Chapter Text
A humid wind had settled over the cabin, the safe space doused in a wave of inescapable summer heat, as if the sun had gone out but kept burning. The only escape from the heat coming in the form of the lake, dark and rippling in the eternal night, the strange pool that had been conjured in the main cabin, stale and concerningly lukewarm, or any slight breeze that blew across the clearing.
The rounds had paused for the time being, the three that they had been put through earlier in the day satisfying the whims of whatever sick deity trapped them here. The haziness of the heat had made them easy targets for the killers, some of the survivors stumbling around half dazed, by the third round even those more coherent had been slowed down by exhaustion.
Whatever joy the Deity may have been robbed of during the rounds was certainly given back in the general agitation that haunted the cabins. Sweat and dry mouths and general discomfort made it easier to lash out.
Torture was torture, Guest supposed, no matter the type.
He brought the Bloxy Cola to his lips, savoring the coolness of the liquid but holding back a shudder at the sickly-sweet, artificial flavoring. The condensation dripping down the sides of the can offering some relief as he finds himself pressing the can to his forehead.
From the other room he could hear splashing from the pool, some half barked out threat from Chance that devolved into a fit of laughter and giggles. A louder splash, the sound of water splattering across the carpet and wood flooring, and an indignant squawk.
He shook his head fondly, setting down the now empty can and picking up the chalk stick, turning back to the chalkboard and recording the outcomes of the day's rounds in short staggered lines.
Three losses tallied, reasoning? Heat induced fatigue.
He couldn't help the short sigh that escaped him, if the heatwave didn't let up soon they wouldn't even have a chance at winning, no matter how much luck they had.
He set the chalk back on the slight lip of the board, his fingers sapping what little coolness they could from the can before he crushed it and threw it in the nearby trashcan.
He stepped into the main lobby, twitching to the side to avoid a rogue splash of water. Noob was giggling behind their hand, their other coming up to half defend against a wave a soaked Chance sent towards them, a grin playing on his face.
Many of the other survivors had left the main cabin, Guest noted idly, giving Noob a kind nod when they waved to him. The only people remaining were Chance and Noob, reveling in what lighthearted play they could, Elliot, half curled on the couch, seemingly dozing off despite himself, and himself.
He walked over, shaking the man gently, Elliot's curly hair fell into his face as his shoulder was jostled. Guest hummed lowly as the robloxian curled further into himself, hands fisting into the rough fabric of the cushions.
Chance rested his head on the edge of the pool, their grin shifting into something more sympathetic.
“They sure weren’t going easy on him today, huh,” they puffed out a breath, Noob nodded fidgeting as they looked over the exhausted support.
They were all looking worse for wear, Guest had no doubts the bags under his own eyes had grown darker. But there was no respite here, no rest, not for him at least, not yet.
The soldier looped one of his arms under Elliot’s knees, his other helping to heave the man up from his shoulders.
Elliot was lighter than some of the other survivors, lean muscle, nonetheless, Guest grunted slightly as he readjusted him in his arms.
“You two should try to get some rest too,” he rumbled, shifting his weight until the carry was more comfortable, “The rounds stop for no one,” he eyed them tiredly.
Chance blew out a breath and pushed off the edge of the pool until his back hit the other side, Noob looked to the side, face reddening at the stern words.
Guest gave the two a small smile, the action softening his face slightly before he lumbered toward the door, shouldering it open slightly as he stepped out into the sweltering humid night.
A breeze of lukewarm air hit him as he started towards Elliot's cabin, the smaller man curling into him as another gust of wind blew through. It kicked up sand from the beach, and for a moment— just a moment— The air was arid and dry and hot, and the grit in his mouth was tinged with metal and gunpowder.
He shuddered, rolling his shoulders as if that would do anything to help him fight off the tightness in his throat.
The cabin door creaked and groaned as he shimmied it open, trying his best not to disturb the tanned figure in his arms.
