Chapter Text
It was numbing, in a way. Being murdered basically every other day for no reason besides some sick being’s entertainment.
It was the third time in a row that you were the first out in the round. There were so, so many rounds. And yet, you basically were one of the first to get out every single time. You weren’t even sure you had an ability. Or weapons. There wasn’t anything to defend yourself with, nor attack the killer.
It was just another round. Just like normal. You hated it. It felt too repeated. Too normal. To be tortured like this everyday. You looked at your wrist.
63.
Cool.
You had been here for what, around 5 months now? You were a bit newer, yeah. But every time a round started, there was some weird number on your finger. It changed every round and was carved into your skin like a Jack-O-Lantern on Halloween. It twisted at your chest to see it again. You couldn’t even tell why anymore.
You hadn’t spawned around anyone this time, only yourself. Great.
There was a generator sitting a few feet from you. You bolted to it as fast as possible before trying to get through the wires. You didn’t exactly have any desire to leave the round, and no desire to stay at the same time. But you did want to do things quickly. It wasn’t just ironic, but compelling against each other in every worst way.
Then footsteps.
Footsteps that were too rhythmic to be another survivor’s. Too normal to not have been repeated. But at the same time…
These are new.
You’ve never heard these footsteps before. The rustle of grass around them, and a slight ‘clak’ sound against the harder ground they walked across. You knew it too quickly.
A new killer.
It was pretty horrible. You already had 1x1x1x1, C00lkidd, John Doe, and Slasher to deal with. And Noli, but you never really saw him much. Out of all your time here, you only ever saw him… what, eleven times? Or thirteen. Some kind of odd number.
“Well, then. Wonder how much you owe.” The voice sounded from behind you, more mocking than anything else.
You turned, finishing the last few wires with an alarming pace to it. A man who towered over you. And you were almost six feet. He was probably a foot and a half taller than you by the look.
“Who are you?” You asked, almost dull. “What’s your name?”
He seemed surprised by this, and maybe even a bit confused. You supposed he had killed enough people to already notice they all scream and run from him. Sure enough, after a quick check, you and Shedletsky were the only people left in the round.
“…My name is Mafioso.” He tentatively responded. Like a light push into a spotlight gleaming overhead. “Why’re ya askin’? Shouldn’t ya be runnin’?”
You laughed. Maybe because of what he said. Maybe it was his accent that got to you. It was thick and heavy, in a way you could tell he was probably Italian. “Yes, I should. I suppose. But you can do what you want. Strike me down, or whatever.”
He paused at that. Full pause. He wasn’t even trying to cover his curiosity. His fedora slipped to tilt down, covering his eyes with a shade that you only ever saw at the shadows of places you should’ve never gone to.
“You… whatever. I’ll just have my men finish you off.” He muttered out, turning away.
Pulling out a phone, he made a call. He moreso mumbled it into the phone. Minutes later, two men came from seemingly nowhere at all. The man—Mafioso—turned away, walking off.
The men stabbed you with a sword. It hurt. It hurt. It hurt.
But you dealt with it. You let your brain consume you with the screams you wanted to let out loud and the numbness of this horrible life take you again.
Then, you were back in the lobby.
Again.
Sprawled out half on the couch and half on the living room’s red carpet.
Feeling like you were drowning in your head.
Your breathing slowly getting more uneven and your head slowly gaining a repetitive sensation that wasn’t necessarily good, but not genuinely bad.
Cool.
Cool.
You heaved yourself up onto the couch, supporting yourself up with your hands rather than laying on the back of the couch. You didn’t know why you did that. But you did. Just another habit of yours that you never really knew what to say anything about.
“You good?” A new voice asked. Well, an old voice. You've heard it more than enough at this point. Along with everyone else’s.
You didn’t need to turn your head as they sat down next to you.
It was just Taph.
He was always so silent around everyone else. Never spoke. They all assumed he was mute.
And you could’ve just thought, in a way, they were right. They were.
But they talked to you. Because you liked what they liked. The color purple, explosions, and silence.
Especially silence.
Not really, of course. His voice had been broken since before you even arrived here. But you heard his voice in your head. You don’t know how. Maybe it was just another weird part about this place. But it seemed to just happen to you.
“Yes, I’m fine.” You said. “I… who was that guy? He seems weird from the rest of the killers. Like, every other one just went directly for the kill. Some were even happy I let them mostly. But he like… paused.”
You felt a wave of surprise go through your head. It was Taph. You were used to it. It was almost calming. His emotions.
“He… what?” Taph asked.
“Yeah. He like, stopped at me and looked like he just saw a monster. Which… I guess it is correct at this point.”
“You’re not a monster. Stop calling yourself all those things. You’re perfectly fine. Not someone to blame for anything.”
“I know, I know. Stop being self-deprecating and all. But still, it was weird.”
“…I do agree with you on that. It’s quite unnatural for a killer to be so lenient. Even if you agreed it was fine. Most killers would jump at the chance. I was killed by his hands. Some of the others were killed by his henchmen.”
“…Yeah. It was weird. Definitely. Did he do anything specific?”
“Nah. He had a sword, and a funny accent. It was kinda cool, actually. But also not really because he’s a killer.”
“Heh.”
Taph paused. He turned your direction. “Was that a laugh?”
You stared at where his face would’ve been, but a hoodie covered. “Wh- no.”
“Sure sounded like one!~” He grinned in a singsong voice. You sighed. The one person to be able to hear what he says and you didn’t give a damn. But he was your friend. So, that was something.
“But he had a sword. Strapped to his side. Killed me by hand anyway.” Taph shuddered. “He shoved me to the ground and cracked my neck.”
Your eyes widened. “Jeez, the fuck?”
“Yeah!” He exclaimed. “It was shit! He walked into my tripmine, though.”
“Well, good on you.”
“But yeah. He just… snapped it. It was kinda terrifying.”
“No shit, Taph. He’s a killer. And like, eight feet tall?” You muttered.
Taph nodded. “He was unusually tall. Yes. I estimated around 7’7?”
“7’7?! You exclaimed. “God, I think he might be taller than a fridge and a half!”
“Probably…”
You sighed. “…This is too much. Can I crash in your room tonight? I don’t wanna clean mine just yet.”
He nodded.