#artistscollab

He was watching you. Always watching you. 

Well- to be fair, he was always watching everyone. You knew when he was the trial's designated killer because you would catch the glint of a red light in the trees, a glare off the lens of a camera that watched you from the corner as you tried to work on a generator as stealthily as possible. Before you even had a chance to wipe the grease of the gears off your fingers he would be on you with a spark of electricity, razor sharp claws raking down your back or arm as you tried to get away with his distinct laugh ringing in your ears.

The other killers could be mindless- chasing you around the same rock or set of trees for minutes at a time while the others popped off generators left and right, absent obsession fueling their pursuit of you like they didn’t realize you were merely buying time for your friends. 

Vox was just as ruthless, but worse- he was smart. Cunning. Somehow he always knew which corner you were going to turn, which windows you were going to try and vault through, and despite your best efforts you could never get him close enough to a pallet to slam it on his head and bust that screen of his wide open. You had managed it one time, relishing in the satisfying crunch of shattered glass as he swore and you darted away.

Only for him to find you while you healed yourself and drop you onto a hook anyway, his smirk taunting and cruel before chasing your teammates away when they tried to rescue you.

And despite it all, you felt drawn to him. Not drawn enough to actively seek him out in a trial, but sometimes you would watch from the sidelines as he chased the others, follow his meandering path around the lodge at Mount Ormond from the balcony on the second floor. At first it was a macabre fascination- where had he come from? What had brought him here? How much of him was really a machine? Your curiosity regarding his body warped over time to a keen interest, and before you knew it the purpose of your eyes on him had changed- no longer just watching him to see where he carried your teammates off to but appreciating the way his muscles flexed and moved beneath his clothing, admiring the delicate lines of his claw tipped fingers when he grabbed the edges of a window to chase after someone.

This was why you felt you were different from his surveillance of everyone else- you knew he could see you when you did this, watching him the same way he watched you through the cameras, and he never altered his course when you engaged in this behavior. It was only when you were working on generators, healing your friends, doing the things that needed to be done in order to survive, that he would spring forth from the cameras and start slashing and taunting.

The first time you had felt that flash of heat through your core watching him lick a stray drop of your blood from his claws after he threw you on a hook, you had been so ashamed you didn’t even bother trying to keep the Entity’s claws from coming down for you, your teammates too far away to help anyway. It got easier to live with though, something new and dangerously exciting when you looked at him and imagined the way his body looked under his clothes, wondered how calloused his fingertips were and how they would feel dragging across your skin with the intention of pleasure rather than pain.

Almost like a punishment for daring to feel something other than fear and despair when you looked at him, the Entity wasn’t kind enough to give you chances to observe Vox all that often; time didn’t really exist in this realm, but it felt like you had been in back to back to back matches for days, only at the campfire long enough for your wounds from Pyramid Head in the Swamp to be reset before you were being whisked away to be locked into a head cage by the Pig at the meat plant. It was never ending, constant torture that had you exhausted, moving slowly and always fumbling on the generators; which in turn had your teammates upset with you, and they would leave you to bleed out on the ground or struggle on the hooks while the rest of them worked away at the generators all the way across the map.

This time, when you landed in Haddonfield and everyone took off without you, you opted to just stay out of sight- you would hide in lockers, maybe hole up in a car and just rest until the others had finished the generators or gotten themselves killed, depending on who the killer was. Then you could make your way to a gate or try to find the hatch as long as they didn’t find you first.

You hear Yun-Jin start a generator near you and sneak off in the other direction; a smart choice, since your heartbeat picks up not even a full fifteen seconds later, Yun-Jin’s scream echoing with the sound of Vox’s laughter as he tosses her onto the hook. 

You peek over the rock that you hide behind as he turns, brushing dirt off his suit and straightening his bowtie- when he looks up he locks eyes with you across the field, flashing you a wide, sharp-toothed smile before he zaps into the nearby camera and is gone, another scream from David sounding off shortly after.

Your heart is still, so you take the risk and head towards Yun-Jin crouched low to the ground, just in case he’s watching. Your arms shake as you help her down, and she doesn’t say anything before she’s rushing off, leaving a trail of blood in her wake. You sigh and kick at a rock on the ground, debating if you should follow her and offer assistance.

“Damn, not even a thank you? And you all think I’m brutal.”

You stumble to the ground in your haste to turn around, but he doesn’t rush at you- just watches, like he watches through the cameras, like he watches you watch him. “Don’t be so dramatic,” he scoffs. “I’m not here for you, doll- not yet.” He drops to a crouch in front of you, his screen so close you can feel the static on the screen making your hair raise; he brings his fingers up from the ground, wet and red with Yun-Jin’s blood. His face changes, pulling up a surveillance feed; you can see Yun-Jin in one little square, desperately trying to heal herself without assistance; David and Ace work on a generator in the basement of one of the buildings, not even glancing at the cameras that hold them in their glass stare. You’re half expecting him to spring suddenly, luring you into a false sense of safety, but it doesn’t come- a little cursor comes across the screen and clicks on the staticky image of the men and he’s gone.

