn’t trust anything that resembled food or water. Licking her lips and taking in a deep breath, she pushed forward until a patch of hair was caught in her sight. It was blonde and tall, a man.

Oh wait…he looks familiar….

“H-hey!” Madison called out, her hands raised to show she was no threat, “a-are you from the camp..?”

Observing the man carefully she took into account his build and strength. The man looked stronger, way stronger. Built like a viking kind of strong. The club in his hand made her nervous. Taking great caution she stepped forward trying to assess if this was a fight or flight situation, not really trying to rely on memory failing her if she was right about him being from the camp.

Vidar turned sharply when he heard a voice call out to him and gripped his club tightly, cautiously closing the distance between himself and the figure to get a better look. The voice belonged to a woman – a bit shorter than him, with dark hair, dressed like one of those people back at the fire with the strange clothes. He examined her, closer to one of them than he’d been before – the glowing forest provided just a bit more light than the shadows at the campfire and allowed him to see the details of them better. The fabric was strange, not obviously a woven material, or even one made of an animal.

“Have you seen anyone else?” she asked, her voice projecting more grounded and authoritative than she meant to be.

Vidar nodded. He didn’t remember seeing her, but he hadn’t paid much attention to the others around him, rather than that man with the armor. He relaxed his hand holding the club, not wanting her to think he was a threat, but still remaining weary – he knew not to underestimate anyone. Great warriors could take any form, and with the mystery around his coming to this strange place, he couldn’t be sure this girl’s form was even true.

“You are the first person I have seen,” Vidar said as he stood near her and looked around at the jungle around them. The lack of wildlife around them disturbed him. It was eerily empty and gave him the sense that something was out there, something waiting for the best possible moment to strike. It was like the feeling he had during a great battle the moment before the first strike. Muscles tense, jaw clenched and his senses heightened, fingers curled tightly around his strange club. “Do you know what is in this place? Why we are here?”
Madison shook her head.

“Nah, I honestly haven’t gotten a clue of where we are.”

It was true. Madison wasn’t sure of where they were. She was just as cautious or trying to be by looking around. Taking in a breath she looked him up and down before taking a step closer. She noticed he was beginning to walk away. He must have been following something. Hearing that he wants to keep moving she was hesitant. Were they the only people there? Not going to lie, her other options weren’t looking too hot either. The woman decided to follow him until they reached the others.

Crackling noises of movement in the distance and a stray yip, Vidar squinted into the distance, sensing danger but from where? He started walking, following the glowing river not waiting for the girl to follow but hoping that she did. It would be easier to protect her that way, but he wasn’t eager to stick around and find out whatever wildlife did inhabit this forest. Or worse, other people. Just to be sure, over his shoulder, he called, “We must keep moving!”

“Yeah! I’m following!” she called out, her feet picking up speed so they were walking side by side, “so, how’d you get here?”

Most likely the same as she did. He probably came here from that weird black mist. For now she was wanting to fill the silence between them. Silence was something Madison was used to and not used to depending on her mood. She didn’t necessarily dislike it, but right now her thoughts were spiraling and the girl felt practically overwhelmed. To fill the silent void between them was beginning to help her with that.

Keeping it together was becoming more difficult the longer things kept happening. Madison was becoming frustrated with being brought to different places and not given any answers. Everyone she has met has seemed to be good people so far, but she wasn’t planning to break from her shell any time soon.

The wildlife around them remained calm. The kind of calm that seemed like they were stuck in a stasis of tranquility. It began to trouble Madison. She doesn’t remember ever seeing or hearing any animal. You would think in a jungle like this you would come across one by now. Her brows furrowed and eyes darting around looking for some kind of life.

Vidar continued to tread through the jungle, a sheen of sweat beginning on his brow from the punishing humidity. He didn’t know what he was looking for exactly, or where he was going, but felt a force pulling him to keep going forward, no matter the danger. After all, what was the alternative? Waiting around? That had never worked for Vidar before.

He turned to the woman as she asked him a question and furrowed his brow, not entirely sure how to answer the question. Did fog sound too ridiculous? Had she perhaps gotten here a different way? He glanced over at her curiously, wondering if she knew anything he didn’t. “I’m not sure how it happened… this strange fog surrounded me and then I appeared here. Were you there before, as well? At the fire?” Piecing things together wasn’t easy, and he didn’t know the rules of this place yet, if there even were any. Was everyone at the campfire here? Or was it just himself and this girl here, wherever “here” was?

He kept walking steadily, matching pace with the woman but not slowing down as he pushed through the shrubbery in front of them, walking until he hopefully found something to help them find a better shelter or, hopefully, leave. He didn’t have much time to consider this before the snapping of twigs caught his attention.

“You know, I haven’t seen anything really since I’ve been here….” Madison began to say, moving her attention back to the man in front of her.

...

There wasn’t exactly rhyme or reason to the feeling that began to well inside the beasts’ stomachs. Perhaps it was something as familiar as a salivating reaction to the smell of freshly cooked meat. While they did not attempt to understand, they simply accepted that this scent they began to pick up was what they craved. No, what they needed.

The Swarm’s approach through the thick brush was not stealthy in the least. Lips curled back into toothy snarls while paws smashed through any leaves and vines that dared settle between the monsters and their prey. Sight was not something heavily relied upon here so it was not when the brunette came into view that she was focused on but long before that when the pack caught the scent of something sweet but citrusy.

Something about it seemed to aggravate a certain hunger. Like a craving one would get for a certain food but this one was full of bloodlust and wanton violence. A cat’s nature to play with their prey and hunt even when their belly was full.

So, when the Swarm finally broke through enough of the jungle to hone in upon Mads, a call went up that sounded like a perverse combination of several different earth animals. Similar enough that comparisons could be made but also bizarre enough that it would take time to really narrow down the similarities that could be made. Time that did not exist.

The pack of beasts quickly charged towards the survivor, jaws open and salivating, invigorated by being able to once again thrive in the familiar environment of their home.

Vidar stood in shock for just a moment as the strange group of beasts approached where he and the woman stood. Strange creatures, looking like nothing he’d ever seen before, making sounds just strange enough to be unfamiliar. Their big hulking bodies moved as one as they galloped towards them – Vidar immediately kicked into gear and began to run, thinking they were chasing him. He tried to maintain the distance between himself and the woman, not wanting the only other person he’d seen so far get attacked by these huge creatures. Racing through the jungle, its mysterious beauty now grew ominous as its toothy inhabitant was revealed, and Vidar tried to find somewhere he could hold his ground with it.

However, he quickly realized that the pack wasn’t chasing him, and his companion was not right on his trail. Which likely meant the pack had chased down the young woman. As Vidar looked around, the jungle melded into one – a glowing mystery, every way he could turn through the trees looked the same. How could he get back to her and protect her? He cursed himself – his cowardly nature had striked again. Instead of holding his ground as he should have, he had turned and ran. Leaving a weaponless and armorless woman alone to fight a great threat he didn’t understand.

Madison raised a brow towards Vidar before whipping her head around seeing the terrifying beast. Her eyes widened and left her breathless from the sight of it. The amount of heads on that body with an iridescent glow coming from its many mouths. It was the kind of nightmare you wished to wake up from as a kid.

“R-run…” she began, the bottom of her jaw quivering before gathering the courage to finally yell, “RUN!”

Heart beating and feet stomping against fungi, moss, whatever the hell this floor was made of made the runner try to think of how to use it for her benefit. Years of track seemed to be helping with the stamina and speed, but her breathing was trash from the fear weighing her down. There were moments she looked back at the large creature, striding through the bramble letting everything hit her to get away. The woman found herself parkouring over broken down wooden trees that made her path harder to navigate. A few times she stumbled, taking a few hits and cuts along the way.

Does this damn thing not just quit?

A scream belted from her lungs and ducked from its charge, watching it slide across readjusting its moment. Madison could feel her velocity force her forward, weighing the winds down slowing her from trying to run the other direction.

“What the fuck!” she yelled out of frustration.

Her feet stumbling over air, rocks, wood, EVERYTHING IN THIS DAMN JUNGLE. Never did she feel the need to sprint for her life from something like this.

The Swarm didn’t have focus for any of the survivors at the moment. Not the one who smelled of the air after a fire or an unfamiliar type of flower. No, it wanted this one. Her scream only elicited a warped warble from a few of the beasts, returning her sound of fear with something of their own excitement.

They knew they could not be outrun, that the survivor could not hide, and that it was only a matter of time before they had her between their jaws. Ragged breaths puffed out clouds of hot air, the exasperation doing nothing to slow them down. Distance was closed, meter by meter and then inch by inch.

Finally, one of the aliens became in reach of Madison and it extended its neck to clamp its teeth down upon her ankle. The creature held tight, bringing her crashing to the soft ground that did little to lighten the blow anyways. A victorious cry rose up from the pack, hollering and crowing as they descended upon their fallen prey.

Her leg was released just for one to grab her arm and toss her to the wayside like a dog playing with a toy. Of course, she was surrounded so it just resulted in another member of the Swarm picking Madison up by the back of her shirt, fangs tearing through the fabric with ease, and shaking her about. Another monster closed in, wanting a turn as it ripped her from its other packmate and tasted blood as its maw closed around her arm.

