Chapter Text
This song and dance has grown predictable.
Of all the things one might expect the suffering of purgatory to be, “predictable” isn’t at the front of any sane being’s mind. 1x1x1x1 had never been considered sane by anyone, least of all itself, but even it had to wonder at its own mental well-being. A realm that seems to consider time an afterthought and barely tethers itself to a series of three-dimensional spaces, in which one wrathful entity is tasked with hunting down eight unlucky victims: predictable? Bury the thought in a shallow grave. Turn your back and enough time may allow it to sprout.
Time seems immeasurable here. 1x1x1x1 used to consider its fourth dimension a gift, a source of power unique to itself. Behind, its past self a centipede of rippling motion tracing its present moment to the beginning of its life. Ahead, a veritable hydra of translucent green-black ribbons, endless branching pathways beckoning it into the distance, each potential future fading to nonexistence as a contradicting chosen past takes form. It has walked too many pasts over the same tired grounds. 1x1x1x1’s self has blurred together, opaque history melding with branching future. Deja vu with biblical accuracy.
Not one hunting ground is safe from this phenomenon, a thing its own quarters have suffered from for uncounted amounts of time. 1x1x1x1 used to anticipate the sense of shifting reality that forbodes its presence in a hunt. How distant that elation feels, the opportunity to express its spite now an annoyance of monotony.
This hunting ground is as familiar as the rest. Crumbling grey walls and patches of grass mostly trampled to mud, snapped structures and scattered trees in a maze of obstacles through which past-future coils of 1x’s own form have already been and will inevitably be again. It claws at its eye out of habit more than conscious will, tracking the scattered survivors. It moves slowly, following the forward steps of a past self with far less present determination than it once had.
Two survivors crouch at a broken machine, working in tandem to rewire it. 1x knows how this will play out before it even lifts a sword. The yellow Robloxian in a red outfit would gain a burst of speed to avoid danger as the one in blue downs a concoction to turn his skin to stone. 1x would chase the one in red, only to be stopped by one of the various Survivors equipped with a weapon. It isn’t sure which one - no ordinary Robloxian has a network of potential future selves arcing into the distance, but repeated observation builds etched memory. It knows their moves just as thoroughly as its own.
The expected adversary makes itself known in a blur of blue hair and desert camouflage, a barrier of crossed arms appearing between the fleeing robloxian and 1x’s swords. The blocked slash is swiftly followed by a solid punch to the center of 1x’s translucent torso. The blow carries enough force to knock the wind from its lungs and drop it to one knee, swords held limp at its sides. Its glowing red eye moves to survey the area, a tangled mess of movements it had already taken from this point time and time again... and it comes to rest on the survivor with his guard up, backing away and glancing over his shoulder to guarantee 1x’s former target escaped.
As 1x observes the man’s calculated movements, it considers a new revelation. It had tried everything already. The mesh of past attempts at doing something, anything at all, had driven it to a state of stagnance within its own holding space. It would sit in place, motionless, for as long as the time between its hunts stretched. It had never considered doing such a thing during a round, but now that all possible courses of action have been exhausted for years... Perhaps sitting by and doing nothing could provide a welcome change from the monotone of joyless slaughter.
1x1x1x1 waits until its breath returns, and with its body no longer frozen against it, 1x waits some more. Slowly, it begins to shift - not rising from its stunned kneel, but lowering and folding both legs beneath it. Its swords rest on the grass on either side of its thighs, each hilt still clutched in a shadowy talon. The Robloxian man hasn’t turned to run, his brow knitting in confusion as he watches the entity move to its resting pose. Their eyes lock for several moments, the man’s fists slowly falling from their defensive stance in front of his face as the insistent sensation of a timer in the back of 1x’s mind ticks down.
This tentative stillness stretches on for an uncomfortable amount of seconds. 1x does not move its eyes from the survivor’s face, thoroughly analyzing his reaction. He seems to be confused, cautious, on guard but unsure of how to proceed. “I dunno what you’re up to,” his voice is hesitant, wary, “but I’m not letting the others fall for it.”
1x1x1x1’s eye lights up. It’d witnessed the survivors speaking to each other, but hadn’t yet found itself addressed by one. A welcome surprise in such a predictable existence. The new scenario only seems less optimal as 1x considers a response. It had been so long. Would it even remember how to speak? Would words take shape or nothing but snarls? Nothing to do but find out. “No,” it muses over the layers of bitcrushed static woven through its deep voice, lack of use making 1x sound like the amalgamation of broken code that it is. “No tricks. No betrayal. You are safe from me.”