You’re not going to assume he would let you escape twice, so you creep into one of the houses and find a locker in a room that didn’t appear to have any cameras. You should feel bad, you think, about simply hiding while the others tried to do what needed to be done to escape; but Yun-Jin hadn’t even said ‘thanks’ for risking your ass to pull her off the hook, and most of the other survivors never bothered to help you either since your exhaustion had started to get the best of your normally nimble fingers. A couple were reliable- Adam, Jane, and Claudette could usually be counted on to help get you out of a sticky situation- but these three in particular that you were facing Vox with? They could help themselves.  

The others are too far away to hear them scream, but the two booms that ripple across the map when two of your teammates are sacrificed to the Entity can be heard from anywhere. There’s a scuffle outside the house and David stumbles in, bleeding from a deep gash in his back- a crackle of electricity and Vox is right after him, another swipe of those sharp claws dropping him to the floor. Vox peers at the locker in front of him- like he can see you through the slats, he winks before he picks David up and leaves the room to find a hook.

You should run. Flee the locker before he came back, your heart kicking into overdrive as the final sound rings out that tells you David is gone.

You don’t get a chance. The door to the locker is yanked open, and there stands Vox, his arms resting on the top of the opening and leaning in so that he’s all you can see, so you can’t escape. “Looks like you’re our lucky winner!” He says cheerfully, sounds like an old-timey game show sounding off from his screen, and he reaches into the locker to grab your arm. “How handy- I’ve been meaning to have a chat with you, my dear. Let’s go somewhere more comfortable, shall we?”

Connected as you are, when he flashes into the camera you’re pulled with him- left with a feeling not unlike laughing gas at the dentist when you’re deposited into the living room of one of the houses. “Have a seat,” he offers, gesturing to the couch before you as you wobble on your feet. When you turn jerkily, only half a thought in your head saying to run, his grip on your arm tightens; he turns you to face him, other hand coming up to tilt your face up to meet his eyes. “Sit down.” He says firmly this time, and the red of his eye is swirling with black lines that seem to say trust me trust me trust me.

You sit, and Vox looks surprised. “Fuck, I didn’t think that would work,” he laughs. “That’s good to know.” He looks thoughtful for a moment before he drags the nearby armchair to sit in front of you, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees while you watch one another. “Something to try in a trial sometime, maybe-”

“Are you going to kill me?” You ask, and he laughs loud and fake in the overwhelming silence of the room.

“I’m just trying to have a conversation! I gotta tell ya, I was having a lot of fun chasing you and your friends around but it was starting to get a little stale- and then there you are!” He gives you a wide smile, the sharpness of his teeth glinting in the low light of the house. “Always looking at me from behind trees and shit while I hunt down your teammates, watching me from the balconies and through windows- I know all about surveillance but it’s enough to make a man blush, sweetheart.”

His words make you blush- you had figured that he knew about you watching him, but not that he had picked up on your… interest. You try to stammer out a rebuttal and he laughs, waving you down with a mischievous look in his eyes. “None of that denial,” he chides. “I’m not here to judge; I’m quite flattered.” He winks at you again, the swirl of his eye lazy but not compelling you in any way, merely holding you in its gaze. “And that brings me here with a proposition! Mutually beneficial to the both of us, I can assure you.”

“What… do you want?” You ask cautiously, and his smile turns wicked, red drool dripping from the corners of his mouth.

He shocks you by stripping off the vest he wears over his white shirt, tossing it over his shoulder. “I’m a performer at heart, doll- the nature of a man in news means I love an audience, and an audience of one can be exciting in the right context.” He leans back into the armchair and pops a few buttons on his shirt, running his hands down his chest to the belt buckle that rests at the center of his waistband. “I want you to do what you’ve been doing so well lately- watch me.”

His belt clinks as he undoes the buckle, and your mouth runs dry. He teases electric blue claws against the zipper, a growing bulge under the seam that’s obvious to your eyes in the dim light of his screen. “What’s. What’s the mutually beneficial part here?” You ask, only stammering a little, and he chuckles low and dark.

“Depends,” he murmurs, “do you think the ‘show’ is your good part or mine?” He brushes his fingers against the outline of his cock, having hardened further under your watchful gaze, and a groan crackles out of his throat, staticky and harsh.