Passing her around like sharing a source of entertainment lasted just another minute before the survivor was finally dropped back against the earth, tattered and torn. More alien sounds rose up from the Swarm declaring a sense of conquest. Then they turned and paws pounded against the vegetation of the jungle floor as they left, seeking out another victim to hunt and chase.

Madison's hand moved hesitantly against the dirt grazing the moss with her fingertips. Fear had gripped the woman in its web just ready to devour her. Madison forced her eyes to open and keep her breaths low, body shaking from what she had just experienced. The pounding in her head was similar to one you got from a hangover. Relentless pounding and body ached, where she even still felt the jaws of the beast flanging her around. The woman turned her head hesitantly, eyes darting trying to stay as quiet as possible looking for the sign of the creature.

It wasn’t safe. You need to find safety.

Small whimpers left her lips using her right hand to lift herself up slowly, her body shaking harder from the mix of terror, adrenaline, and uncertainty. Oh how she hated that feeling. Everything right now that made her feel weak. It was irritating. She can’t be scared. Not now. No way in hell. Madison somehow got up to her feet and looked at her clothes. The back of her flannel and shirt were ripped, combat boots ready to slip off, and the jeans of her knees ripped and bruised. In reality, from how that fucking monster grabbed her….she should be dead.

Madison began to weigh out the scales of her mortality. Death was so close to her. It should have killed her, but it didn’t.

What the fuck…

“Seriously, what the fuck….” Madison whined under her breath with her lips quivering.

The woman took a step forward, almost bouncing off from the weight of how much pain she was in. Each step she huffed in a deep breath pushing herself despite how much her legs felt weak or her ribs felt sore. Even licking her lips she didn’t notice the cut until it stung like the end of a hornet. Gritting her teeth she began to walk down the first path she saw. Ambling through she noticed a large fallen tree. The thick colorful base pulsated dimly. It looked highly ill from the discoloration of it, and before she took off her eyes lit up. Disbelief formed in the pit of her stomach. Wobbling around she couldn’t even grasp what was in her sight — a car. A fucking car!

Her lips formed into a smile and it clicked that reaching in her back jean pocket, she was even more relieved it was still there. The keys! These keys belonged to the car!

“Oh thank the lord baby!” Madison yelled, running up and hugging the car.

Opening the door straight open and sitting in, she pushed the keys into the ignition and turned it. That’s when her excitement started to deplete. Her eyes widened and despair clouded over her shoulders.

“No…no, no, no, NO, NO, NO, NO!” She lashed out, hitting her hand against the wheel.

Rage. It was a vice she carried that blinded her with every little frustration that came across her. Stepping out the car she slammed the door and kicked the side, letting out a painful cry hurting her foot. Breathing air harshly into her lungs she looked around hoping to not have screwed herself over with her tantrum, but she found herself looking at something in the distance. It was that same pull she had with the keys before. It was familiar and not, and instead of fighting it she went over. Limping overlooking past the greenery was something black and plastic. It took a moment for it to occur to her of what she was looking at.

A car battery!

She honestly couldn’t believe there was one so close. Was the battery any good? That was something to think about. Madison decided to take that chance anyway. Closing in with the black box she lifted it up. Swinging it up to her shoulder and carrying it back to the car. It took some time to open the trunk and get it in there, but she was happy that after fiddling with the battery the car was able to start. Only to her dismay –

“You’re fucking kidding me…no damn gas.” She found the car, but there was nothing much in the gas tank.

Sputtering out a heavy breath she turned off the vehicle and got out, starting to make her way down a path that looked safe enough. Hopefully when she finds Vidar and anyone else, they can get out of here.


Marcey stood on the edge of the glowing river, her eyes drawn to the peculiar sight of the fuse, half-submerged in the acidic liquid. The glowing, bubbling surface of the water would’ve been enough to keep anyone away, yet the fuse seemed utterly unaffected by the corrosive liquid, as if it didn’t belong in this world. A strange feeling tugged at her chest, a gut instinct that told her the fuse was important – vital, even.

She didn't know why or how, but she needed to get it. Something about it called to her. Maybe it was the only clue in this strange, otherworldly place.

Her heart pounded as she crouched near the riverbank, eyeing the bubbling acid cautiously. The fuse sat just out of reach, its metallic surface gleaming faintly against the fluorescence of the liquid.

"I have to be careful..." she whispered to herself, a mixture of determination and fear washing over her. One wrong move and she could easily end up with severe burns or worse, but there wasn’t time to hesitate.

Marcey scanned her surroundings, her mind racing for a way to safely retrieve the fuse. She spotted a long branch nearby, its sturdy bark still intact. Quickly grabbing it, she carefully leaned over the riverbank, using the branch to nudge the fuse toward her. Her hands were shaking, sweat started to show on her forehead as she gently broke the fuse free from the corrosive liquid.

A few moments later, the fuse rolled toward her feet, now safely on clear solid ground. Relief washed over her, but it was quickly replaced by a sense of unease. She bent down to pick up the fuse, holding it in her hand for a moment. The cold, metallic object sent a small tiny shiver through her fingers. Whatever this was for, it had to be important, but before Marcey could think on it any longer, a chill ran down her spine. A prickling sensation crawled across her skin, the air around her shifting with another presence. She felt eyes on her, watching, waiting.

She whipped her head around, scanning the dense jungle, heart racing. It was too quiet. Too still. Then she saw it, a figure in the distance, just down the riverbank. Her breath caught in her throat as she squinted, trying to make out the details. It wasn’t the phone girl from back at the campfire.

This was someone else. Possibly the other girl that got snatched in the fog.

The figure didn’t move immediately, just stood there, watching her with what seemed to be cautious intent. Marcey’s muscles tensed, her hand tightening around the fuse. Every nerve in her body screamed to run, to hide, but something held her in place. This girl... whoever she was, didn’t seem immediately threatening. At least not yet. The sensation of dread from earlier hadn't left her though and now, with this stranger watching her, it increased.

She took a shaky breath, trying to calm herself. She couldn't afford to lose her composure now. Whatever this place was, whatever this person wanted, panicking would get her killed. Marcey swallowed hard, her pulse racing as she locked eyes with the stranger, keeping her stance ready to move, to react. She wasn’t alone anymore, but whether that was a good or bad thing remained undecided.

“Keep it together,” she muttered under her breath, taking one last, deep breath to steady herself. She needed to figure out what was going on. Marcey contemplated whether talking to this person was a good idea or not, especially in this possible life or death matter.

Now that the distance between them was shortening rapidly, Apolline called out in a half whisper, “Hello… My name is Apolline. I awoke in a forest then moments ago.. arrived in this jungle.” She paused for a moment, watching the stranger’s eyes intently. Her heart was beating out of her chest. Please help me. The urgency pounded like a migraine.

She cleared her throat, closing the distance. The fear seeming to rust over by an intense instinct of survival–a pull towards urgency. “Please, tell me you can help me. I’ve found a generator close to where I woke up again. I’m not sure what it’s for, but it’s out of place. Something tells me it could..provide a clue in getting us past whatever…” she struggled to figure the word, “--phase this might be.”

Apolline couldn’t tell if the words made any sense, but she hoped the girl could at least gather how she was not the threat. And how much it took out of her to even approach someone who might be danger to herself.

Marcey’s eyes stayed fixed on the girl approaching her, a mix of suspicion and unease swirling in her chest. The stranger’s voice, soft yet strained with desperation, cut through the heavy silence. Her words, yet quiet, carried an urgency that matched the chaotic pulse in Marcey’s veins. She watched the girl's movements, her hand still clenched around the fuse, ready for whatever might come.

As Apolline spoke of waking up in the jungle and discovering a generator, Marcey’s breath hitched. Her mind raced. A generator? It sounded like a clue, a possible way out or at least a direction to follow. Trust was hard to come by in a place like this, especially when nothing made sense.

Marcey took a small step back, her guard still up, but something in Apolline’s eyes struck her. Fear. Vulnerability. Maybe even the same confusion. They were both stuck here, wherever here was and if there was even the slightest chance that this girl knew something useful, she couldn’t ignore it.

"I’m…Marcey. I don’t know if I can help you," Marcey finally replied, her voice low, but steady. "but i know we’re not the only ones who woke up here." She glanced down at the fuse in her hand, then back up at Apolline, her mind still trying to process the situation. "I found this, but I don’t know what it’s for. Maybe it’s connected to that generator you’re talking about."

Marcey paused, considering her next words carefully. The fog, the acid river, the strange items, it all pointed to something bigger, more dangerous. They had to work together, at least for now, if they wanted any chance of survival. "Let’s see if we can figure this out. We’ll check out your generator." She nodded slightly, more to herself than to Apolline, as if trying to convince her own nerves to settle.

Her heart pounded as she spoke, the weight of fear still hanging heavily in the air. She couldn’t afford to let her guard down, but she also couldn’t ignore the pull to move forward. Something told her trouble was around the corner.

Apolline nodded, her gaze locked onto the girl’s eyes. There was nothing amiss about her; in fact, she appeared just as cautious and innocent among the unfamiliarity. It eased her mind that Marcey didn’t seem to suspect any deception from herself either.

She gestured for Marcey to follow, stepping away from the riverbank and back onto the pathway, carefully retracing her steps to avoid losing their way or bringing forth any suspicions. Once they reached the top of the sandy cliff, the large, skeletal structure loomed into view. How awfully jarring, yet ..intriguing--she couldn't help but think once faced with it again. "In there," she said, pointing towards it. Stepping before Marcey and hurrying over to the generator--still sitting in it's place. She tossed the baseball bat to the ground and started to examine it once more.

