Blu3!

First off, he lived with a bunch of useless fucks who couldn’t act right to save their lives. Too loud, too reckless. They never cleaned up after themselves, leaving dirty clothes at every corner. The laundry machine itself was dusty, used primarily by Tim, Jack, and him. Tobias, on a good day.  

Second off, their food was already scarce, and after a long bender, it had been depleted by at least sixty percent.

They had ruined the kitchen. Throwing dry ingredients everywhere and devouring everything in the pantry. The only thing left in the fridge was beer. On top of that, the assignment he’d been tasked with was over two weeks long. He couldn’t even pack a fucking granola bar- because they didn’t have any.

Budgeting was rough. Most of their food was either stolen or purchased with pickpocketed cash. It worked well enough; however, the tactic was always based on luck. A fifty-fifty chance of landing on someone who carried real money. Sometimes they’d have a decent amount to spend, able to cover actual meals. Other times, it was barely sufficient for snacks.

Cards worked in theory, but it wasn’t worth the risk. Cards could be tracked and cancelled on the same day. It was easier to rely on paper, loose twenties wadded together. So imagine his surprise when their monthly food supply was vanquished in a weekend.

Hoodie wanted to kill somebody.

He had taken that frustration out on the sad, deadbeat who’d been getting too nosy. Yet he was left unsatisfied, carrying his irritation all the way to the bar. He’d snagged the guy's wallet. Spending it on a room-temperature whiskey and a pack of smokes. However, the flashing lights were starting to give him a headache, which led him here.

Now, standing in the cramped outhouse, he took a drag. Watching the pollution waft slowly, before a flash of colour caught his eye. A magazine was hanging in a basket close to the sink. With a vivid front cover, the tagline read- “Talk about rowdy roommies, am I right?”

The art illustrated a brightly toned character winking at the audience. Dressed in frills, you even had a little wand. There was also smaller text below. “A Guide for Gun Slingers & Magical Girls with too many problems!” The irony was not lost on him, and he huffed an almost laugh. He had no idea how the two correlated, but modern things will be modern, he supposed.

After debating for a moment, he reached for the pamphlet. It’s not like anyone was around, and he was bored. What was the harm in browsing? The blonde had time to kill anyway. He just wanted to see what gunslingers had to do with “Magical Girls” or whatever. It was fine, nothing out of the ordinary.

He flipped the thing open, immediately flash-banged with more colourful text. This time, you were 3D and sprawled on the floor. Okay, so this was a photoshoot..? Maybe?

The speech bubble above stated, “Man, these folks wouldn’t know respect if it hit them in the face !!” It made him exhale through his nose. Yeah, they really wouldn’t. Then he turned to the next page, then the next, and the next—

Brian had finished the entire magazine.

He hadn’t even noticed that he was close to the end until it was over. You discussed a wide range of issues, from fashion dilemmas to relationship struggles. Even including cleaning tips, budgeting for beginners and a weapon variety section. It was a shockingly well-rounded bathroom read.

Alright, he’d give the corporations their flowers. You seemed like a good enough influence, and your design wasn’t bad on the eyes either. Honestly, you were... funny. It’s not like some random comic could truly solve his problems, yet some of your advice stuck. You were relatable, in a weird, disembodied way. And for whatever reason, he still hadn’t set the pamphlet down.

It was entertaining, and technically, he wasn’t fully finished. He had skimmed, a speedy once-over deal. He hadn’t actually read the tiny blurbs on the sides. The paragraphs with the solutions- it was only right if he took it for the road.

That, right there, was the beginning of the end.

Although he did find it decently pleasant, the trouble came with his desire for a follow-up. He liked A Guide for Gun Slingers & Magical Girls with too many problems ! ™ He could admit that. It was convenient to have on hand. A good way to keep his mind busy. It was hard to find respectable media these days, and that tied into his current situation.