He looked young, Guest couldn't help but think, as he pulled the thin threaded blanket over him. Far younger than he truly was, and part of Guest’s mind— one small, buried part of his brain— saw Matt. Not ‘a soldier with a body count’ Matt, and surprisingly not ‘body dusted by sand and stained with red’ Matt.
It was something that hadn’t been at the forefront of his mind in a while, long before he was sent here, a blurry memory obscured even more by the white hot flash of the grenade and the constant hazy buzz over most of his memories.
Blonde hair turned brown, tan skin darkening slightly, the blankets fading to the patchwork covers that Guest had grown fond of during his time at the orphanage.
The sluggish days, nestled snuggly between the joyfilled and those when the two would take turns sleeping, they had called it ‘keeping watch’, looked at it like a game or competition, anything to take the edge off when every shadow was an enemy and every glint of light was the blade of a knife.
The days in between, when the outside world was too much and the two would lay their blankets, sheets, and pillows on the old carpet and stay there for hours, staring at the ceiling, finding stories in the cobwebs and specs of dust. Daisy joined them sometimes, spinning tales and cracking the jokes she could, when the darkness would lift enough to allow it.
Guest shook his head, ran scarred fingers through his hair, and let out a sigh, allowing one last glance at the now softly snoring Elliot before making his way back out of the cabin.
He could feel the tension creeping up his limbs, a slight trembling in his fingers, goosebumps up his arms.
He paused, leaning against the closed door, almost doubling over.
Steady, soldier.
A deep inhale and shaky exhale.
The rounds stop for no one.
He should try to get some rest
—————
The morning, or whatever equivalent this place was capable of, came with searing heat. Sweat stuck to Guests forehead as he rubbed his eyes.
The ticking of the grandfather clock served as a warning of the upcoming rounds, something he was sure none of them were prepared for. Most of the survivors had made their way to the cabin by that point, all of them sprawled about, none of them comfortable.
Elliot had likened it to the inside of an oven, dark and hot, stewing in it until it cooks you.
Guest had chosen to pretend he didn't see the glance the baker had given him when he first came in.
Chance had compared it to a time when the A/C had gone out at the casino, “Like sardines in a can,” they had said, grimacing and fruitlessly rolling the sleeves of his dress shirt to his elbows. Noob nodded along to both of the comparisons
Shedletsky and Builderman had perched on the second floor's railing, a sluggish conversation fading in and out. 007n7 was sitting in one of the booths, idly swiping through his stats and fiddling with his GUI.
Guest himself had settled on the stairs, kneading at his temples in an attempt to alleviate the throbbing headache that had been building since he woke up.
His mind kept wandering, between a sandy battlefield and a hot summer day at the park.
He couldn't help glancing at Elliot again, his mind moderately clearer than last night. He could still see the faint resemblance in him. It wasn't the most obvious, or most accurate, built entirely off of feeling and loose observation, but it was there.
It was there in sly grins and eyes crinkled at the edge, offering a hand to those beaten down.
It was the hope that even their drill sergeant hadn't been able to beat out of Matt, even when they saw battlefield after bloody battlefield, body after body.
It lived in the satisfaction, the glint in Elliot's eye whenever he saved another survivor from certain death.
Guest had always looked up to Matt for it. Some nastier part of him envied him for it, not that he ever let that show.
He hoped that Elliot would never lose that spark.
An awkward cough roused him from his thoughts, Elliot snapped his head over to Chance and Noob elbowed the gambler in the side lightly. Chance yelped and raised his hands in mock surrender. A few of the closer survivors glanced up before losing interest in whatever shenanigans the three on the couch were up to now.
It was hard to tell where Chance was looking on account of his shades, but the unabashed, coy grin pointed the soldiers way was telling enough.
Guest knew his ears were red when he realised he had been caught staring.
He sighed and stood from his seat on the stairs as Chance waved him over, walking over and trying to soften his war-hardened gaze as he saw Noob stiffen.
“You three prepared for the round?” Guest asked, lightly leaning against the arm of the couch and tilting his head towards them.