Over her shoulder, Apolline caught sight of the device in Marcey’s hands. “What is that for?” she asked, her eyes returning to the girl’s, curiosity etched across her face.

As Apolline sifted through her foggy memories, she struggled to determine if the device was something she recognized as capable of powering the generator. A sense of discouragement washed over her; it felt like they were the only two who could tackle this, both uncertain of their next steps. “Could I see it?” she asked, a note of hope threading through her voice. If she was right, using it to power the generator might just lead to some sort of progress.

Marcey followed closely behind, her eyes darting around, absorbing every inch of the twisted landscape. The skeletal structure loomed ahead, a grotesque and captivating monument in thi eerie yet beautiful jungle. She couldn’t shake the feeling of prickling unease that added to her nerves.

As they approached the generator, Marcey kept a steady grip on the fuse. Apolline’s question about it caught her off guard, but she quickly glanced down, reminded of the odd item in her hand. She didn’t know what it was for, but a feeling told her that it was necessary. Maybe vital.

“This… I found it in the river,” Marcey explained, holding it up cautiously. “I don’t know why, but I feel like it belongs here. Like it’s meant for something.” Her words felt strange, but instinct drove her, an instinct she couldn’t ignore.

She eyed Apolline warily as she stepped closer, feeling the hope in her expression. There was no way to be sure they could trust each other, but what other choice did they have? “Here,” Marcey said, handing the fuse over carefully, her fingers brushing against Apolline’s for a brief second. A chill of shared uncertainty passed between them, a silent understanding.

“Let’s try this,” Marcey murmured, watching as Apolline examined the fuse with focused determination. Her heart pounded as she took in their surroundings, feeling the weight of isolation settling in deeper. She had to keep it together, had to, for both their sakes.

With the fuse in her other hand, Apolline let her fingers glide over the mechanical structure, locating what appeared to be the control panel and a slot beside it. She bit the inside of her cheek, uncertainty swirling in her mind. What would happen if she attempted to fit the fuse into the slot? A sense of nervousness crept in, the thought of a potential explosion—threatening to derail their mission entirely, all because she didn’t fully understand the specifications of the two components. It irritated her once more.

Yet, it felt like their only option. Given that these were the only two devices that seemed to align in their purpose, perhaps it was worth a shot. Without a second thought, she steeled herself with a deep breath and fit the fuse in the slot--feeling a click.

Apolline's fingers found the power switch, and she pressed it, a surge of adrenaline coursing through her. Instinctively, she sprang to her feet and stepped back, bracing herself for whatever might happen next.

A low hum filled the night air, signaling something finally positive to the two of them. Apolline felt her heart settle back into a steady rhythm, a relief washing over her as she took in the sound.


Vidar didn’t want to give up so he persisted through the jungle, walking between glowing trees to figure out… something. He felt even more lost than he’d felt before he’d found a friend, and now he didn’t even know how to save her. The distant noises of the creature unnerved him, but soon he found himself staring up at the opening to a huge tree. It was hollow, the inside dark and foreboding. He could see a bone sticking out from the darkness and berries scattered along its floor.

A feeling of dread encompassed Vidar as he looked at this… cave built out of the tree. He wasn’t sure, but his experience with wild animals made him wonder if this was the home of the creatures that had attacked them. And if so, why were they the only signs of wildlife he had seen? If it had been alive all this time, where had its prey gone? The implication of the question was too much for Vidar, no longer wanting to think about why he was here. He stared at the entrance of the tree for far too long, debating whether he should go and look or not – perhaps a sign of the creature's weakness would be within. Ultimately, the empty feeling this place gave him was enough, and he carried on walking through the forest, gripping his club with one hand tighter than before, resolved to save the woman he’d been with if there was still anything left to save.

When he made it back to the strange metal hut he’d spawned at, Vidar paused and turned, wondering if, with this new landmark, he could figure out where he was supposed to go to get back where he’d been. Unfortunately, without a compass, Vidar wasn’t much of a navigator and he examined the forest around him before finally just picking a direction. Surely he could make his way back to her in time… his gut twisted at the thought of the other possible outcome, imagining limbs and clothes being torn across the multicolored jungle, glowing green teeth gnashing in his direction. Vidar had seen some terrible things in his time, but he wasn’t sure he was ready to see that.

As he walked, he started to hear the little rectangular brick on his belt make a wsshh noise at him, much like the one he’d heard when he first turned it on. He stopped, plucked it from his belt and held it up, trying to figure out what it was. Was it some method of speaking to the gods? Or a weapon of some sort? He held it up to his ear to hear if there was some hidden meaning in its noises.


An ominous chill raced up Marcey's spine, freezing her in place for a heartbeat. An overpowering, instinctual dread filled her chest, like icy water surging into her lungs, forcing her breaths to shorten. It was unlike any fear she’d ever known, not just a shiver or unease but a suffocating warning worse than what she has ever felt. Her grip on reality flickered, and suddenly, an image flashed before her – Twisted forms, eyes glinting with a predatory hunger, their limbs coiled in readiness to pounce.

They were coming for her.

“Apolline,” she managed, her voice trembling as she turned, her wide eyes meeting Apolline's. “You need to run. Now. Get as far away from me as you can!”

Marcey’s urgency brought no further argument. “Now! Go!” Marcey’s voice was barely above a strangled whisper, but there was a fierce, frantic insistence behind it.

Marcey’s vision swam again. This time a series of images flooded her mind. She saw the creatures in vivid detail. Their blackened forms charging through the jungle with terrifying speed, jagged teeth bared, tearing through the underbrush like a living wave of shadows. Her heart pounded violently, urging her to follow her own command and flee, but she stayed, barely able to steady her breath.

A distant crashing grew louder. The danger was drawing closer, their arrival marked by shuddering earth and snapping branches. Marcey knew she had moments, maybe seconds, before they would be upon her and every fiber of her screamed at her to run.

But she couldn’t. For some reason… she couldn’t.
The hunt was on again, but this was time the pack was on a different scent. It was fragrant and floral, though not something that the Swarm themselves was familiar with. The specific type of flowers was unknown but there was a certain sweetness about it that was undoubtedly plant-like in nature.

Either way, the specifics did not matter. What did was sniffing out the source and chasing them down like the prey they were. It didn’t take long, nor were the beasts any more stealthier than last time. They crashed through the growth and foliage with little care for anything but their target. Zeroing in on Marcey, the pursuit began.

Barrelling after the survivor like dogs after a bloody steak, it did not take long for them to catch up to her. Four legs were faster than two after all. Another moment later and one of them leaped at her back, paws making impact against Marcey to bring her to the soft jungle floor. A second monster appeared on her left, jaws closing against her wrist and tugging to try and pull her out from under the weight of the other. Not to help, of course.

A few of the pack members snapped at each other as if squabbling over who was allowed to play with their toy first. The argument did not seem to last very long as soon enough their attention turned back to the survivor they had pinned to the earth.

This time was different from their last hunt. Before, the Swarm was overwhelmed with a sense of sadistic euphoria. This time there was a whisper that their current victim had a purpose. What it was did not make much sense to the minds of the creatures, but they knew what they had to do as if it was a new instinct implanted within their psyche.

One of the aliens clamped their fangs around Marcey’s ankle and began to drag her across the ground for little care about the stones and twigs that battered her form. The rest of the pack swarmed around them, letting out excited yelps and chilling howls. It was like she was surrounded by a black mass, almost blotting out the existence of the jungle they were in.

Farther and farther they went until reaching the large, hollowed out tree. Still, it was not time to stop. They continued to pull the survivor across the ground and now into a narrow, hollowed out tunnel that led into a small chamber. Lining the walls were rusted and spiked cages, empty.

Until now.

The Swarm momentarily dispersed around Marcey but it was only so they could readjust. Teeth embedded into her flesh again as they forced her into one of the enclosures. The bars seemed to warp and adjust just perfectly, as if a living being, keeping the survivor trapped within it.

There was an exchange of warbles and crows before the Swarm piled out through the tunnel and out of sight, leaving her alone in a newfound silence that seemed almost deafening.

It was too late. Her feet barely moved before something heavy slammed into her back, knocking her to the ground. She cried out, struggling, her arms scraping against the rough ground as she clawed for freedom. There was no escape. Sharp teeth clamped onto her wrist and claws tore into her side, forcing her still. She could feel the weight of them, pressing her down, tearing away any hope of movement.

Dragged through the jungle floor, she barely saw where they were going, her vision blurred with shock and exhaustion. Every scrape and bruise felt painful yet distant, as if she was slipping out of herself, her body going limp while her mind resisted. She was being pulled away from the last shred of light, deeper into the jungle, until she could no longer see anything through the trees above. Only darkness surrounded her as she was forced into the metal enclosure, the bars closing around her as though they were alive, twisting to lock her inside.

As the creatures retreated, Marcey slumped, her breath coming in shallow gasps, pain throbbing in her limbs. She felt warmth, red liquid slowly trickling from where teeth had pierced her skin, her strength fading with every drop. Her vision blurred, her head falling back against the cold metal. Then, as if through a mist, she saw it.