The one he had was labelled as “Volume. 14” Which meant there were at least another thirteen to read. The issue? They didn’t seem to have the series anywhere. Not at the local bookstore in town, not in another bathroom, not even at the corner store. The bastards had bad song covers on DVD, but not your pamphlet. Like what kind of establishment were they running?

He searched high and low, coming back empty-handed each time. A man could only reread the same feature so often, you know? He was getting desperate, not that he’d ever say that out loud. Yet, Hoodie knew one thing, one fact that stayed true throughout the months.

He needed the complete collection.

ᯓ★

The discovery was like finding nirvana.

Rifle clattering onto the table, his hands moved with practice. Oiling the metal, checking for nicks and rust. Brian was settled on the worn-down couch when Jeff dropped next to him. Flinging his knife into the air, he caught it before fetching the TV remote. The station flickered to life, and the second he glanced up, he saw it.

Saw you.

Waving at the camera, you greeted the viewers cheerfully. “Yellow! Welcome back, my angels!” Shining brighter than the early sun. Your voice was bubbly- chipper when you went on to catch the audience up. This episode was about your fight against an ancient evil. A grand finale, titled “Bad Habits Die Hard.” It was narrated by you- a part of your abilities.

You could break the fourth wall, interacting with the screen as you pleased. Your crew of allies gathered on a vast battlefield, bracing themselves for the storm. You fought valiantly, wand in hand, while you parried strikes. A spark here, a flash there, the beast screeched in anger. His lip curled up in a snarl, and he whirled his arm back. Skin splitting to reveal rows of jagged teeth.

Though just before he could lunge, you tugged another character in front of you. A bunny fighter of some sort, donning floppy ears and a fluffy tail to match. They pressed their palms to their lips, then flung their hands out for a special attack. Cupid’s Shot, activated by blowing a kiss at the opponent. It hit the guy square in the chest, and he flew back.

Skidding against the dirt, plumes confettied into the wind. There were even cartoon birds and hearts swirling around his head. You turned to the camera after, snickering about his weakness for your friend. Apparently, they were actually married, and this was simply a lovers’ quarrel.

The episode ended with you celebrating the win. The moral of the story was that communication was important, a priority in relationships.

“Remember, you can’t keep something shining if you don’t polish it. Think gun metal! It’ll rust if you don’t oil it, grow rickety if you don’t take care of it. Love is the same way! And I’ll see you next week- signing out, yours truly.”

The outro played once you’d winked, and a commercial came on. Brian, despite his lingering denial, was hooked. I mean, come on. Rifle puns, action, it had humour, too. You were witty, quick-tongued. Ignoring the fact that he thought you were attractive like a teen with a crush. He found himself disappointed that it was over—

“Did you seriously watch that shit?”

Jeff had fallen asleep the second he turned on the TV. Awaking to your theme song blasting, the killer was confused to say the least.

However, Hoodie was quick to straighten up. “What do you think?” Shooting him a glare sharp enough to cut. It made the other sneer, shoving off the sofa while barking over his shoulder. “Jesus fucking christ- who pissed in your cereal?”

He walked with a stumble, clearly inebriated from whatever he’d drunk earlier that night. Jeff only crashed onto the couch because he didn’t have enough coordination to make it up the stairs. Leaving a streak of blood on the armrest and everything. He’d gone hunting, then got wasted. Fucking typical. Brian drew a heavy breath.

Finishing his original task, it was past one AM by the time he reached his bed. The old mattress creaked as he slumped down. Same shit, different day. Stripping to nothing but his boxers, he sprawled on his back. Scruffy sheets under him. Jeff’s words echoed through his mind. What the hell did he even mean by that?

There was nothing wrong with your show. It was a nice watch, and it had a good message. He was simply too dense. Wouldn’t understand a healthy mindset if it shot him between the eyes. You were balanced, both caring and cutthroat. Sometimes you were selfless, other times you did things because you wanted to. It made you feel real and respectable.

Jeff just didn’t get it.

ᯓ★

“The hell are you doing?”