Elliot scoffed and Noob let out a heavy sigh. Chance only quirked a brow.
“Is that what the staring was about?” Elliot huffed.
Guest rubbed the back of his neck and huffed out an embarrassed chuckle, “Sorry,” he started fiddling with the rolled up sleeve of his uniform, "I've just noticed the heatwaves and the killer's sudden ruthlessness have been taking a toll on you,”
Elliot shook his head, “The heat's been taking a toll on all of us,” he gave Guest a pointed stare.
The ‘That includes you.’ was left decidedly unsaid.
“Right,” Guest rumbled, letting the embarrassed smile slip off his face naturally.
He glanced between Noob and Chance, “You both got some rest last night?” He shifted his weight slightly, looking over to the currently vacant pool.
“Mhm,” Chance rolled his coin along their knuckles, “Eventually.” Noob nodded along, offering a small, tired smile when the soldier turned his gaze to them.
Guest nodded himself, opening his mouth to respond—
The grandfather clock let out a loud chime, the ticking turning into a haunting echo as the seconds passed by.
A collective wince rippled through the survivors, he heard Builderman's drawl from above, “Alright everyone, good luck out there.” The admin gave one last solemn nod.
Steady, soldier.
Guest tightened the wraps around his knuckles and wiped the sweat from his brow one last time, surveying the tired— exhausted— people in the room.
Not soldiers, just people.
Steady, Guest.
—————
The first two rounds were a blur. The third hit them before they could even catch their breath.
Glass Houses was blazing hot, if the heat at the cabin had been bad, then they had passed through purgatory and made it well and truly into hell.
The heat warped the air around the glass, refractions of light coming from the sunless sky nearly charring the faux green turf.
The round had dragged on, hit after hit, block after block.
Noli had been relentless, but, through his own haze in his mind, Guest could also tell that Noli was more… sloppy. The stabs at them were more agitated, and easy targets for Void Rush were missed as he slammed into walls.
Guest didn’t think he saw the killer hit a single Nova.
Not even the killers had been spared from the heatwave, it seemed.
It hardly mattered regardless, if everyone was disoriented then it only balanced the playing field back to how it was originally. Meaning that it was still heavily swayed against them.
“— Go!” he could barely hear Shedletsky over the blood rushing in his ears, he heard a high-pitched SHING and Noli let out a static cry as the admin's sword pierced his… skin?
A cold hand wrapped around his arm and tugged him away, his breath was caught behind the blood in his throat, and once the running had slowed to a walk, he pulled away from the hand and fell to a knee.
It was darker, wherever they had ended up seemed to have a roof, something that cast shade over them, and walls that stagnated the air inside, making it feel suffocating.
Blood spattered into a puddle on the ground as he clutched the deep gouge in his chest and heaved. The stone beneath him was cold, a welcome feeling, as his body desperately switched between being overheated and colder than ice. He could faintly hear his own wet breaths echoing off of the walls around him
His vision blurred and flickered, the pounding in his head syncing with the rush of his pulse. He couldn't help but stare blankly at his rippled reflection staring back at him from the red.
Those same cold, trembling hands gently pulled him to his feet. Noobs mouth was moving and their face was flushed with worry, brows furrowed as they pulled him toward the dark staircase nearby.
Guest did his best to carry his own weight as he lumbered up the stairs, leaning heavily against the wall and leaving a smear of blood from where his arm dragged along the stone. Noob looked back at him every few steps, chewing their lip between their teeth.
A medkit laid in the small alcove at the top of the stairs, the missing segment of the fence offering a mostly complete view of the map. He braced himself against the wall, squinting his eyes to try and make out the blurry figures below.
“—G-Guest?” He blinked, Noob was holding the bandages from the kit, their eyes flicking from his face to his chest to the deep slashes and bruises on his forearms from failed blocks.
He stumbled over to them, trying to swallow down the guilt as deft fingers wrapped the bandages tightly around his wounds. Trying not to look at the gouges in Noobs chest and sides. All he could taste was blood.