Flashes of faces – the group huddled around the campfire. An unsettling stillness cloaked them, every face cast in an eerie, flickering light. Shadows twisted through the trees, creeping closer as if watching, waiting. She saw flashes of dark shapes, closing in like a noose. Then, a flame. Small at first, barely more than a spark, growing, flickering out of nowhere, consuming everything in its path. Faces she knew, faces she saw before, twisted into fear, then screams with no sound… then silence.

And then, only darkness remained.

Marcey’s eyes fluttered as the vision faded, her pulse slowing as she felt the weight of what she’d seen. She didn’t know if it was a warning, a glimpse of what was to come, or a nightmare born from the pain and exhaustion. As her breathing slowed, the silence around her felt heavier. Her eyes slowly fluttered closed and darkness took over…


...


Apolline fell to her knees, the moment unfolding too quickly for her to grasp. She felt her body move itself–inching her frame backwards until she slid about a foot down the sandy cliff and coming to rest on some jutting rocks, hidden from the horror she struggled to comprehend.

She could hear the screams, the echoed growls, and the rumbling of intense movement. Frozen in fear against the sand, every muscle in her body felt wound tight, like a coiled spring. A part of her wanted to press her palms against her ears to block out this new reality, but even that felt impossible.

Like whiplash, it felt as if their small victory came to a soul-crushing halt. Or perhaps this was all just a sick dream to begin with—Apolline sifted through her memories. She’d wandered upon Marcey. She’d lead her back into the skeletal structure. The fuse went from Marcey’s hands into her own. The click. The hum. Dreaded and gut-wrenchingly surreal, her brain felt like it was breaking. How much time had passed?

Apolline could only shake violently to the disorienting blur of noise and chaos, her body trembling as she remained silent in her fear--losing any fight to maintain a grip on reality.

With his ear pressed against it, the strange device’s wshhh noises grew louder and Vidar listened deeply, curious what the noises even meant – was there a secret message hidden in the sounds? What magic was even in the device, and was it a product of this strange place he was in? Before he had much time to dwell on it, he heard a voice call out through the brick and a blood curdling scream directly into his ear that echoed in the forest around him. Without thinking, he launched the device into the ground and it skittered across the jungle floor, landing in tangled vines at the base of a nearby tree.

Vidar shuddered at the noise it had made and left it lying on the ground as he ran towards where he’d heard the screams echo, pushing through glowing brush and dangling vines, finally breaking through to run beside a dried up riverbed, in front of him was a woman, wound tightly on rocks on the cliff side, and a giant skeleton. He approached the skeleton, hearing growls and a sputtering machine. As he stepped through the rib bones of some giant animal of a species he wasn’t familiar with, he was shocked by the unfolding scene.

Before him, he saw the dogs that had separated him and his companion earlier, centered around something and yipping excitedly, before beginning to drag whatever it was off. In between the claws and fur, he saw a lock of blonde hair drag along the jungle floor, followed by a trail of blood left in the creatures’ wake and his stomach churned. He brandished his club and went to run towards the dogs, but they picked up speed and disappeared into the jungle, and there was the matter of this woman on the cliffside. Should he chase after to save the person, should they even be alive, or stay behind to protect this woman who he knew was okay? Physically, anyway.

It was only a moment of hesitation before he turned back where he’d come from, leaning over the sandy cliff and calling for her. “Can you hear me? ”

A voice cut through the harrowing white noise that had become Apolline’s sole tether to reality, jolting her awake like a splash of icy water. Chills raced up her arms as she slowly turned her head toward the sound.

Before her loomed a figure of muscle, his rugged features etched with a cautious urgency. Her eyes widened, still reeling from the moment but equally disturbed by his strange attire to top it all off. She opened her mouth to respond, but nothing came out.

Instead, Apolline pushed herself to her feet, sand cascading beneath her as she scrambled up the bluff to the stranger’s side, careful to keep her body angled toward him, wary of his intentions. Though at this point, he was the least of her worries amongst the chaos just unfolded before her moments ago. At this point, however, he seemed the least of her worries amid the chaos that had just unfolded. Her gaze darted sideways, searching for the pack of dogs that had just mauled the girl before her. Both the girl and the dogs appeared to have vanished into thin air, but the rustling in the jungle remained a constant reminder of danger. Swallowing hard, she whipped her attention back to him. “Where the hell are they taking her?!” she rasped, her throat raw from tension. “What do we do?! Where even—”

Apolline dashed across the dirt toward the generator, where traces of blood curdled and mingled with the sand surrounding the skeletal structure. The generator still hummed, a low, now unsettling sound. She fell to her knees, digging her fingers into the sand until she finally grasped the wood handle of the baseball bat she'd tossed aside. Her fingers wrapped tightly around it, a fragile anchor in her shaking. "I--I don't.. I don't understand."

Apolline’s head dropped low, her face crumpled from the tears starting to well up against her will, “I don’t understand what we’re meant to do here..”

Vidar watched as the woman grew increasingly more defeated with each question, then walked over to her next to the strange generator. There wasn’t much he could say – he didn’t know what they were meant to do there, an overwhelming task seemed to be laid out before them, a puzzle where individually none of them had all the pieces, struggling in the dark to find an answer. He’d never been much of one for brains, known to act first and think later, so he didn’t have much comfort for her in terms of answers.

“I do not know where they took her, but we must figure out how to get out of this place… without weapons, I do not know how long we could hold them off ourselves.”

As he looked closer, he realized the tears glistening on her cheeks and stepped towards her, letting his club rest on the ground and putting a hand on either of her shoulders, giving a comforting squeeze and catching her gaze. “It will be okay… I will make sure to protect you. I am a warrior where I am from – I have fought worse before.”

Somehow, his hands didn’t startle her; she was far too overwhelmed by the events of the day to flinch at the unusual gesture. It felt strangely comforting, though. Apolline gasped through another cry, fighting back tears that threatened to spill, the few that escaped dissolving into the sand beneath her.

The only true oddity was the warmth that enveloped her at the slight action.

She tilted her head back, locking eyes with him for the first time—his gaze intense. Apolline couldn’t shake the feeling.. That even though he may be a total stranger.. he did mean what he said. Or so she hoped that to be true.

A warrior... She lingered on the words.

Vidar looked around at their surroundings – the giant skeleton, making its strange noises, the dried up lakeside behind them. The uneasy feeling hadn’t left him, and he felt like if they stayed there much longer, the dogs were bound to return to find them… he shuddered to think what could happen if they were found, especially with the state of his newfound friend.

Maybe they could even reunite with that other woman... Then what? What was his plan? He didn’t even understand half of the things he’d come across in this world; how was he supposed to protect people if he didn’t know how to?

With her palm, Apolline wiped away the remnants left by her tears. "I thought this generator would provide some clues.. or..I thought we had more time..", she stammered, still attempting to regain her composure back to what it was.

Everything was scary. She recognized that. The environment was scary; Marcey had frightened her at one point, and so did this stranger of a man. But the thought of being trapped here for eternity was the most frightening of all. She understood that focusing her fear on the unknown only hindered her progress, a truth she couldn’t escape. If there was any hope of leaving this place, it wouldn't come from fear. Strength and faith were the only things left to hold onto; to find solace amid her fears.

“There has to be a way out of here.” She said, a bit stronger in her tone now. But how..

Vidar nodded at her words – there had to be a way out, they had to find it. Otherwise, these creatures… it would be only a matter of time before they all followed the fate of the woman in the jaws of the hounds. The woman’s tears made him wonder for a minute if he was making the right decision – if just trying to survive, to get her out was enough. But he’d already lost track of two people, what if something happened to this woman if they were to try a rescue mission?

Heavy feet stumbled from time to time making it over patches of shrubbery that were harder to walk over. Out of all Madison's years from taking injuries as a runner, she was definitely more frustrated with how her body was taking this one. She began to take off her flannel, tying it around her waist and using her hair tie to put her hair up. The breeze was nice and she felt more spry, not feeling so constricted from her flannel around her. Only when she began making her way past some tall bramble that the sight of Vidar and another girl, most likely from the campsite, made her feel at ease.

“Holy shit, I’m glad to see you guys,” she blurted out, trying to keep her voice lowered.

Apolline instinctively recoiled at the sight of the newcomer, her body gravitating closer to the man beside her. Her gaze flitted over the girl, searching for intentions in her demeanor, but silence held her tongue. A fleeting thought crossed her mind: had he encountered this girl before? A quick glance at his face offered no insight, leaving her in her uncertainty. She grit her teeth.

Madison’s eyes observed their faces closely trying to figure out what kind of situation they were facing. Both of them were distressed, so either they came across that beast that attacked her or they came across something more terrifying. She hoped to god it was the former.

“Hey, what’s up?” she asked them both.

Vidar's thoughts were interrupted by the sudden entrance of the brunette woman he’d befriended earlier, excitement in her voice despite the ragged look of her. He turned over his shoulder, trying to control the troubled look on his face as he met her gaze, obviously failing at her question. Glancing towards his new friend at the brunette’s questions, he didn’t want her to lose any composure she’d gained in the last few moments, so he hesitated to answer.

‘What’s up’…--Apolline struggled to respond.

“I think those dogs… attacked her friend, they dragged her away.”

Apolline swallowed hard before speaking–adding, “Marcey…” she began, tightening her clenched fist, “—she was ripped from my side..” As she spoke, her gaze drifted toward the source of the last rustling sounds. The words felt heavy on her tongue, tinged with a metallic taste—confusing yet undeniably real as they left her lips.