Elbow deep in grime and guts, Tim was exhausted. Ready to finish the job and head home, he’d turned around to find Brian frozen.

They had been sent out to take care of some stray hikers. Conspiracy theorists who got too nosy. The couple were long dead- the only thing left to do was get rid of the bodies. Yet the other man seemed preoccupied, staring entranced at a corner of the cabin.

The victims' setup wasn’t out of the ordinary by any means; there weren’t even weapons or supplies to take. Their rented-out shelter was a run-of-the-mill vacation house, decorated with the bare minimum. So what in the world was Hoodie distracted by?

His previous question went unanswered for another beat, then Brian blinked back to life. Stiffly grunting, “Nothing- we can bury ‘em out back.” An expected response that Tim thought nothing of. He knew well enough that the work they did wasn’t light, and it’d get to you no matter how cold you’d grown to it.

Dragging the corpse closest to him through the back door, he returned just to see Hoodie missing from his prior station. The body (that should’ve been hauled up by now) was untouched, and his partner had gravitated to a shelf near the fireplace. He looked like he hadn’t even noticed that Tim had entered the room, shifting in place as if he were making a life-or-death decision.

Upon stepping closer, he observed in confusion as Brian reached for a plush toy sitting on the ledge. A brightly coloured doll, with sparkly cheeks and a fantastical outfit. He was holding the thing with so much care that it threw Masky off. The sniper had never been a fan of the sentimentals, and even if the toy was attached to an old memory- why now?

They were drenched in blood and tired enough to collapse. What value could it possibly possess to make Hoodie drop everything and retrieve it from its spot? Tim cleared his throat loudly.

“You got plans for that thing—”

“Jesus fuck.”

The blonde jolted, spinning to face him sharply, doll still in hand. “I thought you were gettin’ the body.” His tone made Tim raise a brow, and he muttered, puzzled. “... I did. Thought you were gettin’ the other one.” The two stayed at a standstill for a moment before he nodded in response. Shoving the mini-plush into his jacket pocket and moved to hoist the carcass over his shoulder.

However, Tim was now even more perplexed. While Brian wasn’t terribly open, they trusted each other. Had each other's backs at the worst of times. Why the hell was he being so weird about it? Assuming it was probably related to his childhood, the man followed him as he marched outside. Lighting a cigarette on the way.

They dumped the limbs into a pre-dug grave, burying their tracks with the usual protocol. Everything had gone to plan, and Brian was only slightly shaken up about being caught. It was fine, good even-

Until Tim unlatched the glove box.

In hindsight, the chamber wasn’t the best place to store his collection. But he was always on the road, always active and sent out day after day. It just made the most sense to keep the magazines there, and it hadn’t affected him for the worse either. Till now, that is. Because the second the compartment opened, all hell broke loose.

Saved photocards, pamphlets, and merch-themed trinkets tumbled out onto the brunette's lap. All with a person who bore a striking resemblance to the toy he’d grabbed earlier, printed front and center. The silence between them fizzled with tension, then Brian swallowed hard.

“... I can explain-”

“Who the fuck are you?”

Tim squinted at him, cig hanging limply from his lips. Never in all his years could he have predicted this. A fanboy. Hoodie was a fanboy. The evidence was clear as day, and the exasperation on his friend's face only damned him further. “I started reading, alright? Ain’t nothing wrong with havin’ a hobby.” Revving the engine, his defence was met with a scoff.

“What is all this? You been collecting this shit?” Masky muttered under his breath, picking up a Polaroid to inspect it. You were posing with a glowing wand, winking at the camera under pastel lights. In another, you were sitting on a beach chair. Styled in an up-do with flowers in your hair, a vibrant bikini, pulling the whole look together.

If you told Tim a year ago that Brian was into fairy princesses or whatever this was, he would’ve shot you.