“It could be both,” you say absently, watching him finally draw the zipper down- the glowing that comes from his lap should be off-putting, but it’s not. You clench your thighs together, resisting the urge to rub them for some attempt at friction when his hand dips inside of his slacks and pulls his length out; hard, leaking from the tip until he swipes a dark blue thumb over it which a moan, a soft neon glow that seems to come from somewhere inside.

“It’s actually meant to be yours,” he says, “which means you’re kinda leaving me hanging here, sugar.” He stretches a leg across the expanse between your chair, knocking his foot against your feet to move them to the sides, the sweatpants you wear stretching tight across your lap as he essentially kicks your legs apart. “We should both be getting something out of this.” 

You catch his meaning, only hesitating for a moment before shifting enough on the couch that you can start shimmying your pants down past your knees. 

“Gimme a real show, doll,” he whispers roughly, dragging his fist up and down his cock slowly. “Let me see you.” His other hand finishes unbuttoning his shirt, the skin that he exposes a deep navy, littered with scars that only serve to draw your attention more fully to him. His claws tease over a glowing nipple- was that a USB port? - and the action causes sparks that rain down his abdomen.

You keep your gaze on him as you brush lightly against your clit through your panties, the shock of pleasure making your hips jerk. You apply more pressure, a swift circling around the sensitive nerves, and a moan breaks free of the barrier of your lips. Vox meets it with one of his own, the fist around his cock stroking earnestly, the fingers of his free hand trailing up and down his body, coming down to cup and squeeze his balls while he watches you.

“Fuck me, that’s fucking sexy,” he growls, his voice like gravel- his eyes are narrowed in between your legs like a man possessed, the intensity of his gaze like fire, like lightning. Your entire body is flushed, dripping with sweat when you copy him and let your free hand cup your breasts, tease the nipples through your thin shirt. “You like having eyes on you, sweetheart? Pull those little panties aside, show me what you like.”

You do as he asks, pulling the gusset of your soaked blue panties to the side and trailing a finger through the slickness of your folds. Your breath leaves you in shaky gasps as you press a digit inside, the angle not quite right for hitting that sweet spot that made you see stars. It had been so long since you had indulged in a little self pleasure, certainly at least before you had been swept up in the fog and taken to the entity’s realm; even with the thoughts you had had about this man you had never gone so far as actually touching yourself with the lack of privacy around the campfire and in the trials. The touch alone was good, but to have Vox watching you so closely, the wet sounds of him stroking his cock mingling in the air with those that came from your fingers pressing desperately into your cunt, a second joining the first too soon, was burning bliss that raced through your veins. 

His tongue hangs from his mouth, drool dangling obscenely from the end of it; he leans forward enough that it drips over his prick, the added wetness making everything so much louder as his rhythm sped up. “Come on, sweetness, fuck that pretty pussy for me,” he pants, his eyes glued to where your fingers begin thrusting into yourself, the drip of your arousal leaking from your stretched entrance. “Nice and loud so the camera picks it up.”

Your eyes dart to the surveillance camera in the corner of the room that the two of you had come jolting out of, the lens wide and glaring and pointed right at you. “You’re recording?” You ask breathlessly, hot desire flashing through you at the idea of him coming back to this moment between trials, looking at a playback of you fucking yourself on your fingers like a whore just because he told you, because he wanted to watch you do it. 

“She won’t let us stay here forever,” he says, a harsh grunt tearing free of his throat as his strokes pick up speed, slick, rhythmic sounds that echo in your ear and make your head slow and fuzzy. As he says it, the whole realm seems to creak and groan and shift, like reaffirming that the Entity was displeased with how you were using her little world of chaos. “Just getting a little something to tide me over til next time.”

Next time. A moan slips from between your lips, letting yourself lean back further against the cushions so you can angle your fingers correctly to brush against the textured spot of sensitive tissue inside. “What’s the plan for next time?” You inquire, watching his fingers glide effortlessly over the illuminated flesh of his cock- he seems to harden further at your words, leaking from the tip in a way that makes your mouth water. With any luck, your next encounter would involve actually getting to touch him; to feel all that hard flesh under your hands, raking divots into his skin, tasting the salty musk of his precum on your tongue before sinking into his lap. Your cunt flutters uselessly around your fingers, pleasurable but not enough when you think about being stuffed full with the promising erection that Vox held in his fist.