The next line of words were something Madison wasn’t ready to hear. That girl, Marcey, the one she tried to give a talk to at the campfire. Hearing the girl's fate clawed at her pride. The scared girl she promised to check on was taken into the jaws of the beast.

“No….there’s no fucking way,” she muttered out in disbelief, “what are you two standing here for? We have to go get her!”

The woman’s frustrations were understandable, but Vidar had seen people attacked by packs of wolves before, and once their jaws had taken hold, there wasn’t much you could do for a victim. Wild creatures were ruthless, they didn’t understand mercy. If she was alive, he didn’t have much hope for her survival.

Apolline’s eyes dropped, feeling the guilt prickle over her face. Her jaw ached from the trembling, not knowing how to answer her frustrations properly.

It was demanding, stern. It was like Madison’s mind flipped and she looked at them as if they were at fault. Her mix of fear, anger, and anxiety came crashing like a wave, drowning her into thinking she needed to take control. Their voices of concern didn’t enter her eardrums as she pushed past them, walking in the direction they came from.

As she started to stomp her way through the forest, back towards the skeleton, Vidar tried to stop her. “Those creatures are too fast, she is long gone by now.”

As she pushed past him, he realized it would take more than words to stop her, and he reached out and grabbed her upper arm, not wanting to let her get out of his sight again. He might not know what was going on, but he wanted to lose the least amount of people he could. It’s what Brynn would do, she wouldn’t have left anyone to survive on their own. She probably would have chased after Marcey, too. But Madison, nearly torn apart by those dogs and weaponless, couldn’t take on a whole pack of dogs by herself. “It is too late for her, we must get out of here.”

Madison felt one of them grab her by the arm, hearing out their pleas for what she was doing recklessly. Her eyes searched them trying to disengage with their worries. Only when her eyes met Apolline’s she was met with the same kind of eyes that Marcey gave her: Determination and Fear. It was an emotion she kept seeing through the eyes of everyone around her, no matter what their ages may be. There were some who were not built to take on such overwhelming situations, and if they were they needed something to lean on to keep them grounded. It finally clicked that Madison can’t let herself fall into that disgusting cycle. A cycle she had been trying to break from for years now.

“Please…” Apolline urged softly, her eyes reflecting a desperate plea. “You can’t go out there alone…”

The thought of this woman meeting the same fate as Marcey terrified Apolline desperately. She couldn't bear the idea of it again. It was clear now: safety lay in numbers. Though she knew neither the stranger nor the man well, an attachment formed within her, urging her to cling to their presence.

“I’m sorry,” Madison apologized, slowly coming back to reality, “look, I found a car. A way out, but it needs gas or something. Like you know how a horse needs water to drink to keep the journey going? That’s what a car needs. I’m not sure if I missed something when I was checking out the car, but I think it can be our way out.”

She made sure to address the second half to Vidar and the rest to both of them. Right now it was their fight and survival. Whatever this game was, she’s going to make sure they’re the ones who will win.

He wished he had his spear, or something better than the rough looking club he held in his hands. He would try for a rescue mission then. But survival was his priority for now, and he relaxed when the brunette eased off and gave in. His hand went back to relax at his side and he listened as Madison explained the things she’d found. Though he didn’t understand much of what she said, he understood ‘a way out’ and what a horse was. Perhaps a ‘car’ was some kind of fancy horse? Either way, the news she gave him was a second wind of energy under his sails and he nodded.

“Where can we get this ‘gas’? I will help you to find it.”

Madison looked at Vidar wondering about how to find the gas herself.

“No clue, in honesty. Back at the car it didn’t even have a battery in it, but as soon as I started looking around one just magically appeared. I don’t know. Maybe you guys will have better luck than me finding gas,” Madison explained.

She gave a shrug and looked around, her injuries starting to hurt her less and her body welcoming the bruises. The others didn’t look in good shape either.

“Follow me,” she said, “I’ll show you where the car is!”

A car!

Apolline's eyebrows furrowed for a fleeing moment, confused by the woman's need to elucidate the workings of a car to the both of them though the pieces began to fall into place; perhaps she was clarifying for the man. She acknowledged his uncanny look--standing out as the least familiar with the nuances of the modern world among the trio. It was all still so strange to her, though she held back on lingering over the potential revelation for too long even if it did spark a brief fascination.

She nodded, lingering hesitantly behind the man, her mind drifting through the oddities of this world. She couldn't shake this notion that maybe fate had orchestrated their discovery of these clues.

Retracing her thoughts, Apolline lined up the events like pieces of a puzzle. First she'd awakened, cramped beneath the skeletal structure with a baseball bat and a generator nearby, artifacts of inexplicable circumstance. After regaining her composure, she ventured past the bluff and along the riverbank, where she somehow encountered Marcey--who, to her surprise, possessed the fuse that somehow ignited the generator despite neither of them truly understanding its mechanics. It was as if everything simply... clicked into place.

Not to all of our fortunes..

Now they were headed to find a car and some gas can. It made her wonder how easy the task could turn out to be--if it was as serendipitous as her encounter with Marcey. Yet, she felt an apprehension like a pit in her stomach. The generator, despite it's enigmatic potential, had resulted in no advantage to anyone--Marcey meeting a grim fate soon after the two pieces were connected. The lurking danger weighed heavily on her, but it seemed like they had no other choice. The urgency of their situation was starting to chase them down, leaving little room for hesitation.

Vidar followed close behind his reunited companion, hypervigilant of the space around them, hoping that whatever the wolves were up to, they’d gotten distracted… by something or someone else, he wasn’t sure that they were the only people here, but something in his gut told him that if there were others, they’d have seen them by now. Something told him that the wolves wouldn’t be far behind them once they finished taking Marcey wherever she was going. He kept his hands tightly wrapped around his club, ready to strike if the dogs snuck up behind them.

Apolline gripped the baseball bat with a fierce determination, her knuckles tense as she navigated the labyrinthine jungle surrounding them. The air was thick with an ethereal hum, the sound of unseen insects weaving a tapestry of noise that mingled with the rustle of small creatures darting through the underbrush. The world around her was beginning to blur the line between fear and fascination, a surreal landscape illuminated by the glow of a large, luminescent moon. After all, the otherworldly hues transformed the jungle into a scene plucked from a forgotten science fiction movie.

Shadows danced among the trees and bushes if she centered her focus in any one place for too long. Apolline found herself blinking away at the dark shapes, willing them to dissolve into the night. Time and again, her imagination conjured grotesque figures--demonic, human-like creatures that lurked in peripherals. Yet, in this strange realm, it was made clear that the true threat did not lie within her own kind. It was off-putting nonetheless. She kept herself square with the warrior, close behind Madison, to ease her mind--steady her heart a little more from pounding with anticipation.

As they walked, they passed by a large fallen tree that they had to walk around and through a thick part of the jungle, before finally coming to a strange tunnel at the edge of the jungle. When they approached it, Vidar something inside that he didn’t quite understand. A mass of metal and materials he did not recognize sat in the center of the tunnel. It didn’t look like any kind of horse he’d seen before, other than perhaps this car had four legs? Or was this what the brunette woman had been talking about at all? Was it some other monster sent to stand in their way?

Not letting up from his grip on the club, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “So is this your ‘car?’ It does not look like a horse…” He was dubious of how they were supposed to use this for their escape.

As they finally stepped into the tunnel, the dim light revealed the truth of Madison's claim. Apolline's tension eased, and a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding escaped in a soft laugh after the man’s strange deduction.

"No, not a horse... We can use this to escape far better than any horse." She reached out, her palm resting against the cold metal, feeling the chill seep into her skin yet leaving it be. It was a silent invitation, hopefully a signal to the viking it was a safe endeavor. "--if we can get it to function.." she added, her tone slipping back into a cautious hope.

Vidar felt his cheeks grow a bit hot with embarrassment as the blonde laughed after his statement – he hadn’t been trying to be funny, and failed to see the humor. The frustration rose in him, but he shook it away. It would be foolish to allow his irritations to overwhelm him now, after everything. It was difficult – he didn’t understand the rules of this strange world, rules that the others he was with seemed to have ingrained in them. While he hadn’t been perhaps as wise as the village leaders at home, he at least understood the rules that their world played by. He was able to help his village and best others in battle (when he wasn’t running away).

Here, it was different. He had to learn the rules as he went, and he wasn’t sure how much he was grasping onto them. But as he watched the blonde girl reach out and place her palm on the strange beast, he felt compelled to as well. It was solid, seemingly dense, and the surface felt like the cool metal of a sword, though infinitely smoother than the ones he was familiar with. The blonde’s words somehow comforted him, though it was battling it out tooth and nail with the despair that grew in his stomach.

This despair wasn’t soothed at all by the sounds of yipping and howling he heard in the distance, a return that signaled that the pack of dogs had finished whatever they’d been doing to Marcey. The image made his spine tingle, as he pictured either of his new companions in her place, mangled and bloody and alone. His resolve strengthened and he nodded to his companions. “Well, this ‘gas’ does not seem to be here, correct? Shall we go to look together, then?”

With time not on their side, pack at their heels, it would make sense to split up, but Vidar couldn’t protect them both that way, and he wasn’t trying to lose another.

The momentary calm was shattered by the distant, marring bark of the dogs seemingly growing nearer. Apolline stepped away from the car, the palm lingering on its cool surface removed and resting shakily by her side once again. Her gaze flitted between the shadowy opening of the tunnel and the man beside her and at once she nodded in agreement to his suggestion. They had to find the gas can before the dogs found them.