The pressure continued for at least another ten minutes. Pictures on pictures, your little snapshots came bedazzled, too. Stickers on the frame, key charms of your logo spread over his thighs. At this point, Timothy Wright was questioning everything he knew about his lifelong companion.

“So, you get into it recently or?” Tim reclined after half-hazardously pushing the belongings back into the glove box. Crossing his arms when Hoodie grumbled. “Got into it a while back-” He opened his mouth, only to be cut off by the others' outburst. “It’s a good series. It ain’t like that mind-rotting shit you see everywhere. It’s honest fuckin’ work, Tim.”

The passion in his voice was not lost, and Masky side-eyed him like he’d grown three heads. He supposed that people needed outlets- it was just that those outlets normally involved alcohol, violence or substances.

On one hand, he was somewhat glad Brian wasn’t losing his mind, downing unmarked pills. On the other hand, he was a grown-ass man with pictures of some random girl in his truck. It was an odd situation to navigate, and he wasn’t sure how to respond.

The man wasn’t doing any wrong, and this was objectively a harmless interest. It was just jarring because of how they lived, who they were. Imagining Hoodie going through the Polaroids alone, excitedly reading each volume, felt dystopian. Unrealistic, almost, yet here he was. Utterly balls-deep in your story and willing to defend your name.

Tim was stuck at a crossroads. He technically could just let it go. Let Brian continue his love for your media and keep to himself- but this was a golden opportunity. Hoodie was damn near the baddest of the bunch, and his favourite pastime was reading about magical girls.

It was hilarious.

Turning to his left, he exhaled slowly. “You like the frills, huh?” Teasing laid on thick. His jab had Brian clicking his tongue in annoyance. “Shut the hell up. S’not like that, she’s- she’s good at what she does. It’s a well-produced show-”

“You watchin’ shows now?”

“We spend all day blowing motherfuckers heads off- but fuck me if I ain’t wanna’ see that shit on TV, right?”

His sentence ended with a sharp huff, and Masky whistled. “Shit, didn’t mean it like that. You jus’ ain’t seem like the type.” Smoke curled into the air, wafting past Hoodie's vision as he readjusted his grip on the wheel. It made him frown.

“The hell is that supposed to mean?” Offended before Tim could explain himself, he had to laugh. “Easy- I’m sayin’ yer’ not exactly the sparkly type.” He was right, and Hoodie, despite himself, felt his lips tugging up. “I’m versatile.” Brothers in arms, even if they got on each other’s nerves every minute of the day.

The rest of the drive was brisk, the boys bickering back and forth for the entirety of it. And when the manor was within sight, the car slowed to a halt.

Brian rushed up the stairs as discreetly as he could. He was sore from head to toe, exhausted beyond belief- yet, he had done it. The plush he’d snagged of you wasn’t just regular merch; it was a special model. A rare, limited edition replica. He saw the launch a bit ago, but it wasn’t anywhere near their town. And it’s not like he could ship it here.

Even if he could, with what money? They were barely getting by as is; he couldn’t drop a few hundred for a collectible. It wasn’t in his cards- or so he thought. The moment he laid his eyes upon your figure on that shelf was a moment unlike any other. It was perfect. They were already long dead, and the plush was his for the taking.

Stepping into his room, he locked the door behind him. It was time to get serious. That had been the last assignment for this week; he hadn’t been scheduled for any more jobs. So tonight was for me-time. He took a quick shower to clean off the blood and dirt, then immediately plugged in his laptop.

There were a plethora of streaming websites that offered reruns and new drops of your show. From season one to season five, they had it all, and he wasn’t caught up due to being on the field basically all month.

He swiftly tapped the twelfth episode, shuffling against the pillows while the screen flashed the words. “Sand Castle Dilemma.” Beach themed, huh? Most of your plots were battle-involving, so this must be a filler of some kind. Either way, he needed a much-deserved break from gore, and this would be a nice change of pace.