Guest was sure his face would've been red with shame if his body had the blood to spare for it. He tried, weakly, to grasp some of the bandages himself— to help— but his fingers refused to move despite himself, they were cold and tingling.
Dizzily, he could feel whatever adrenaline he had left seep out of him. How many times had this same scenario played out with him as the caregiver? He winced as Noob tightened the gauze around the still sluggishly bleeding wound on his chest.
Their brows furrowed further as they looked over the soldier's face, their own face pale, the faint green tint made it easy to tell it was mostly from fear rather than their wounds.
“I—” Guest started, clearing his throat after his voice came out gurgly and blocked, “Thank you, Noob.”
They gave him a shaky smile and nod, looking over at the stairs as a demonic cackle resonated through the map.
“We’re both still really injured,” they hummed, “staying here would probably be our best option.” they stuttered out, their smile widening into something almost familiar.
A moment passed and the smile wilted as Guest wracked his mind trying to remember where he had seen it.
Oh. Oh. That's what it was. His smile. The one he had given to his allies countless times, delivering aid and blocking punches. It was shaky and uncertain, but it was there.
Fondness mixed with the shame and the guilt.
Guest gave his own, blood stained smile, “You’re right,” he rasped out, “The round doesn't have too much longer,” he pat the survivalist on the shoulder a few firm times, relishing in the pride that swelled in Noobs eyes before wiping the blood dribbling down his chin.
He didn't have the stomach to admit he wouldn't be much help in his current condition, so he let the conversation drop there.
His vision waxed and waned, as did his consciousness.
—————
Purple and white flashed behind his eyelids and he keened upward. It was dark, a deep unnatural darkness that restricted his breath.
Someone was shaking next to him, clutching his arm. Their breath was coming in in short bursts, he was sure his own was as well.
Something warm trickled down his arm where they were holding, but his attention was drawn elsewhere.
Loud, thundering footsteps, ambling about beyond his sphere of vision. The air was hot and still, dry in a way that made it scrape at the sides of his throat as he gulped down breath after breath.
The clean lines that separated the environment around him melted together, what he was able to see muddying into one fine pinpoint—
There was a loud thump from outside the closet door.
Steady footsteps sending pangs of fear through him with each footfall.
Matt was deathly silent next to him, pressed tight against his side in the cramped closet. He was pressed between Daisy and Matt, heat radiating off of them in the small enclosed area.
Daisy was trembling and he wasn't fairing much better, his eyes were stuck staring through the small sliver between the closet doors. The faint light seeping through hit his eye just right so he could see his room.
So he could see the figure walk into the middle of the room, the glint of the blade in his hand making his eye twitch.
Daisy whimpered next to him and his hand flew up, covering her mouth. Her nails dug into his skin and he could feel hot tears roll down her face and hit his hand. Matt pressed more into him than the back of the closet. From the corner of his eye he could see Matt worrying his bottom lip, his face pulled into a stern frown.
The fear in his eye was unmistakeable, but so was the steadiness, the alertness.
Like he was ready to fight if it came down to it.
Guest prayed to every admin that would listen that they wouldn't have to fight. He doesn't think he would survive seeing Daisy or Matt laid back in a cold white hospital bed. He doesn't think he’d survive them dying because he was too weak to fight back.
The man surveyed the room, his gaze passing slowly, painfully, as it scraped over them, almost pausing like he could see them. See him.
Guest clenched his available fist, breath stuttering to a stop in his lungs.
He saw red hair and cold eyes, the bandana was pulled loosely over the man's nose, he saw his mother and father sprawled out on the ground, covered in blood.
The figure stepped toward them, the slow, methodical footsteps growing louder. The man readjusted his grip on the knife.
He slowly withdrew his hand from Daisy’s face, his own face drawing into something mean and angry and determined. Daisy glanced at him with wide eyes as he rolled his shoulders slightly.
The footsteps stopped. The shadow looming outside blotted out what little light had made its way through.
A deep breath in, a shaky breath out.
Purple and black and white.