“Once I get rid of your little friends,” he says in a stage whisper, “I’m going to d̸̡̩͍̔ͥ͜ę̷̵̧̖̫̗̆̊s̩͙͖̋͛͟t̴͕͖͓̀r̶̷̲͍̭͐̾̀͟ȍ̸̢̢̮͚̐̚y̯̤͑́́̓́ y̯̤͑́́̓́ȍ̸̢̢̮͚̐̚û̶͙̽̿͆̈.” His hand flies in slick strokes over his cock as he races towards completion, the pixels of his eyes not even blinking as he watches you desperately try to shove your fingers further, reach as deep as you knew he would. The corruption of his voice, like his internal system was at its very limits, makes you clench hard around your fingers, arousal burning in every bit of skin that was under his gaze. “Bend you over the closest surface and fuck you stupid- make sure every time you catch a glimpse of my cameras you remember being stretched around my prick and b͔͔̳͈̊̆ͥ͂͜͝ḛ̡̰̳͓̥ͬ͋ͪͧg̬̬̱ͩ͋͟͟g̬̬̱ͩ͋͟͟i̧̻̻͉̜͑ͪ̾͟n̫̫̘̗͕̲̲̎ͥg̬̬̱ͩ͋͟͟ m̰̰̹͚̙̂ͦ͗͠ḛ̡̰̳͓̥ͬ͋ͪͧ to cum.”

Your legs tremble, muscles tensing as your orgasm barrels closer. “Oh God,” you moan, so close that every part of you aches with the need for release- your head thrashes against the cushions of the couch, nerves overstimulated and raw and eyes locked on where his thumb brushed against his head, the entire length twitching in his grip as he watches you in turn.

“Or maybe I’ll let them live and fill up that sweet mouth first,” he grunts, “see if your muscle memory is good enough to do a generator while I fuck your face- better not fuck it up unless you want your teammates to see you g̴̶̛̮̣͙͠ă̶̸̝ͦ͊̿͋͞g̴̶̛̮̣͙͠g̴̶̛̮̣͙͠i̵͓͙̱͚̎͟n̷̶̯͉̊̽̐ͦ͘g̴̶̛̮̣͙͠ for a killer’s cock-” Static flashes across his screen, a sudden snowstorm that glitches his face out before he lurches forward, his free hand gouging deep gashes into the arm of the couch you lay across. “F̵̦̺͕́̐͟û̶͙̽̿͆̈c̷̹͖͋́̃k̶̸͙̭̹͆͟, g̴̶̛̮̣͙͠ȍ̸̢̢̮͚̐̚n̷̶̯͉̊̽̐ͦ͘n̷̶̯͉̊̽̐ͦ͘ă̶̸̝ͦ͊̿͋͞ c̷̹͖͋́̃û̶͙̽̿͆̈m̶̷͔ͪ̽͡--”

The camera in the corner goes dark as he spills over his fingers, the glow lightly flashing up the length of his shaft with every pulse into his hand- his release splashes across your bared skin, hot and thick, a deep, dark flash of arousal through your core at the sensation. You’re a hair trigger away from your own orgasm when he pulls his claws from the couch arm and stills your hands. The burning pleasure cools, frustration taking its place at his interruption until you see his face has come back, his eyes dark and drool dripping from the edges of his razor sharp teeth.

“Open those lips for me, sugar,” he says softly, and you do so with no hesitation; his claws slip between your lips and over your tongue, the salty, musky taste of his cum overwhelming your senses. You try in vain to get your fingers moving again, Vox’s hand squeezing lightly to deter the attempted movements. “Suck,” he says darkly, his left eye glowing red and swirling, but you’d have done it even without the compulsion that weaved through your mind, so desperate for whatever pleasure he could give you that you’d do whatever he asked. 

You apply the suction he’s requested, hollowing your cheeks and sliding your tongue between his fingers, licking every drop of his release that you can find. He keeps those fingers in your mouth and uses his other hand to knock yours away from your pussy, careful with his claws as he tears your soaked panties from your body and swipes his fingers through the slick of your arousal. You moan around his fingers when he slides a digit into you, long and strong and immediately putting pressure right where you need it, where you couldn’t properly reach before. “That’s fucking right,” he growls, and the gravel in his voice has your cunt clamping down on him when he pushes another finger in, thrusting fast and hard- the coil in your abdomen tenses, drool and humiliating noises escaping through your parted lips as he drags you to the edge. “Go on, baby, fucking s̩͙͖̋͛͟c̷̹͖͋́̃r̶̷̲͍̭͐̾̀͟ę̷̵̧̖̫̗̆̊ă̶̸̝ͦ͊̿͋͞m̶̷͔ͪ̽͡ f̷̵̫̞̉͢ȍ̸̢̢̮͚̐̚r̶̷̲͍̭͐̾̀͟ m̶̷͔ͪ̽͡ę̷̵̧̖̫̗̆̊…”

Your orgasm rips through you like a hook to the shoulder, every muscle clenching hard, your soft inner walls fluttering as Vox’s hand is drenched. Your veins are alight with electric pleasure that’s prolonged with every additional push of his fingers fucking in and out of you, his thumb coming up to brush insistently at your clit. The added sensation toes the line of too much, the pleasure almost painful as he works you straight through one orgasm to another, his eyes- and the camera- never leaving your body as it seizes up again, Vox’s presence finally leaving your mouth so you can whimper and cry his name loud enough to echo in the empty house.