The viewing went as expected, with you and your friends wrestling over who had the best sand sculpture. And maybe it was stupid, but your lighthearted jokes always brightened his mood. Brian was in the middle of appreciating your artistic talents on the shore, the episode coming to an end, when you said something that made him pause.

“Breaking news, loveys! I’m going on a super-duper top-secret mission. If you’re in the Rosswood area, I could really use the help. But between us, I think I got it—”

After your dialogue faded, instead of the usual credits, an info page popped up. You were going on tour, doing meet-and-greets in different towns. Gathering “allies” in your fight against injustice, they were expected to dress up in their Sunday best. Basically, put on a hero suit, for lack of better wording. It had him sitting straight, hurriedly searching for details. Of course, he couldn’t go, but it wouldn’t hurt to look.

Yet the more he read, the more he wanted to attend. It didn’t even cost more than a pack of smokes, and he could last a week without lighting a cigarette after every drive. It’s not like anyone would notice, he could just slip into the crowd. Stay long enough to see you, maybe get you to sign something, then he’d disappear.

Yes, there was a very high possibility that he’d scare you. Yes, he was willing to bet on those odds.

It wouldn’t be your fault, of course not. He knew what he looked like, how he came off- it was natural for most civilians to avoid eye contact standing around him, let alone interacting with him. He made people uneasy. Which worked great when he was trying to literally waterboard information out of someone, but not quite suited for a cheerful meet-and-greet. So with a heavy heart, he accepted a blaring, very troubling fact.

Brian needed a disguise.

ᯓ★

“You want… a fox head?

“Mm.”

Laughing Jack had been around for a very, very long time, and never had he been this stumped. When there was a knock on the attack door, he’d expected Jeff, high and in need of snacks. Ben, annoying him to bum off sweets- shit, maybe even Toby. What he had not planned for was Hoodie. The ever-brooding, always scowling Brian Thomas himself. Asking for a mascot fox head of all things.

He quirked his head to the side, curious. “What for?” The evident excitement in his swirled pupils made Hoodie roll his eyes. “An assignment. I need to blend in with some fuckin’ parade bullshit.” A lie, but LJ didn’t need to know that.

The jester clapped his hands together loudly, cackling while he strided into his seemingly endless circus-themed space. “Oh, goodie! It’s about time that Mr. Boss sent you to do something fun.” He rifled next to a comically sized popcorn stand, throwing out things that definitely did not fit behind the machine. Fucking clowns.

Brian sighed, and LJ tugged up a cartoonish mask. Bouncing back over, he held the costume out to Hoodie theatrically. “This might be my finest work yet!” The item was lined with soft fur, orange with black-tipped ears and a button-nosed snout. He grunted a “Thank you.” Then headed on his way, promising to owe the monochrome demon a favour later.

If he came home with at least one thing of official merch, this would all be worth it.

Hopefully.

The next step of his disguise fiasco was the outfit. All his current clothing was either blood-stained, grimy, or worn down beyond the acceptable limit for nice events. He needed something new. Immediately. Your tour was arriving in town that very week, which meant he had to have the items ready in less than two days. It was time to get serious.

Though with his budgeting struggle, he couldn’t just walk into any respectable store. It left him with one resort left. Robbery post murder. Not great, yet it was necessary.

The second greatest embarrassment he’d ever experienced was during the next mission.

A three-man job. Him, Toby, and Tim had packed into the truck like sardines, executing the target before disposing of the bodies. The usual stuff. His plan was to linger behind a bit, give himself enough time to snoop the victim's wardrobe and snag some decent pants- maybe a sleek button-up. Except that Rogers apparently had the same idea in mind, and Hoodie was caught red-handed.

Standing in the doorway, Toby gaped at Brian, jaw slack. He’d snuck up the stairs, going to grab some new laces since his Converse were starting to break down, only to find the sniper holding up a suit jacket to his chest. The two stared at each other for a hefty thirty seconds, and the boy pursed his lips.

“You going s-somewhere soon or?”