There was a flash of yellow and blue to his left.
The closet door swung open, and his arm swung out.
A deep grating feeling pulled against his shoulder, a sharp resistance that grabbed at his arm and scraped its bloody nails down it.
Binary bled from the gouges. He would not falter.
For Daisy. For Matt.
He Would Not—
Always be strong.
—His fist connected with the mask in front of him, and he could feel the material splinter slightly against his skin.
The room melted away, replaced with stone, and the Bacon warped into a mass of purple and black, sound rushed back to him, a sharp gasp from behind him and one last echoing tick—
He stumbled forward, the momentum of his swing sending him into the back of the couch. The wraps and wounds on his chest and arms disappeared as the cabin stitched him back together sluggishly.
Noob was shaking slightly behind him, eyes wide. A few of the other survivors had taken a few steps toward him, concern evident on their faces.
A few others had taken steps back.
His breath was still caught in his throat, his knees felt weak, his arms were still shaking.
His lip trembled slightly before he bit down on it, desperately willing his heart to slow.
Guest slowly braced his hands on the back of the couch, pushing himself into a straighter posture, avoiding eye contact with Chance and Elliot who had sat up from their previous lax positions on the couch.
Always be strong.
Get it together, Guest.
“Sorry” he murmured, his face flushed red as he wiped at his cheeks, finding them wet. He cursed under his breath.
“Hey man,” he heard from next to him, Shedletsky putting a grounding hand on his shoulder. It was meant to be comforting, he knew, it only made him feel more trapped under the various concerned and wary gazes weighing him down, “Are you okay?” Shedletsky finished, his eyes flitting between Guest's face and the barely there red binary still lingering on the flesh of his arm, on the deep gouge that hadn’t healed with the rest of them.
Guest puffed out a breath, keeping his shoulder from jerking out from under the admin's grasp but nonetheless taking a few shaky steps away.
“Fine,” Guest offered, forcing the corners of his lips into a cordial smile, “I… just need some air.” Shedletsky winced at him and his smile twitched into a grimace.
Guest chose not to listen as he made his hasty retreat out the cabin door.
—————
A few hours later and it seemed the peak of the heatwave had finally broken, a cool, humid breeze bringing relief and the promise of rain.
It was well into the night, the shadows growing long and gangly and the sky darkening. Scarce clouds hovered over the horizon, their forms were reflected in the slight ripples of the lake. The water was dark, almost blackish red, a sinister hue that could make you think that it could swallow you whole.
Maybe it could.
Guest carded his fingers through his hair, squeezing his eyes closed and shuddering as another gust of wind tore through the clearing.
His arm ached, the glitching wound running across his forearm and ending at his elbow, like something had sunken its claws into it to try and keep him from punching, now wrapped in what little gauze he could scrounge up.
Wounds and scars never lasted here, most of those that littered his form were from times before, the war, unfortunate scrapes and bumps, those who agreed with the Bacon Empire's stance on Guests, but this? This was new.
He let both of his arms fall into his lap, the lake gently lapping at the shore and sloshing against the rotting supports of the dock. It would be relaxing if the circumstances were any different.
A pause, another glance down at his arm made him furrow his brow. He flexed the muscles in his forearm, watching how the binary sizzled and popped against his skin, stretching and warping.
This was not a wound of weakness, but resistance; they were limited in and out of the rounds, their abilities and strengths withheld. A simple way for the Deity to keep them under control, to keep them weak.
If he hadn't landed a block, he shouldn't have been able to ‘Punch’ at all, going by the previously established rules of the rounds.
And yet, he did. Not without consequence, but still. It was something worth looking into.
Anything to get out.
Anything to get home.
He poured over the thought, the sky growing darker and darker, filling with clouds.
What could this mean? How could it help them? It seemed possible to overcome the Deity’s influence, but was there a way to circumvent it?
And what were the lasting consequences for doing so?
The familiar sound of boots hitting the docks rotting wood cut through the howling wind, Guest couldn't help the way his shoulders tensed at the sound, despite knowing that the footfalls belonged to 007n7.