When he finally withdraws from the clutch of your pussy, his fingers are soaked and dripping with your release- he brings them to his mouth, long tongue darting out to lick you from his skin. He slides a hand under your head and tilts your face to the corner of the room. “Smile pretty for the camera,” he says, letting his tongue trail around the shell of your ear, and you feel a fucked out grin steal across your features before he lets you collapse into the cushions again.

Everything is pleasant and fuzzy- your body still tingles from the aftershocks of two vigorous orgasms, and Vox’s arms are strong and muscular under your back as he lifts you. “Easy, sweetheart,” he murmurs, and he’s repositioning you to rest against his shoulder, standing and lifting you from the couch with ease. “Fuck, I knew you’d be good for me. Stay just like that, yeah?” He makes his way through the house, and as you walk you can hear the hum of the hatch- it seemed like now that you had both finished, he was going to let you escape…

But your eyes open when the hum of the hatch fades, Vox’s grip still strong on your waist as he also bypasses the exit gate. “Um- Vox?” You crane your neck to see him striding purposefully towards the hook in the middle of the road, the Entity’s claws already poised and ready above it. 

Panic overrides the soft pliancy that had taken over your body, immediately struggling against the firm hold that he had on you- but you’d never managed to successfully wiggle free of him in any trial. “Don’t be like that,” he chides you, your movement at least pulling him a little off course. “It’s nothing personal, doll- we had a good time together but at the end of the day, business is business! Gotta answer to the lady upstairs- don’t hold it against me next time.” He passes by a pallet, and in a surge of desperation you reach for it- your fingers just manage to catch it, pulling hard so it slams into his body, a solid sound that echoes in the empty realm.

It’s enough- just barely, but it’s enough. His grip loosens and you drop from his shoulder, and you take the brief moment of his confusion to slam his head down hard into the wood. It breaks under the force of him, the sound of shattering glass and cursing filling your ears before you dart away on shaky legs, not waiting to see the aftermath.

Night. It was always fucking night.

Danny hadn't minded when the entity, whatever it was, had called on him. When the fog arrived, shortly after he left Roseville, he had embraced it, yeah, even felt giddy - he hated boredom, loved the thrill of the chase. And the realm the soundless voice promised him seemed to be a remedy for both. His old routine renewed by almost wickedly enhanced powers, his slaughters improved with every new, fresh meat hooked that he didn't care enough about to learn their names.

The first weeks the entity sent him alone into the woods in between trials. An unspoken pledge that once Danny has proven his worth, he'd join the others. Killers, like him, an arsenal of evil, depravity and death. He was intrigued by the prospect - acclimating in this environment was fun, but the real thing would be asserting himself next to legends like Myers or Krueger. So he did what he did best - Stalk and chase and kill, each new trial bumping up his adrenaline and fuck it was fun. Barely a trial went by where he didn't get the full set of kills, his reward plenty by the looming black thing above, sending him new powers and an overpowering sense of accomplishment. And if he missed one or two, the entity would soothe his flaring anger, the fog cold and calm on his skin when the world around him would collapse in fire and smoke - Don't worry about the pests that got away - There's next time, Danny Boy. And he always got them next time.

Finally he felt it - as the ground split in glowing reds and the heat took over the Autohaven, he felt the hot, dripping claws of the entity christen him. He had succeeded the trial by literal fire, and as he was pulled away, not north towards the lone patch of woods he had come to know, but south, the presence of evil growing bigger by the second, Danny left his old, useless name behind. The entity had given him a new one, one that he embraced with a laugh of euphoria: Ghostface.

***

While the survivors, as they called them so ironically, gathered around a campfire between trials, the hunters - killers, for a better term - were granted a real home. A shack in the same woods somewhere, filled with an Arsenal of weapons and tools for them to use as they pleased, and blood-stained, torn seats around a burning fireplace. Most of them lived in their own heads, some of them too animalistic to socialize. The ones that wanted to spend their times waiting together for ‘The Call’ on those seats, sometimes indulging in the strong, burning drinks the entity manifested along new blades or rods when she was pleased with them. And as all groups, the hunters, too, had a leader, as far as leaders can exist in a group of hungry wolves. Evan MacMillan was that one, although he, as most of the others, shed himself of that name when he became the Trapper. He was respected amongst both the vocal and silent, strong, calm and cold-blooded enough to keep brawls in between them to a minimum, one of the oldest and longest standing killers of the entity. But even he, after so many trials he had withstood, so many survivors he had killed through either the entity's hooks or his own hands, has never experienced anything like this before.