Brian marched towards him instantly, muttering harshly under his breath. “If you run yer’ goddamn mouth, I’ll make sure you ain’t wake up tomorrow, Tobias. Do you understand?” Toby threw his hands up, shaking his head frantically. “Okay! S-shit- I wasn’t gonna’ snitch, man, jeez.” The older man narrowed his eyes, shoving the garments into his bag and pushing past Toby after.

The car ride was oddly tense on Toby’s behalf, Hoodie glaring at him through the rearview mirror every few seconds. He shrank further into his seat and gave Masky a lacklustre thumbs up when he raised a brow from the passenger side.

The blonde felt bad to a certain extent. He knew Toby wasn’t ill-intentioned; it’s just that he couldn’t risk anyone tampering- whether by accident or not.

He’ll stop by the gas station and pick up the boys' favourite candy another day.

ᯓ★

This was it.

He felt like a grade-A dumbass loitering in public with the mascot head on, but it was for a greater purpose. And in all honesty, if it weren’t for the ludicrousity of the mask, his outfit was actually pretty passable, in his opinion.

A rustic tanned suit, beige dress shirt and slacks to match, the look finished with a muted yellow bowtie. He stood amongst the bustling fans as he waited for you to make your appearance. While he was utterly humiliated by his own choices, he was also filled with anticipation. You were going to be here. He was going to be able to hear your voice in person.

God, this was pathetic.

He scrunched his eyes shut, taking a moment to suppress the self-awareness. However, before he could spiral too far, a honeyed pitch echoed across the stage. It was a smaller setup, stationed close to the woodline for event privacy. The venue occupied was usually used for community plays, yet it was grand all the same.

You bounded out from beyond the draping curtains, waving animatedly to the audience. The blinding lights made you glow, multicoloured as they swooped the crowd before landing on you. Skirt swishing, he thinks he can see glitter explode out from your shoes when you step.

“Hello, my darlings! I’m so glad you could make it out tonight! There’s an urgent mission that needs your help. Who’s up for the challenge? Because we need the bravest and strongest at the frontlines.”

The show was made to be interactive. It didn’t act as the normal fan sign-up; instead, it was a live reenactment of your show's plotlines. You had weapon replicas for auction, along with games to play on stage to win extra items.

People were called up randomly, and the age demographic was shockingly vast. It turned out he wasn’t the only one who thought you were the greatest thing since sliced bread.

Originally, he wanted to try attaining an autograph- but pushing his way past people to get near the stadium front was something he would judge himself too much for. He settled on simply watching from a distance, enjoying himself for the evening and pretending he didn’t have enough blood on his hands to drown a nation.

However, in the middle of a spin-to-win type game, a “villain” jumped up from stage left. They swung their sword towards you, challenging you to a duel with a henchman at their side. You planted your heels firmly, hands on your hips, declaring. “Well then- I suppose I should call in my super secret backup!” You winked at the masses. “Where’s my sniper!” Then the beams of light circled the audience- sharply stopping directly on Brian.

The flashes made him squint even through the mask, and he faltered. Okay. Sure. If he could snipe men in moving cars, doing it for the sake of showbiz couldn’t be that hard, right?

The people around him cheered, lively, while he was ushered up. Now stationed on the platform, he drew a slow breath. It was too late to back out now, and if he was going to do this, he was going to go all the way. Brain kicking into gear as he transitioned into his improvised persona. He dropped into a deep bow, one hand on his chest, the other behind his back, when he rose. Thank god for his acting classes back in college.

“At your service, pretty miss.”

His mannerisms appeared to surprise you for a second, before your eyes sparkled. Grinning, you snatched a bedazzled rifle from your box of gadgets, tossing it at him before focusing on the threat. Your star-accented wand was pointed at the pair, with him joining you by your side- and the rest was history.

Hoodie stayed on stage for the majority of the night after that, since you seemed to take a liking to him. Naming him your “Trusted right-hand man.” The two of you battled various attackers, helping the younger fans aim with fake crystal laser canons and hyping up the crowd. As stupid as it might sound, it was the first time in years he’d laughed that much.