“It’ll pop up somewhere,” Madison replied, looking around, “it has to….”

Apolline split off from the girl, though still keeping her companions within her peripheral vision. The dense brush loomed ahead and with much determination, Apolline plunged into the foliage, her face flushed with the heat of unease even just being yards away from the two. Each dig through the vines and dirt stirred a palpable tension within her, as if the jungle itself held its breath for the three of them. She knelt, sifting through the undergrowth--fingers scraping against the earth.

Madison looked around hopeful with the other two people. Scanning the vicinity trying to see if anything seems out of place. The girl began to walk around cautiously. Sounds of the jungle made her anxious of that creature jumping out. She took in deep breaths to calm her heartbeat. To calm whatever was making her hands shake and eye twitch. The woman was so used to the chaos that no chaos at all was what made her worried. How silent it was around them other than the few noises the jungle made. Her arms crossed with her nails digging into her sleeve as she continued to look around for something. Anything that could relate to the gas.

“Do you guys see anything?” she asked out loud, her luck becoming short on her own end.

Apolline felt the weight of devastation start to lower itself on her chest. As she clawed through the underbrush each leaf and vine revealed only the same oppressive surroundings, an awful reminder of relentless confinement. There was nothing.

You’re trapped.

You’re trapped forever.

They’re going to hurt you.

—Flashes of Marcey marred her mind,

They’re going to tear you all limb from limb.

You’re never going home.

The cowering litany echoed in her mind, each step intensifying the feverish emotions creeping over her. Her eyes strained against the darkness, and her lungs felt full of cotton--stifling every heave.

What happened to me?

She shook her head, trying to dispel the haze of fear that threatened to engulf her. But the tears, hot and stinging, filled her vision, blurring the edges of reality. She thought to herself how it felt as if the jungle itself conspired to twist her thoughts into a spiraling descent into madness. This time, the suffocating anxiety felt deeper, more insidious. No.. it was something else.

She felt like a little girl again.

The scrawny tween she once was, struggling to find shelter from the cold all those years ago. Except she was someone else, trapped somewhere else. Instead of seeking refuge from something tangible, she was grasping for a miracle to navigate this surreal chaos that surrounded her.

The shadows loomed larger, the barking of distant dogs echoing like a cruel reminder of her isolation. What she sought was not merely safety, but an escape from the disorienting reality that pressed in on her from all sides. The anxiety morphed into a frantic energy, and she darted deeper into the thicket, fueled by a desperate urge to escape the prison of her thoughts. The underbrush clawed at her skin, leaves slapping her face like reprimands. Apolline couldn’t even gage how fast she was moving through the trees, unconcerned with how far she was lengthening the gap between her and her companions.

Vidar was looking around the vicinity of the tunnel the car was found, maintaining a close distance with his companions but ultimately turning up with no luck as most of what he could find around them was vines and roots tangled in the dirt. Not that he even knew what he was looking for, what “gas” would look like. Or was it in something? He wasn’t sure, the way they described it being like water made him wonder if he was looking for some kind of bucket to haul it in. Then when they got the gas, how would the car drink it? It didn’t seem to be alive, had no mouth to drink it with. The perplexing concepts hurt his brain and he turned back to his companions in time to see and hear the pack, their chomping maws and claws swiftly approaching them.

Apolline stumbled, her foot snagging on a gnarled root, sending her sprawling forward. Her palm scraped across the rough surface of another twisted tree root, the jagged bark tearing at her skin as she caught herself with a sharp gasp. When she finally managed to lift her gaze, her breath hitched. The last of her tears streaked down her cheeks, her mind now too transfixed by the sight before her to even wipe them away.

The massive, decayed trunk of an ancient tree stood in the center of her vision, its hollowed-out core looming like a monstrous mouth. The wood, darkened and crumbling with age, was draped in thick, scraggly moss, the strands twisting and curling like fingers reaching out of the earth. It was eerie, unsettling—but also strangely beautiful like an old sculpture.

Apolline stepped over the root, her hand reaching out towards the dark wood when her foot landed on something else nudged under a fallen branch. Stooping low, her fingers found the exterior of hard plastic. The gas can! Speechless, she tugged it free from the crumbling debris, tightening her grip on the handle as she turned back.

Vidar raced through the trees, branches smacking his bare arms as the luminescent forest rushed by him, desperate to put space between him and the dogs, turning where the blonde turned and trying to stay close to her. When he looked behind them, however, he realized that he’d failed his brunette friend again, losing her as they’d been swarmed and letting her take the brunt of the damage, forced to escape the swarm again.

He followed his blonde companion all the way to a large tree, overturned, where they could finally catch their breath and get a hold on their barings. Ahead of him, she tripped over a tree root and he ran to catch up to help her up, hoping she wasn’t harmed much by her fall – the damage caused by the forest was enough to be a detriment in their escape, but if she had broken something in the fall, they’d be in real trouble.

As he approached her she turned with an almost triumphant look on her face and he followed her gaze to her hands – where she held yet another thing that he couldn’t understand in her hands – a green… object with strange runes on it and a handle. Was this the gas? Vidar wasn’t sure, he didn’t see how the car could drink this, but perhaps it was a waterskin of some kind. Everything in this land seemed so upside down, it might as well have been.

“Is this the gas?” he asked, uncertain, daring only a bit of hope. Maybe they could escape after all.

"Yes!" Apolline exclaimed, her voice full of astonishment as she held up the gas can, her eyes wide with disbelief. "It is!" A smile tugged at her lips, her other hand briefly resting on the warrior's shoulder, her excitement palpable. "We have to go back!"

In a rush, she moved past him, almost running as she hurried down the path they'd cleared through the dense brush.

As the woman pushed past him, Vidar followed her lead and began to race after her, matching her speed as they retraced their steps. He didn’t dare hope too much – their means of escape still a mystery to him, he hoped his companions knew what they were doing, that this car would carry them out of this danger.

The thick chemical smell was perhaps what the Swarm now zoned in on more than that of the remaining survivors. It dredged up harsh memories of the metal beasts and those that controlled them, the way they tore through the earth and uprooted trees. The ones who had made their home unlivable and ugly.

Lips curled back to reveal rows of fluorescent blue fangs as the group of creatures came upon the humans so close to escape.

As Apolline reached the clearing, she froze, her heart pounding in her chest. Her eyes locked on the group of dogs, now fixated on the girl, their attention shifting toward her with unsettling precision.

"No!" she screamed, her voice raw with panic. Without thinking, she charged toward the girl, driven by a desperate, instinctive urge to help.

But the scene felt like it was happening all too fast—Marcy, caught in the same helpless moment, was swept right under Apolline in the frenzy. It was happening again. But this time, she couldn't let herself watch it unfold. She couldn’t allow herself to witness the same fate once again. Her legs moved towards the girl before her mind could catch up.

Cries from the other girl caught Madison’s attention as she whipped her head back. The sight of the fearful woman with Vidar and the creature caught her eyes, making her need to think of something quick. One thought came to mind. It was a dangerous thought, but it was one that could work. What Madison planned to do was stupid, but if they needed to get that jerry can into the car she'd do it without hesitation. Shoving the keys in the blonde girl’s hand she started to jog over the opposite direction.

“Get the gas to the car!” she said, reverting her attention back to the beast showing its presence.

Apolline felt her head spin as the girl shoved the metal keys into her hands. “W-Wai–”

Still racing after his companion, their brunette friend seemingly appeared before them, still running from the dogs. Her stamina was almost impressive to Vidar, who thought she was giving them an excellent chase. He watched as she determinedly walked over to them, shoving some small object into the blonde’s hands and turned towards the pack.

Madison's hand extended to her mouth with two fingers inside, blowing into the cradle of her hand whistling loudly for its attention.

TWEET-TWEET

“HEY!” Madison roared.

The sharp noise instantly grabbed the attention of the monsters, swinging their attention towards Madison. A hooting call went up as they became clearly focused upon her with the intent to rip and tear and maul. This scent was a familiar one that they had previously chased after, tumbled and battered. Seemingly it hadn’t been enough. There must be some connection with the new space beneath their home lined with pulsing twisted cages.

Oh now she got its attention. Its animalistic growl, bearing their fangs from the multiple heads hungry and carnivorous. The rise of fear settled in the back of her mind, but she was ready this time. Madison stared down at the beast determined and headstrong.

“Hungry!?” she called out, “you thought you got me, but you didn’t! So come get me!!”

Whether the swarm understood her words or not, it was ready for another chase and she was happy to give them one. Madison started her sprint with practiced breath and a steady pace, as much as she could from the beast itself. Her plan was to hopefully get to a point of the swarm being lost or confused in its own playing field. That was until an idea popped into her head. It was a dumb idea. A really dumb idea.

Looking back she could see that the demon creature thing wasn’t as close, so looking ahead she took a quick turn over near the river and started to climb the thickest tree. Huffing and puffing with adrenaline pumping she rushed up the tree like a kid on the playground. Heavy steps and growls caught her heart in its web of fear grasping the veins desperately. Gritting her teeth, she grasped onto one of the branches pulling herself up before feeling air quicken at her feet. Realizing the animal almost got a hold of her foot. Her eyes were wide and she looked down at the animal trying to climb. Her nostrils flared and cheeks puffed.