"Shit, come on, Bubba, get yourself together man." One of the Legions, Frank, clumsily patted the wailing monstrums back. The Hillbilly had never been able to speak more than just grunts and howls, making communicating with him often hard and frustrating, but the sounds he made now weren't hard to interpret - he, too, had just ended a trial with the new survivor. And as with a lot of them before, it wasn't the prey that had been scared and traumatized, but the predator.

The Nightmare took a swig of the last bottle of whiskey they had, hissing at the burn. "Can't blame the poor fuck - I've seen the dreams of that freak.... swear to god even I got nightmares after that."

"Frederick, pace yourself and leave some for the poor man." The Doctor chimed in, taking the bottle out of the sharp clawed hands and handing it to the Hillbilly with a mournful expression. "Only one chug, lad. Going at this rate, we might as well start to get accustomed to bread and water... She is not happy with us."

"Кто может винить ее? Мы все подвели ее с этим существом." (Who can blame her? We all have failed her with that creature.)

The Huntress threw another hatchet into a nearby wall, hitting the middle of the target she had painted with blood next to her previous four. Although her eyes were hidden behind the rabbit mask, Evan and the others could hear the sourness in her voice.

"Uhuh, sure, babe, whatever you say." Legion mumbled and rolled his eyes, handing the still sniffing Bubba a dirty rag to wipe his deformed nose with.

"Huntress is saying what we all think, Legion. We are failing. All of us." Evan sighed and brought one of his massive, rough hands up to wipe sweat from his temples. He knew the ropes of the entity's game, knew that some survivors had advantages, were more courageous or daring, even defiant. Evan was good, but not perfect, and he wasn't so far gone like some of the others to expect their victims to stay quivering, fearful messes like when they are freshly called upon. But the new one...

He... or it? Was so much more different than any survivor before him. Tall and lean, which would've normally make it so much harder to hide from them, flashy instead of discreet, loud and boastful instead of silent and secretive... human-like and yet so not-human at all.

"Ahhhh, another four for four, bitches!" The newcomer, Ghostface, as he had introduced himself, kicked open the door to the shack, his flowy robes drenched in blood and slimy mud that told Evan he'd been at Backwater Swamp. "Oh god, don't tell me Billy-Boy was too pussy to get over that new Survivor, too?"

The whole room growled at that remark, and Evan sighed in annoyance. The Ghostface had made more foes than allies in those few days he'd been sent to them as an addition to the entity's team of murderers. It wasn't that he was cocky, crude or obnoxious - they all were like that when they first came to the realm. What irked them all was the sense of superiority he wore so obviously on his sleeve, convinced that he was the entity's favorite, blessed by her dark energy and favored by her will.

"Fuck you, Ghostface, leave Bubba alone!" Legion spat, his facemask cracking with anger, while the Nightmare threw him a look of disgust and Michael, usually stoic and silent, turned his emotionless mask to its screaming counterpart, the blackened, hollow eyes almost flowing out with angered darkness. Evan wanted to shake the boy under the costume when he just laughed, the mockery blatant and offensive. "Are you guys telling me you, the creme de la creme of carnage, can't get a newbie under control?!"

The Trickster, who had been playing with his throwing blades with more than just an exasperated expression (which Evan could understand, given that his humiliating loss against the new survivor left too fresh of a wound in his ego), stood up with a hiss in the language none of them had been able to learn yet, but the Legion was faster, leaving Bubba in the care of the Wraith, stomping towards the cackling figure. "Listen, Fuckface - he asked the Spirit if she could give him tips about SHIBARI and yelled 'Harder Daddy' when the goddamn Executor tried to slam him into the ground... THAT'S NOT NORMAL!"

The Shape huffed in agreement, and the Nightmare added his own opinion in a raspy voice, scratching his distinctive scars around the face and neck: "I agree, he's fucking weird - insane, not scared of any of us. He doesn't even look like a normal survivor, and that's comin' from someone with that kinda face."

"That's a whole lot of words to say that you suck at your jobs, fellas." Ghostface retorted with a sneer in his voice, running his gloved fingers along his shining knife, the hilt still covered in blood spots but the blade pristine and almost glowing.

"Enough." Evan said, his voice booming across the room, effectively shutting the others up.