The uniformed survivor raises a brow at it, staring it down with cautious scrutiny. Silence stretches out between them, a tension hanging in the air and thickening with each tick of that mental timer. Before the growing tension can last the rest of the round, he speaks again. “Alright,” as though the word activates him, the man strolls toward 1x, a calculated casualness in his limbs failing to hide the dread in his voice. “I’m gonna give you a chance to prove it.”
1x watches him move without so much as blinking. The former soldier stops beside it, turns on his heel so the two are facing the same general direction, and lowers himself to sit cross-legged on the grass. He neglected to keep a safe distance, his body so close 1x can feel a fear-elevated pulse thrumming in the air between them. It would be impossibly easy to lift one of its swords and drive it through his heart, fulfill its purpose here and relieve a little of the timer’s pressure... But it pointedly abstains from such an act. “You expect me to kill you. Why make yourself an easy target?”
“I said I’d give you a chance.” The man shrugs, the tension in his shoulders apparent in such a casual gesture. “It would be easy to kill me now, huh?” His eyes flick from 1x’s face to the sword it has pinned to the grass between them.
“Undeniably so.” 1x can’t help the spark of amusement caught between its ribs. Such a heavy topic spoken of so easily with a creature so frightened of it. What an unexpected treat hidden in the tired game they all play. “Unfortunately, I plan to keep my word. Your suicide mission is now a mere conversation.” Its voice is steadily scraping the rust of disuse from its throat, the glitched depth of its usual baritone breaking through. “How does that make you feel?”
The weight of passing seconds rests heavy on 1x’s mind as the man seems to consider his response. His seated position shifts slightly, tension slowly dispersing from his legs into the earth beneath as he gets closer to being comfortable. The ticking behind its brain has grown louder, more urgent, but a voice that doesn’t belong to 1x cuts through it like a sword through soft flesh. “A few different things,” the survivor mumbles, glancing between 1x and the featureless gray sky as he speaks. “I feel like this is too good to be true. Like you’re gonna pick up that sword and chop me in half any second now, and you’re just messing with me for some reason.”
As the man speaks, 1x’s eyes stray from his facial features to observe something it hadn’t been able to see for perhaps an eternity. A barely-visible image of itself, lunging toward the man and burying its swords through his body and into the grass behind. This potential future loops between their forms as 1x neglects to comply. Instead it nods slowly, meeting his eyes. “I can see a future where that happens,” it admits, casually lifting a talon to wave its sword at the open air on its other side, gesturing as it speaks without trying to frighten its however-temporary companion. “But I’m more interested in completing this conversation than following a future self with less patience than I deserve.”
Despite jolting slightly when the sword was raised, the man now leans toward 1x, head inclined and brows raised with pronounced curiosity. “You can see the future?”
1x snorts. “You say the future as though only one exists. No. I see my own impact in time. Constant presence through time can only be imposed and seen by those inheriting one of its dimensions.”
The man nods, steadily processing the information. 1x feels a straining at the core of its nervous system as it awaits his response. Time runs short and instinct demands this man’s death. “You’re four-dimensional,” he states without a hint of uncertainty. “I’ve seen your name on wanted posters.”
1x nods a confirmation, forcing itself to relax. “Perhaps if I inherited all of time’s dimensions, I would be able to move and alter it the same as you could pick up and throw a rock through space.”
“I’m pretty sure most people think time IS the fourth dimension.”
“A common belief among those confined to three.” 1x blinks slowly, tilting its head and glancing thoughtfully at an opaque memory of its time spent in this battleground. “No, time has its own set of dimensions, I’d think. How else can I view the past without any method of impacting it?”
“Right, right” he mumbles, 1x watching him move an arm to drum fingers on his knee, humming as he muses over a thought. “So if space has three dimensions, how many do you think time has?”
Its eyes flick back to him, and its head inclines closer to its shoulder as it’s forced to waste several seconds considering that. “Well... Perhaps three of its own. With a fourth dimension that time and space share.” It blinks slowly, glancing over the survivor’s shoulder at itself for a moment. “Were that the case, I believe it would be that shared fourth dimension my code includes.”
The survivor nods slowly, contemplative, much more relaxed after their casual banter. “How do you pronounce it?”
It’s the killer’s turn to experience the smallest bit of shocked recoil. “What?”
“Your name. I’ve seen it written, but I dunno how you prefer it said.”
1x1x1x1 narrows its eye, searching the survivor’s face for some semblance of ulterior motive. “You’ve never heard it spoken?”