The ex-hacker settled next to him at the edge of the dock, offering a plate of pizza to the soldier.
Guest gave him an appreciative nod and took the plate, letting it rest in his lap as he looked back over the cloudy horizon.
An awkward silence settled over the two men for a moment; he could faintly see 007n7 shift and readjust uncomfortably for a moment.
“The weather changed pretty quick, huh?” Guest offered, letting out an amused huff when the other man took to the ice breaker with enthusiasm.
“Yeah! Yeah… Cant say im upset about the change though,” 007n7 drummed his fingers along his thigh, “better than the heat, at least.” he gave Guest a lopsided grin, his eyes crinkled at the edges.
It wasn’t pity. But there was something there.
Guest brought the pizza to his mouth, the bread slightly moist and stale, like it had been reheated before it was brought to him. The thoughtfulness of the action made it easy to push down the disgust as grease stuck the cheese and crust to the roof of his mouth.
There had been a time when he had thought that boot camp beat any pickiness out of him when it came to food.
This place had proved him wrong.
The food left a strange, bitter aftertaste on its way down.
“You know—” 007n7 looked away, over the lake, to the sky, straight down at the inky water, before his face furrowed with resolve and his shoulders dropped from the tense line they had been in since he had sat.
The awkwardness had drained from them, 007n7 standing on business and Guest just sleep deprived enough to let some of his stoic facade fall away.
“Ok,” 007n7 finally said, “Something's up with you, has been for a few days now” the exploiter rolled his wrist, a few short pops filling the silence.
Dark brown eyes met smokey blue.
“What's wrong, Guest, what's going on?” His tone was resolute, like he wouldn't be letting it go until he got an answer. Worried.
Any bit of strength Guest had left, any amount of fight, left him with leaves on the wind. His shoulders sagged.
Be strong, Always Be Strong.
I'm Coming With You.
My Daisy, My Charlotte.
The man looking back at him from the water was tired and war torn, despite the months upon months that had supposedly passed since he’d gotten here, he didn't look a day older.
Worn out? Maybe. A shell of his former self? Most definitely.
A dead war hero sewn back together to endure.
He looked the same. But he's never felt like more of a stranger. Would Charlotte know what his face looked like?
Would he be able to pick her from a crowd?
He rolled the words around in his mouth, the taste they left was worse than the pizza ever could be.
He had always been too much of a coward to ask the hard questions, the ones that really mattered at the end of the day.
Always running.
“What keeps you going, Seven?” is what Guest settled on. Coward.
007n7 blinked at him, squinting slightly behind his glasses and tilting his head.
“That's… Well,” he tapped at his chin, following Guest's gaze down into the water. The ex-hacker faltered slightly, a low hum escaping him as he thought.
“When I was younger, and some might say stupider, it was the thrill of Exploiting, what could I get away with— how far could I push it.” The toe of his boot skimmed the water's surface. “Then I guess I lived for Kidd, took up a few jobs, tried to raise him the best I could. Up for debate how much I succeeded there, huh?” he huffed out a humorless chuckle.
“I didn't live for much longer after he went missing,” Something like shame coated his voice.
Guest looked at him from the corner of his eye, 007n7 had leaned back on his hands, face turned toward the churning sky above.
He looked… open. Vulnerable. Almost afraid.
Guest looked away.
“I guess if I had to put a reason to it it would be…” he paused.
“To repent.” It was almost lost in the wind, muttered quietly between them, “If I give up now, stop fighting, stop trying, the horrible Exploiter that I was is all I’ll ever be.”
“I keep going to earn forgiveness for my past actions, to…” he gulped, “—I keep going because maybe, maybe someday, we’ll get out, all of us, Kidd too, and I’ll be able to make amends, be a better friend, be a better father.”
007n7 looked over at him, a glint in his eye, “If one good thing comes from being sent here, it's that it's taught me that there's more to the world than me, and that it all deserves to be cherished. To be saved," he reached over and grabbed Guest's bicep, “You helped teach me that, Guest.”