The kids were sweet, bushy-tailed, with enough energy to put Rogers to shame. It reminded him that not everyone out there was born cruel, that not every person who walked the earth had their fate damned to sin. And his banter with you was flawless.

You riffed off one another, bits on bits, your humour somehow lined up perfectly. He would throw out an idea, and you’d incorporate it into the next act like you’d known each other for years. You’d even said the same thing at the same time throughout the night, to the point where half the audience believed he was an unannounced hire.

Still, even the most sensational experiences had to come to an end. Slowly, the set began wrapping up, and you bid him goodbye, saying that if you ever needed help saving the world again, you’d know just who to call.

Walking back, his watch read ‘11:31 PM.’ A night well spent. He sighed, cracking his neck. He doubted he’d ever do anything like that again, but it was a good memory to keep. The night when he wasn’t a cold-blooded killer, but a wondrous hero who fought in the name of justice. It made him huff a chuckle quietly, going to remove the mask— he heard you.

“What the fuck-”

The panic in your voice had him straightening his spine, alert. He darted around the corner, boots thudding against concrete. The dim street lights showed him your silhouette a couple of paces down the block, terrified as you stumbled away from the source of your horror. A rake.

They roamed this part of the trees, normally scared off by noise, yet the hordes had faded. It was rare they came wandering this far, but he guessed the accumulated scent of humans lured the beast out for dinner.

Where was your security? Not that it mattered. You were alone and in danger, and he was not going to let you get hurt. The gun was in his hand before he registered that he was running.

He charged forward, mascot head still covering his features when he slid in front of you, pistol aimed at the creature.

You gasped. “It’s you.” Clutching your hands to your chest, you jolted back harshly, watching the disfigured husk lunge at him. Brian, on the other hand, barely flinching, pulled the trigger. The bullet pierced the rake's leg, and it screeched inhumanly.

Warping its limbs violently, it whirled a claw at your saviour, and he ducked smoothly, practiced. He moved skillfully, sweeping his leg to the left, then pushing in. He swerved to avoid another slash, jumping over a low hit before jamming the steel barrel under the thing’s jaw. Its brain’s splattered with the loud reverb from his pistol, and it slumped to the pavement.

Chest heaving, he rolled his shoulders back, not facing you while he tucked the gun into his waistband. “You alright?” You stuttered, disoriented. “Yeah- yeah. I’m fine. I think.” You didn’t know what just happened, a headache forming the longer you stared at the crumpled body on the ground. You glanced up, and he spun on his heel.

“Why are you out here?”

The teasing lilt you’d gotten accustomed to had vanished, replaced by a stern edge. You swallowed. “I was- I don’t know, it gets stuffy in the trailer. I wanted to walk for a bit.” The explanation made him grunt, clicking his tongue. “Bring yer’ people with you next time. This town’s not what it seems. It ain’t safe past dark.” You nodded, your mysterious co-star turning to leave, hauling the monster up by the arm to tow with him.

Your hand shot out, grabbing his sleeve, and he froze. “Thank you for saving me. Can I, um. Do anything for you?” It most likely wasn’t terribly smart to cling to him. It’s just that you were still shaken up, and you weren’t ecstatic about walking to the car by yourself. Dangerous or not, he clearly knew what he was doing. You were safer in his presence, you’re sure.

Sighing, his head tilted a fraction over his shoulder. “You should get back, missus. I’m not someone you wanna’ be around.” You pouted, desperate. You didn’t care anymore; you would beg if you had to. “Canyoupleasewalkmeback?” The words were rushed out- he hesitated, then the man turned to you. “If I walk you back, you can’t tell nobody I was with you. You hear me?” You nodded hurriedly once more, and he shucked the corpse onto the floor, making a mental note to take care of it after.

He stayed by your side until you reached the border of the stadium entrance, the distant chatter of your crew reaching his ears.