“Well, I have,” the man rubs the back of his neck, quickly looking away and snorting with amusement, be that genuine or nervous 1x can’t tell. “But it always sounds like someone’s reading it like it’s written. One-ex-one-ex-one-ex-one.”
1x watches the survivor like a falcon about to dive. “I suppose that works,” it grumbles as its psyche screams for it to attack. “You said it yourself earlier. I’m four-dimensional. My name is my measure. One-by-one-by-one-by-one.” As an afterthought, it adds, “One-by is an acceptable shortening.”
The man nods, meeting 1x’s gaze with a tentative expression, almost as though he’s debating the risks of ignoring his terror. Without warning, he extends an arm, hand outstretched as though offering it in greeting. “I’m Guest 1337.” He says each number individually, one-three-three-seven. “This has been a nice chat, 1x.” One-by. The sound of the nickname is more pleasant than it expected, making it feel almost calm despite dread working its way up its spine with each tick of the timer. It stares at the extended hand, debating its options as the last few seconds elapse.
“Likewise, Guest 1337,” 1x agrees, forcing its talons to uncurl from the hilts of its swords, severing its connection to the cursed blades for the first time since it appeared with them. “I’ve enjoyed this.”
As it reaches out to grasp Guest’s hand, intending to reciprocate the extended olive branch with a firm handshake, the landscape distorts, skewing in every direction at once and warping their surroundings. The sharp black bone of its fingers meet thin air. The round is over, its chance at unleashing pent up wrath squandered. 1x awaits the reconstitution of its holding quarters, already impossibly full of scrambled past actions.
The wooden walls of an unrecognized interior take form around it. Planks of what could be birch wood comprise a floor and walls, worn by time and smudged with dirt and other stains. 1x is seated on a distinctly uncomfortable couch, facing an opening to a larger room filled with tables and chairs, tucked beneath a staircase to a partial second floor featuring a railing for relative safety.
Translucent trails of potential futures stretch out from 1x’s seat and wind around the area without a single opaque past to impede them. While the majority seem calm, strolling around the room observing posters and decor, a select few are choosing violence, clawing at wood and assaulting furniture before turning its potential vengeance on thin air. Someone would be there to apprehend it? As if confirming that theory, a series of voices drift from the other room.
“Not one death! If that ain’t a jackpot, my hat’s a frog.” A soft chime follows the quip, the flipped coin of a gun-toting gambler.
“Forget death for a quick sec guys.” The speaker seems exasperated, baffled even. “How did we get away without ANY injury? Was that killer even trying??”
“He ran at you like he was trying, dude...” A quiet addition from someone concerned.
“Elliot may be on to something,” this voice among the others is familiar, fresh in 1x’s memory. “I got their focus off him, and they... Sat down in the grass and said they weren’t gonna attack.” A moment of silence passes. 1x watches potential futures fade from view as it asserts its choice to sit and listen. “And they didn’t. We just talked for a bit.”
Commotion erupts. Voices overlap and 1x can only identify the loudest. “WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU TALKED TO HIM??” Not quiet now, but still concerned.
“-was 1x, right??” One-ex, as Guest had mentioned they call it. “No way in hell you got 1x to hold a polite conversation with you.” This bemused voice sounds uncomfortably familiar in ways 1x just can’t identify. The vague recollection alone makes it reach instinctually for its swords. All it can find is the uncomfortable realization that the weapons were not transported here with it.
A door set in the wall beside 1x’s assigned seat swings inward, blocking the entryway from its sight. It remains perfectly motionless as a voice echoes through the conjoined rooms. “An encounter deemed impossible inspires new perception. Perhaps this opportunity would drive a new connection.” Despite the cryptic meaning, the tone holds a weight that both demands attention and respect, yet invokes a sense of tranquility and wisdom.
A grey-tone Robloxian clad in a darker gray hoodie and hard hat enters through the open door, shaking his head with an amused chuckle while making a beeline for the other room. “Matt, I’m’nna need a li’l context here. Y’already know these folks ain’t the best at gettin’ yer gist.”
He’s followed into the building by... another entity, possibly Robloxian or possibly a subspecies. The flowing black robes with rune-engraved golden trim imply administrator connections, but hide the body beneath. This entity closes the door behind their companion and turns to follow, but the void beneath their hood seems to lock on 1x and it halts mid-step. The two stare at each other for a long moment of silence, the voices from the other room muffled and forgotten beneath the tension of being mutually perceived.