No.
Guest kept his eyes trained on the horizon, his voice low and hoarse, “...Im sorry.”
007n7’s hand twitched, “What?” his brows were furrowed, his face taut with concern and his demeanour shifting from open to cautious in a second.
He couldn’t do this.
Guest shrugged his hand off, his own face twisting into a tense facsimile of calmness. He stood up, grabbing the plate and turning toward the cabin.
He paused for a second, only a second. His step faltered. His arm stung. His throat was tight and his eyes were burning.
Always too slow. Always too scared. Always too weak.
I'm Coming With You.
Be strong.
Always be—
“Im sorry you had to take inspiration from a fraud.”
—————
The survivors slowly started recovering from the heat. Though, the thundering storm outside wasn’t quite the respite they had been wishing for, everyone could agree that getting a little wet here and there was better than the inescapable haze of dizziness and heat. It had been raining nonstop for, at the very least, five days.
Dusekkar had theorized that it was some kind of sick experiment, to see how much they could bear before losing their minds, before they started turning on each other.
It had concerned them. The firelight of their insides flickering with worry. If it had been an experiment then what did it observe? Why did it stop? What had it gotten out of it, what conclusive data did it collect?
Builderman and Two Time had taken the unfortunate brunt of the storm, the builder getting a nasty zap while trying to fix the cabin's power after an outage and the worshiper catching a harrowing cold while attempting to hunt down the small rodents they saw in the woods.
Two Time’s knife slipped from their grasp, their face paler than usual with a slight greenish tint, Dusekkar could hear the crack as Guest landed a hard blow on 1x1x1x1. Blocking the killer's sight of the cultist while they staggered to their feet and stumbled away, the knife gripped tighter in white knuckles.
The sorcerer angled his staff carefully tracing in front of the killer as Guest ran him in circles.
Guest's chest heaved as his footsteps faltered, slowing to a light jog, then to a walk, then—
The flame of his head flared and magic split down his staff, colliding with 1x1x1x1 in one sinister ZAP.
The creation of hatred let out a hissing scream, their muscles locking up, their fingers curling around her sword and shoulders tensing and twitching as the magic coursed through him like a lightning strike.
Their steps fell out of line with Guests, and when Dusekkar glanced up, Shedletsky was stepping to take Guests place, wiping crumbs from his face as a mean scowl danced across it, his sword in his hand.
Very well, Dusekkar couldn’t help but sigh. It was only a matter of time until the other survivors learned of his connection with the killer. It had been troubling times when everyone first learned about the hackers relation to C00lkidd, the cabin had separated into something akin to factions.
Luckily those times had passed, 007n7’s guilt did not absolve him, of course, but his humanity, his torture, had reminded them that it was not them against eachother.
007n7 had revealed his connection willingly, a show of trust that brought the group together.
Both himself and Builderman had told Shedletsky that the later he chose to tell them, the more it would split the group when he did. If he even got a choice.
With how the Spectre was intruding on their personal lives, it was growing increasingly likely that the deity would reveal it long before the admin did.
He shuddered at the thought of what disarray would follow, how it would shatter the warm camaraderie that had built between the survivors.
Perhaps that was the Spectres play, scramble them with heat, drench them with rain, then reveal the darkness of their ally while they were at their worst.
The sorcerer truly hoped that wasn’t the case as they raised their staff again, shielding Shedletsky from what would have no doubt been a terrible blow.
It would be a fitting trial, the hands of the Deity playing them like puppets, twisting their psychies until they tore each other to pieces. A fitting entertainment for a being so cruel.
1x1x1x1 turned his gaze toward him, their mouth turning down into an agitated snarl. Reality split as she sliced through it doubly, sword after sword, sending the tear barreling through the Pumpkin-headed admin before he could move.
Troublesome…
He readjusted on his staff, turning to run as the killer sprinted towards him. He could see Taph frantically waving at him, a nest of trip mines and bombs, and a sentry expertly placed.