"You talk big, Ghostface. But you haven't had a trial with the one they call 'Angel' yet." Evan and the others felt the familiar cool wisps of air, harbingers of the arrival of the black fog for another trial. The Entity whispered the names of the prey into the winds - Evan had learned to listen for them long ago, and under his never-changing mask, he felt his lips pull into a rare smile. It was a gamble, risking to topple the weak chain of authority they had established among each other. But Evan felt that he wouldn't deserve the title nor the respect that came with being the leader if he would let this petty behavior and destructive jealousy continue. The favored one needed a well-deserved damper on his ego, and maybe the newest survivor - who- or whatever he was - could teach him that lesson. He stopped the Skull Merchant that had stood up to offer herself to take the trial with a wave of his bear-like hands and turned to the young killer, pointing his makeshift ax in his direction. "Maybe you are right. Maybe me and the others just don't have what it takes anymore to honor the Entity."

The silence that fell over the shack was heavy as the Entity's presence grew stronger, and Evan was sure the others could feel it, too, her excitement building up and electrifying the atmosphere surrounding the killer's shack. He ignored the burning fury in Legion's eyes, the angry scratch of Freddy's claws over moldy wood. The young man tilted his head in curious interest, letting his finger press into the edge of his blade until the leather broke and blood started to drip out of it in crimson pearls.

"Here's your opportunity. Show us, Ghostface, how you will fare against this new kind of prey."

***

"Oh my god, toots, move over, I can't watch this a second longer."

Angel rolled his eyes at the meek girl, brushing her dirty blonde hair out of her face as she let him take over. The other two were useless too - that Ace guy couldn't do shit even if his life depended on it - huh, which it literally did, now that Angel thought about it. And Renato was a sweet dude, a little too nerdy for Angel's taste, but he was still too rattled after his last trial with that hunk of a killer with the butt-stupid metal triangle head to be of any help except for maybe cleansing totems in between hiding in lockers. Angel couldn't blame him - he had seen how Sexy Back had Mori'd the poor dude, and it had not been the kind of gutted that Angel would've liked either. But Kate was a cool gal, a pretty face and too nice for her own good but normally very capable. She reminded him a little of Charlie, and the thought always stung faintly in his chest. Normally she would've rocked the generators, but for some reason, she was nervous and erratic this trial, her eyes always wandering around, looking over her shoulder every few seconds and fucking up the gen more than she repaired it. He let his second pair of arms grow out of his sides, cutting the time it took to finish the rest in half, and with a click the machine roared to life, steadily pumping electricity into the mainline for the exit gates. One down - four more to go.

"Jesus with a strap-on, Kate, I thought with what you look like you'd know how to get an engine going." He teased, but the girl didn't seem to even hear him, her eyes still scanning the dark woods behind them. "Sorry, Angel, sorry... it's just... don't you feel it?" "If you mean Big Mama's presence, then yeah. Pretty much hard to ignore with all the black claws and shit, but I've gotten used to it. Kinda feels like a well-worn, cheap training bra now." "No, not that... I think someone is watching us. Like... stalking."

Angel grabbed her arm and pulled her into some nearby bushes, the neon signs of the worn-down cinema blinking in the near distance. "Babes, 'ya know I can handle Mute Mikey. What I can't handle is you loosin' 'ya head now. Fuckin' Ace is hard enough to carry." They both crept along the sides of the forest nearer to the building. "It's not Michael... I can't explain... it feels different, like when Claudette told me..."

Whatever Claudette had told Kate - Angel wasn't about to hear it as Ace's screams of terror echoed through the forest from the other side of the entity's caged playground.

"Motherf... okay, 'ya go get that dumbass and heal up, imma find a gen and fuck it up so whoever it is will get distracted. Stay low, kay, sugartits?" Kate nodded with wide eyes, and ran into the darkness. Angel cursed that dumb fucker, finding a gen around a corner and let it misfire before he made a quick turn and went through the broken wall into the cinema show room of the Greenville Theatre. Fuck, a movie would be nice - watching one of making one, anything would be better than this. He silently went up the stairs into the storage room and began to work on the generator there.

Eyes on the goal.

Surviving wasn't what Angel saw as the goal. Even if he'd die in mommy's sick game, he knew from seeing the others revive at the campfire, only to be sent to another trial again a few moments later. Living or dying, Angel couldn't find himself to care, although he always chose to live, even if the others kicked the bucket and he was the last one standing. No, the goal was to get the fuck out of that shitty nightmare Val had sent him into. 

Whatever he had fucked up with 'The Entity', it must've been huge because the last time he saw him he was barely alive even by hell's standart. His wings were ripped from his back, his insides hanging out of a fat gash on his side and the studio a chaotic mass of fire, smoke and debris. And in all of it stood she. 

Roo. 

That's what Val had called her anyway, that bitch in edgy clothes and with those manic eyes, smiling in such a terrifying, blinding way with teeth sharp as an excorcist's blade that Angel thought just that smile could smite an army of sinners if she wanted to.

"Roo... I can expl...ain." Val had stuttered, blood running freely out of his mouth drenching his words.