The survivor stands up straight and lifts their arm to give an enthusiastic wave, then makes a few slow gestures in Roblox Sign Language, as though unsure if 1x can understand them. CHORE - PROCEED - GOOD - YOU. 1x knows what they’re asking - Did the round go well for you? - but their choice of sign almost makes it laugh.
As its zippered mouth curls into the slightest hint of a smile, 1x gives a non-committal hand wiggle, the sign for “SO-SO”. Its eye flicks around the room, confirming the two of them to be momentarily alone, before signing I - NO - MURDER. I didn’t kill anyone.
Before it can think of anything else to sign, the survivor claps excitedly and does a strange little flail, assumedly from joy that 1x understands. They shake the energy out of their hands and signs, less emphasized for understanding now, I - HEARING - BUT - MUTE - YOU - ABLE - SPEAK. I’m not deaf, I’m mute, you can talk. 1x’s brows raise as its gaze flicks to the other room and back to the lone survivor. GOOD - NO - MURDER - BUT - YOU - WHY? It’s good that you didn’t kill anyone, but what’s your reasoning?
With some frustration, 1x commits to thinking about each sign it makes, communicating slower than its RSL conversation partner. Some of its language skills have gone unused for longer than others, it seems. SIGN - BECAUSE - SILENT - AVOID - it pauses to remember the last sign, and makes it from the direction of the other room toward itself - DETECT(ME). I’m signing to be quiet, I don’t want others to notice I’m here. NO - MURDER - BECAUSE - it pauses with its talons loosely curled beside its forehead at the end of signing “because”, wondering how to explain. MURDER - NOW - I - BORED. I didn’t kill anyone because it’s seemed boring lately.
The survivor rocks back and forth on their heels, patiently observing 1x’s methodical gestures and nodding to show it understands, turning its hood to inspect the other room for a moment before nodding at 1x again. WHAT - DO - INSTEAD? If you weren’t killing, what DID you do?
Hesitation isn’t necessary to determine the truth would be the most interesting and profitable response. Truth and patience have earned 1x numerous pleasant conversations with unlikely acquaintances. Why stop now? CONVERSATION - WITH - ONE-THREE-THREE-SEVEN. GOOD - TIME. I had a conversation with Guest 1337. It was enjoyable.
The robed creature nods enthusiastically, tiny wings on either side of their head flapping for joy. They start with an oddly formed sign, the word “SOLDIER” with both hands held in “G” letter shape. (G)SOLDIER - FRIEND - GOOD - HAVE. 1x can only assume this to be a name sign for the aforementioned Guest. With that assumed, they're implying Guest 1337 is a good friend to have.
1x nods and signs YES, then tries out the name sign. It proves to be as pleasing a motion to make as it assumed. (G)SOLDIER - GOOD - PERSON. Guest is a good person overall.
Another bouncy nod from its companion. I - NAME - T-A-P-H - MAN - PRONOUN. He handspells his name, and finally 1x doesn’t have to wonder how to properly refer to him. WHAT - YOU? I gave you my name and pronouns, now it's your turn!
1x blinks incredulously, glancing down at its obsidian bone talons and wrinkling its face as it ponders how the fuck its name would translate to handspelling. After an instant of frustration it settles on ONE - BY - PRONOUN - I-T. It hopes the nickname ends up properly interpreted.
Seems to have, judging by Taph’s joyous tapdancing. MAY - I - SIT? He pats an empty space on the couch beside 1x, fluttering his tiny head wings and practically emanating the aura of an invisible smile.
1x nods and pats the cushion in agreement, shifting to preserve its personal space while giving Taph a respectful amount of couch. He does a silly little twirl to navigate the furniture and join his silent conversation partner, fidgeting with his robe in preparation to take a seat unhindered by creased fabric.
“HELP, WHAT!!!” A voice from the opposing room makes Taph freeze halfway through his descent to the cushions and calls 1x’s focus with a sharp jerk of its head. There stands that yellow robloxian in a blue shirt and green pants, fingers white with grip on his own shaggy hair, eyes bugged to near independence from their sockets. His is the concerned voice from before, but his volume control seems to suffer under stress. His voice jumps another octave as he continues shouting, “ HELLO !?! WHEN DID YOU GET HERE??”
A familiar face urgently stumbles into view, protectively dragging the screamer behind him for safety. Piercing blue eyes beneath darker indigo hair lock onto 1x’s face, an expression of cautious aggression quickly softening to recognition. “Holy shit,” Guest 1337 exhales as several other survivors pile up behind him, all of them dangerously curious and far less relaxed around the intruder than he or Taph. “1by?”