That would do, he hummed, zipping toward them.
Even with his life on the line, the looming threat sparked his curiosity and his worry.
1x1x1x1 tripped over the wire, tumbling straight into the sentry’s range.
What would this mystery bring them?
—————
His cabin was cold. Water dripped from a hole in the roof, caught in a cup placed right beneath the leak. The water in the cup was high enough to splatter over the edges with each new drop, but Guest couldn't be bothered to get up and dump it out. The bed creaked as he adjusted his weight.
The change from blazing to almost freezing had been messing with all of them, despite that the day's rounds had gone surprisingly well.
And if he chose to ignore the strange looks Elliot, Noob, and 007n7 gave him, it was almost like the heatwave had never happened. They were all back up to peak efficiency.
Mostly.
Guest peeled the expertly wrapped bandages off of his arm, the few inner layers turning faint shades of red and pink. Placing the gauze he had been using to hide the gash gingerly to the side.
The 1’s and 0’s flared angrily, like an infection leaking puss.
He dabbed a dry, clean rag he had nabbed from the main cabin along the edges of it, gritting his teeth as more blood pulsed out of the irritated wound.
He blew out a low breath, flexing his forearm and hissing as he saw the muscles in his arm writhe through the ripped open skin.
It hadn't healed.
Eight days since the end of the heatwave, and it still hadn't healed.
He cleaned it the best he could manage, biting back grunts of pain and biting his cheek until he tasted blood, he didn't bother to hurry, rewrapping it with fresh gauze, his hand moving languidly.
He had retreated to his cabin as soon as the last round had ended, blaming the sickly green hue of his face on a fever and cough he didn't have. Elliot had expressed his concerned, hands twitching up like he wanted to check his forehead.
007n7 gave him a worried look and the admins grimaced at the thought of a second person falling ill from the storm. Two Time had fallen even deeper into illness, they had used a few of their tickets to keep them from dragging the team down in rounds and to allow themself some rest.
He felt the guilt settle in his gut like a stone when he said it, took the well wishes and scurried through the rain and away from the others. He wasn’t planning on showing his face until tomorrow.
Any other day he would've joined them, would have participated in the after round celebrations that came when they all made it out relatively unscathed.
But not today. Just… just not today.
Guest cradled the locket in his hand, and, with the most gentle, ginger movement he could manage, took the torn, stained, folded up photo from its cavity.
“Hey Charlie,” he rasped, his Adam's apple bobbing with the effort it took to swallow around the rock in his throat. “Happy birthday, baby…” his voice cracked as he unfolded the quaint photo of the three of them.
Guest pressed the heel of his hand into his eyes, wiping at one, then the other, in some futile attempt to keep the tears from falling. When it didn't work he pressed the ball of his fist into his mouth, squeezing his eyes closed for a moment, to catch his breath. He just needed to breathe.
It came in in short, shaky bursts, hiccups of air that barely made it to his lungs. He pressed his fist into his mouth harder and willed his shoulders to just— stop shaking.
When he peeled his eyes back open he could feel the flush of blood in his cheeks and ears, on the back of his neck. He could faintly see how the wetness of his eyes stuck his eyelashes together.
He sniffled lightly, the pang of shame from the pathetic noise made him feel like he was going to throw up.
He can't afford to be weak.
“Have you— have you been being good for your mom?” he blew out a wet breath, “I know this has to be— to be hard for you, and I’m sorry, Char…” he placed his hands on each other, photo still gripped with a gentle protectiveness, his elbows on his knees.
Guest doubled over, sat on the edge of his bed, the bloody gauze next to him, and rested his forehead on his folded hands.
“I know this is hard—” his mother and father packed neatly into little ceramic urns, standing watch over the house from their spot atop the fireplace, “I know. But you're so strong, Char, remember that,” he nodded against his hands gulping down what little air he could get between the half choked sobs.
Daisy and Matt and Charlotte grieving over an empty grave.
“Always remember that. Be strong.”
Always Be Strong.