The pursuit seemed to end at the base of the tree, the Swarm surrounding the trunk and claws violently pulling away thick flakes of bark. They were made for traction when running against the ground and through the brush, not climbing the timber of the jungle.

“No! Fuck you! Down boy! Sit fucker!” she yelled, “I said no! No! Hell, you want something to chomp on!?”

Untying her flannel she began to spit at it, rub any dry blood from her last encounter, and threw it at the spawn below. She watched it basically tear her favorite flannel apart, noticing something weird off the bat. The creature was behaving like an actual dog. A dog with a lot of big heads. She never really took a chance to look at it until now. Though it was enough looking at something trying to literally kill her. Looking around she noticed there were vines, thick ones at that. Her eyes lingered on an escape and her thoughts rested on needing to keep it busy.

Vidar…Blondie….I’m really trusting you both right now to get us out of here….please….

“Hey!” she screamed again at the swarm, “you can’t climb?That sucks! I’m surprised your massive head can even carry you with that tiny body!”

That was mean. Jesus.



At the nervous blonde’s hesitation, Vidar motions with his head towards the entrance of the cave not far from where the car lived. If they had the time for whatever kind of ritual needed to seemingly raise the car from the dead, they could come back and get the brunette acting as a distraction. It was a strategy he wasn’t unfamiliar with, but he felt a bit guilty that it wasn’t him running towards the pack to distract them. Self proclaimed warrior and for what? To let the strange technology of this place leave him stumped, to freeze him in his tracks?

“We will come back to get her,” he says quickly as he starts to lead the blonde towards the cave as the dogs are distracted. “Just hold on and we can be out of here soon.”

Vidar raced towards the tunnel with his friend, carried only by adrenaline and the fear that the wolves' jaws would be at their heels next. He stood at his companion’s guard as she tended to the horse-car, nervously looking from the entrance back to the blonde, curious about the work she was doing with the so-called gas that they’d found.

The rest of the moment felt like a blur. The girl, somehow, managed to avert the hounds away from them entirely--sacrificing herself for a purpose. Apolline clutched that very purpose in the palm of her hands until it hurt. In this clarity, a cold, hard realization cut through her panic. If she messed this up, if she hesitated or faltered now, there would be no coming back from this. There was no room for mistakes. With keys and gas can clutched tightly in her hand, the urgency surged through her veins.

Apolline ran toward the tunnel, her feet pounding against the dirt, heart hammering in her chest. She fumbled with the fuel tank, her hands shaking as she yanked it open, the sound of the latch snapping louder than the chaos around her. With urgency, she steadied the gas can in her hands and began to pour the contents, her focus narrowing to the steady stream spilling into the tank.

Her breath came in short, ragged bursts as she concentrated, fighting the overwhelming urge to glance over her shoulder. The noise from the commotion just yards away—the growls, the shouts, the sound of struggle—pulled at her nerves, but she forced her eyes to stay on the task. She couldn't afford to spill a drop, not now. Every second counted.

Apolline slammed the fuel tank closed, her hands trembling but decisive as she locked eyes with the warrior. Her voice was steady, though her pulse raced in her ears.

"I’m going to drive now," she said, her tone firm–eyebrows furrowed,"You might not understand what that means, but I need you to follow my lead."

She threw open the passenger door, her breath coming in shallow bursts. "Get inside."

From the corner of his eye, he saw her pour the strange liquid into the car’s side, finding the whole situation completely odd, unsure at every moment if this was some kind of strange dream his brain was conjuring up.

When the blonde addressed him, Vidar nodded. She was right – he didn’t understand what was going on, and he wasn’t even sure why he trusted her. But something in her eyes were soft, genuine, and told him that he could trust her. So as she opened the door, revealing the strange innards of the car, Vidar was inclined to listen.

“I trust you,” he said as he climbed into a strangely comfortable chair that was soft, like a bed, and jumped when the door was closed against him, trapping him in.

Her eyes were fierce, unblinking. There was no room for second-guessing now. She cast the jerry can aside and climbed into the driver’s seat, hands gripping the wheel, knuckles white. She adjusted the rearview mirror for a split second, before shoving the keys into the ignition. The engine sputtered twice, then finally–it roared to life. Apolline revved it once more before setting it into reverse and stepping on the gas.

Vidar hadn’t considered being enclosed in the car as the method of transportation – the expectation of a “horse” was that you rode on top of it, but clearly he had misunderstood where the similarities between the car and a horse had ended. Panic rose in his chest and he found himself looking around the inside of the car, unsure how much of what he saw even was. Beside him was what seemed like a window, but had a barrier his hand couldn’t pass through. It helped to ease his anxiety to look outside of it, but he would rather not be inside this car at all.

As his companion climbed in the seat beside him, it was like she was steering a one-man boat with the wheel (the one part of this car he almost understood – perhaps this contraption was more similar to a ship than some kind of horse..). As the car lurched forward, Vidar slammed into the dash in front of him, and then learned to brace himself against the car’s strange and bumpy movement as they raced towards the clearing in a mad dash to rescue their friend.

It felt forever of Madison just taunting the beast. The way it tried to push down the tree and she almost fell off. She held onto the base for dear life, basically kicking air yelling at the creature. Her voice was getting hoarse from lack of hydration and she was using all her energy to keep the creature interested in her. Hell, she was ready to tear a pant leg to keep them occupied. Anything to keep their attention on her.

“Hey!” she called, whistling again, “what happened?! Give up?! If I was your owner, I would have been disappointed! You would get no treats or anything!”

It had been so long since Apolline had driven, and the unfamiliarity made her hands shake as she controlled the wheel. She took a long, deep breath.

Apolline turned the wheel, realigning the car with the clearing and headed straight toward the commotion. Apolline honked twice, "God, please, please hurry."--her voice strained, hoping the sound would cut through the chaos and give the girl a chance to escape. Although, she couldn’t imagine how she’d be able to get inside before the hounds zeroed in on all of them. The jungle, the hounds, the danger—everything felt too close, but the only fate left in her hands was to drive.

The sound of a horn honking lightened Madison’s face and her teeth showing her excitement of hearing it.

“Let’s go baby! Let’s go!” she roared, ecstatic.

If the beasts could understand the sounds coming from Madison’s mouth, perhaps they would feel some semblance of insult. All they knew was that they wanted to kill. They wanted to feel the splash of blood against their tongue, the snap of bones between their teeth, the way a body would grow heavy and limp when life finally left it.

A part of her wanted to tell the warrior to keep the door ajar, to hold it in place, but the thought felt too risky. Apolline wasn’t sure how safe that would be, with the hounds so close but something had to work. She racked her brain in those few seconds, the pressure mounting. Every split second scene felt like the wrong choice.

An inorganic noise pierced through the swarm's steadfast focus however, a few of the creatures turning towards the direction of the vehicle. The sound of whirring and chugging all too familiar and from it a vindictive hatred rose up from where it had been buried. They would not let their home be ravaged once again by machines with sharp corners and made of hardened metal. All that the Swarm understood was that they were given a second chance and it would not be wasted.

Returning her attention back to the swarm Madison could see it was ready for the vehicle. She wasn’t planning on letting it take their only escape. Wrestling with the nearby vines she unraveled one, the length of it long enough for what she thought to do. Madison started to tear off her right pant leg that still had some dry blood off it. Her instance was to rub her sweat, spit, and some blood. Looking at the branches she felt something pointing up and without hesitation, slammed her hand against it deep in her skin. A loud scream left her lips feeling that jolt of pain rise up her arm. ‘Soldier up Mads, soldier up!’

Taking in a harsh breath she slid her palm up creating a wound, blood seeping out slowly. Tears fell from her eyes and her body began to shake from the excitement of the situation. Using the blood she coated the pant leg with it and untied her hair, allowing the curls to fall on the sides of her face. Her focus remained wrapping the pant leg onto the vine and using the hair tie to secure it. Whistling, she hoped to get their attention once more. She even pursed her lips into kisses, the sounds similar to the ones when calling out your dog.

“Come here boy! Have fun with this!” she yelled, throwing the vine down in a swinging motion.

Her eyes watched hoping the creature would take the bait. The car seemed close enough and she did what any stupid person surviving tried to do – use the other set of vines to swing over to them. Lifting herself up she grabbed the other set, pulling on it harshly and praying to god it would hold her. Looking back between the creature and the car, she took a leap and braced herself. Her legs lifted up and held onto the vine for dear life, praying that it would hold her weight.

Harsh winds tried pushing her back from the rapid speed she was going. Her heart pounded against her rib cage and stomach fell out of her body immediately. It was the kind of rush you get from riding a rollercoaster, only this wasn’t the kind of ride she wanted to do willingly. Just as she was swung up the woman let herself go, falling harshly on top of the vehicle. Madison groaned and eyes swinging back to the creature grabbing their attention now their way.

“G-go,” she stuttered out before screaming, “GO! DAMMIT GO! IT'S COMING!”

Apolline could barely believe what she’d just witnessed. The girl had not only faced down a pack of wild dogs like a bizarre game of tag but in a flash, she’d swung herself over their heads, landing with a heavy thud on the roof of the car. The sound was awful, but the girl’s voice—shaky, yet unmistakably alive—told Apolline all she needed to know.