You mumbled, fidgeting with your thumbs. “Will I ever see you again?” He exhaled through his nose. “You should pray that you don’t.” With that, he swivelled around, his figure fading out of view and into the midnight.

Despite everything, his absence left you strangely empty.

ᯓ★

Almost a full week had passed, and Brian was back on schedule.

He still collected your magazines, keeping up with your episodes. He hated how badly he wanted to linger. Alas, it wasn’t safe. You’d already seen too much, and he couldn’t risk putting you in any more danger by staying longer than he had. Though the way you looked at him would play on loop every time he closed his eyes.

Your smile, how you held onto him during the walk. It felt nice to be able to comfort you. Even if you had no idea what you were getting into or who he really was, he liked to think that you meant it when you laughed with him.

Snagging a cigarette out from the box, it sat loosely between his lips as his lighter clicked to life. The flame sizzled against tobacco, and he shuffled through the newspaper lazily.

The truck was parked out in front of a corner store near the highway. They had just finished a stakeout, so he had room to breathe. Flipping to the next page, the header was printed with bolded text. He grinned.

“StarGirl Icon saved by The Fantastic Mr. Fox.”

— ^ ^ —

This visual novel is powered by GOOGLE SLIDES! It has 0 programming and was created by one person in a little over a month, so please bear with any "bugs" and clunkiness!

TUTORIAL

>Click using mouse/trackpad >Go slowly to not break game >Do not use arrow or space keys

EXTRA NOTES:

>Works best on PC/Browser, I haven't tested the full game on mobile yet >In general, clicking the PNGs on the textbox (Apple, Teddy Bear, Hatchet, etc) will lead you to the right page >If you land on a page that tells you to "go back," that's when you should click the back-arrow key. If your cursor disappears, it doesn't register the click correctly >I recommend moving your cursor periodically to avoid it disappearing and sending you to the wrong page

EXTRA ART

some WIPS and the original sprite-style i was gonna choose LOOOOOOOL

Q&A

Q: Is this an x reader? A: This is a reader-insert, but it's not romantic and I try to keep it as neutral and unidentifiable as possible! Q: What's the plot? A: GENERALLY AND WITHOUT SPOILERS, your dog gets you into trouble and you're just looking to help him!

Q: Who is in the prologue? A: Tim, Brian, Toby, and Kate! More will be added in future chapters.

Q: When will future chapters be posted? A: Not sure! This took me about a month to do, and half was spent over winter break. I will try to get chapter 1 posted before summer, but I am a full-time student, employed, have extracurriculars, etc etc

ok thats all i only remember 4 questions feel free to ask more LMAO

CHATTER(because you know i can talk forever)

ok i just wanted to be able to talk about how the process was with this and how i feel about the results and whatnot...

ive been wanting to make a google slides visual novel since i was like 13 LOL it hit the point where i was repeatedly told i should just learn to code but i was like NOOOOO ITS GOTTA BE GOOGLE SLIDESSSS which is totally stupid but hey. i think that gives it some sort of simple charm that reminds me of being 16 and doing little projects in my room LOL i like working with the easiest tools . my bad

anyway. im just very happy LOL. it's not perfect but i feel like i came full circle in a sense?!?! i've been into creepypasta since i was 9 and it comforted me when things were really hard, and when i was 18 i was going through a really hard time and got back into creepypasta as a way to distract myself. i've always had a habit of throwing myself into fiction for escapism when things suuucked.

i'm 20 now but i've met SO many amazing people, had so many fun awesome exciting projects with friends, created tons of stuff im proud of, felt more motivated to create since i was like 13, have been inspired by so many amazing artists/authors on here, etc. just so so so lucky to find community in such a tight-knit cute fandom that thrives off of creativity and playing around! i hope i can keep the momentum and make a couple more chapters this year, but im kinda busy with school and work...LOL . i'm just excited to have this posted so i can have more discussion about it T_T