Without another thought Apolline stepped on the gas, her hands felt like they were nailed onto the steering wheel–an extension of it as they shot through the tunnel. The road ahead was nothing but a blur of shadow, the light from the car’s headlights casting weak beams that seemed to evaporate into the darkness. She wavered the wheel slightly in the compromised blindness–a brief moment of uncertainty–then steadied it, settling into a single, unwavering path.

Apolline wanted to cry, but her face felt raw, puffy from the tears she’d shed for what felt like an eternity in that jungle prison. Her face crumpled in brief, stifled bursts of emotion, but nothing came out. She couldn’t find a release.

What was this all for? Where are we going?

A flood of confusion overwhelmed her, her thoughts spiraling as desperation gripped her chest. She was lost in the endless maze of fear, the weight of it pressing down on her with a suffocating force. And Marcy... what would become of the girl? The uncertainty of these questions was a constant ache. And worse–the horrors of Marcy’s death tortured her now more than ever.

She clung to the small victory they’d achieved—getting the car fueled, escaping the hounds—but it felt fragile now, like it could slip away at any moment.

As the car barreled through the tunnel, the world around them swallowed by thick, choking darkness, a heavy fog rolled in. The headlights flickered weakly, fighting to cut through the oppressive gloom, but it was no use. Everything was obscured, every mile stretching out longer than the last. Apolline shook her head once more, a futile attempt to shake off the dread that still clung to her like a second skin, unyielding and unwilling to let go.

Between the blonde’s fierce driving and the brunette’s heroic swinging across what seemed like the entire jungle, Vidar was convinced that these women were somehow warriors in their own right, almost as impressive and skillful as his sister had been. Though a bit more clumsy, he thought as their third companion’s heavy thud on the roof echoed in his head.

He hadn’t much time to take it in, as the motion of the car and the swerving made his stomach lurch in ways he’d never felt before. He’d known many to be sick with the motion of the rocking sea, though he himself had never experienced it before now. He almost felt bad for giving shit to those who’d struggled on ships he’d been on in the past.

Vidar’s eyes couldn’t focus on anything once the car turned back towards the tunnel and began racing through it, the landscape around them passing him quicker than anything he’d seen before and his brain couldn’t process it, so he found himself looking towards his companion’s face to notice it was drenched with tears, a quiet sob barely escaping her lips. He hesitantly reached over and placed his hand firmly on her shoulder in a comforting gesture, but not wanting to disturb whatever magic she had to perform to keep them moving.

This was all he had, not sure what words could be said in the wake of the terror they had just escaped in a call that was too close for comfort. His other fingers still gripped to the club he was holding, afraid to let go lest they were overcome with some other new horror. He didn’t know what was in store for them, but he was determined to protect them with whatever means were in his grasp, hopeful that whatever they face next was something he’d be able to stand his ground on, to understand.

He wouldn’t allow himself to be held back by his fear or a lack of knowledge next time. If something wanted to hurt his companions, they’d surely have to get through him first. For now, they had escaped and that was something worth celebrating when they could. Even if the feeling of despair still clutched at his heart. Even if he could still see the image of Marcey being dragged away to her doom.

Madison gripped onto the sides feeling the vehicle moving, someone thankfully holding onto her from the passenger side. Her eyes kept whipping back watching the creature lose distance between them and for a moment the woman felt a weight off her shoulders. She needed to be sure. As much as she wanted to scream in victory, she only felt guilt and shame.

I’m sorry Marcey girl….if I had known sooner….

Her eyes reverted back to the front, the path now becoming more hopeful. A light drawing them to the tunnel and Madison continued to look forward. Determined and vengeful now for the people she survived with. Whatever waited for them at the end of that tunnel, she was ready to face what was next. For their sake. For hers.


There was another distraction by the woman in the tree, pulling attention once again. The collective Swarm was too overtaken by vengeful energy to pay attention to the whispers floating invisibly around them. A warning that punishment would come for allowing escape. A single sacrifice would not be enough.

The vehicle that had become working and was now manned by the last three survivors was the source of the target rather than those inside it. In the interest of violence, the beasts barrelled through a cluster of large and thick leaves that was between them and their goal.

It was too late, though that did little to stop the beasts. All snarls and howls, a mad dash was made towards their target. The closer it seemed they got though, the heavier a black fog began to swirl around and suffocate the group of monsters. Eventually everything was obscured, not just sight but also sound and smell leaving them in sensory void of nothingness.

code by valen t.
 



maggie hatfield - adrenaline.





































  • mood



    pessimistic yet curious
















Maggie looked up as a hand protruded into view, accompanied by a voice offering friendly advice.

“—our odds are better together than alone.”

Of all people, Maggie knew that better than anyone.

The brunette clasped her hand over the man’s, allowing him to pull her to her feet. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.” She nodded, glancing around at the select few that still clung onto the semblance of security that the circle of tents provided. “Safety in numbers.” Maggie swallowed, smoothing her hands anxiously down the front of her skirt. “I’m Maggie, by the way. It’s nice to meet you.”

Was it nice? For all she knew, she couldn’t trust Jon, or any of the others here, for that matter. Where was ‘here,’ and why were they the unlucky ones thrust into it?

Yet, almost as quickly as the prospect of sticking together had been proposed, it was just as promptly being ignored as, one-by-one, the others in her immediate company wandered away into the mist of their own volition. Maggie frowned. Did they really expect to find anything of use out there amid the bramble of trees and underbrush? As much as Maggie wanted to find some kind of silver lining, the situation seemed too grim—it made even the hell of Gideon’s cabin seem like a vacation in comparison. At least there, she had food and a solid roof over her head.

Maggie shuddered. She couldn’t bring herself to move from the spot, feet refusing to uproot from their positions and follow in the wake of the others. Whatever was beyond that fog…she didn’t want to be the one to find it. Certainly not while she was alone.

Heaving a sigh, Maggie dropped to the ground, falling backward onto the bed of pine straw and dirt. Perhaps, if she could only close her eyes for a bit, she’d awake from the nightmare she’d been unwittingly trapped inside. Surely, her parents had come home by now, and a tearful reunion had been exchanged before seeking out medical help for the many injuries she’d sustained on her journey. She must be lying in a hospital bed, the drugs playing the cruelest of tricks on her weakened mental state…

A scuffle at the edge of the campsite had Maggie’s eyelids snapping open again, her body tensing as if ready to bolt. Then, she recognized a voice.

Jon was back from his exploration.

Maggie propped herself up to peer at the woman who’d joined their midst, head tilting quizzically at her announcement. “I don’t think we have much of a choice,” the brunette answered, frowning. She stood before continuing. “What’s in there?” Maggie asked, nodding toward the lumpy shape that had taken form in the sleeping bag behind the stranger.

Maybe there were secrets to be discovered in the hazy prison, after all.

































(don’t fear) the reaper



Blue Öyster Cult










♡coded by uxie♡
 
Last edited:



madison — unbreakable.





































  • mood



    Going through it
















It was hard opening her eyes the second time. The heaviness from her eyelids, her limbs, her body, and everything else made it feel much harder to regain consciousness. Madison fought them to open where she recognized tree branches, fog, and moonlight. She was practically disoriented the moment she woke up. One moment she was on top of a car being run down by that huge dog, the next thing she remembered was holding on for dear life into the tunnel. Dark eyes moved around lazily taking in her surroundings. Only everything was familiar. Wait.

No way.

No fucking way.

Madison forced herself up, her jaw dropping and brows furrowed dragging her legs under her to get back on her feet. She dusted off the sums of grass, leaves, and dirt off the best she could. Her clothes were tattered and left her practically naked. The girl was down to a tank top torn from the back, ripped jeans with one leg from her knee down exposed, and her boots wearing out quicker than she expected. Her flannel was no more and hair tie was gone from the jungle. The only thing that remained was that damn med kit. It was attached to the belt hoop this time. Convenient. Annoying, but convenient.

One thing for sure was that if her, Vidar, and blondie came back to the same place….were they back? She took in a deep breath looking around the same trees and bushes trying to find that dim light.

“Vidar?!” Madison called out.

Her eyes remained to the sight of that light ambling forward.

“Vidar? Blondie?!”

They made it back, right?

But Marcey didn’t, now did she?

A whisper. It sent shivers down Madison’s back catching her lungs, twisting them leaving her breathless. She turned, looking around for something physical to tie the voice to.

You’re not worthy to lead. Not worthy to save. What is your worth here?

“Shut up-”

Poor Marcey didn’t have a chance-

“Shut up! I didn’t fucking know, so shut up!”

This place was starting to get under her skin. She was dehydrated, hungry, exhausted, weak — no. Right now, she was fine. Fit as a fiddle. She’s just like everyone else. Licking her lips she noticed the mark on her lip disappeared. There was no way. She swore there was a cut on her lip. Fuck it.

Right now, she needed to make sure Vidar and blondie were alive. Ignore the voice. Fuck the voice. Go. Madison started to move in a rush, closing into the light. Her hands pushed past the bramble, branches, whatever the bell was in her way. Stumbling a bit she finally found relief at the campfire. Familiar and unfamiliar faces gave her some relief, anxiety running and eyes wide searching for the people she was with before.

There was Jon, there was that girl who ran before, and some new faces. Though their expressions were different this time. It was like they were seeing a ghost. She was here before, so why were they looking at her like that? Only did it occur to her with the question in mind: how long were they gone?


































RADIOACTIVE



IMAGINE DRAGONS










♡coded by uxie♡
 
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