"No need, Valentino. You and the other Vee's went all in with chips out of my own pocket, and you lost. And I don't like losing my stake."

She had summoned black, claw-like spikes, writhing like insects towards a panicking Val. He stumbled two steps back, noticing Angel creeping away, towards the crumbled wall, the running masses and the open streets of the Pentagram. Angel had seen Charlie and Vaggie forcing their way towards the burning ruins. And Husk. His Husk, wings outstreched and he was fucking flying over them all towards Angel. He had never seen him fly before.

"You can... Take! T...TTake him!!!" Val had screamed, falling to his knees as he pointed to Angel, coughing red and black onto the formerly pink, tacky tiles. His words sent a wave of hate and fear through Angel, and his eyes went from Charlie's tear-stained face to Husk screaming his name as he flapped his wings to pick up speed and fell onto her. Smiling at him, one slender, white finger with a black, pointy nail pressed into her cheek. She watched the cat demon dodge a falling beam and looked... amused as her eyes found his. She winked.

"Fine, you'll do."

Before Angel could even breathe to say something, or run, black fog encapsulated him, and only her glowing white smile and Husk's distressed scream of his name followed him as he fell through the darkness.

No. Surviving was just a crutch, a means to an end. His goal was to get that bitch Roo. To find his way out of this fucking mess. Back home, back to the hotel, back to Charlie and Vaggie and Niffty and even Alastor.  And most importantly: Back to fucking Husk.

Almost done with the gen his head turned as he heard two sounds at the exact same time: The sound of another generator coming alive and Renato's pained cry. That stupid man... Instead of running, Renato most likely had stayed on the gen to finish it, sacrificing himself to be thrown onto a hook. Angel shook his head, trying hard to focus on connecting cables and switch out gears. The others could get him off. They had learned that he was best at two things: Getting gen’s to work and screw with the killers.

But apparently, no one came close to Renato in time - when Angel stood up from the now running machine, he felt the dreading boom of a successful sacrifice - Renato had been swallowed by the entity, and from the muffled screams and misfiring generators him he knew that Ace had been already hung up too, and Kate was at least injured, if not on her way to be hooked by this rounds killer. Another boom told him Ace had given up - that asshole had most likely struggled too much to get himself off instead of waiting for him or Kate, and lost the fight against Roo's hungry claws. Which left him and Kate, and two generators to open the exit gates - not the best odds, with how fast this Killer acted and how idiotically nervous the usually so assured girl fumbled with the generators. He could wait for Kate to die and go for the hatch, but Angel knew he wouldn't. Not for Kate. Not after seeing so much of Charlie in her.

He made a dash down the stairs and through the arcade room, peeking his head out and spotting Kate's limp body on a nearby meat hook, swaying gently in the breeze. next to her stood an unfamiliar, cloaked silhouette, twirling a knife skillfully in gloved hands. This fucker was new, someone Angel had never encountered before. But he had heard things about him. The guys around the campfire had been wary of him, but as usual, Angel quickly had most of the girls at least interested in and friendly to him, and from the latest conversations, he remembered Feng-Min and Claudette talking about a new killer, a stalker like Magic Mike but more real, more humanlike which made them even more terrified of him. Someone that, unlike the others Angel encountered, seemed to be almost casual and gleeful to have been wisped away and thrown into trials by Roo, treating the trials like a personal, fun game... and from what he heard, he always won them.

He looked around and found an old can. Quickly and noiseless, he snuck along the Arcade walls to the opposite doorway, and hurled it with as much force as he could into the woods, trying to hit a hook to make as much noise as possible. He heard the guy's quiet steps outside, quickly but silently rushing towards his distraction, and Angel grinned as he exited the arcade room and ran towards a groaning Kate.

"Shh, babe, we ain't got much time, that fucker's fast." Angel whispered, quickly working on patching Kate up so she wouldn't leave a bloody trail behind her. "Angel, he's too good, I can't..." "'Ya can. I'll handle tall, dark and gruesome, make sure he won't get near 'ya. But 'ya gotta do two gens, okay? Open the exit the furthest away from us and go. Don't wait up for me - I can handle myself." His sentence ended as he finished closing her wound, and he shoved her into some bushes after she hesitantly looked around. "Don't argue, just move your ass, toots, and hide till the creep's found me."

Kate nodded, giving him a weak smile and a hushed 'Thanks, Angel.' before she turned and vanished between the trees. Angel looked up, the dark clouds swirling above him as the entity's - Roo's - displeasure vibrated through the air. She always hated when he did things like these - helping the others (maybe it was the general idea of doing good deeds) and her getting pissed off make Angel smug and satisfied.

"Yeah, yeah, bitch, rage all 'ya want - Bite me."

Angel didn't even try to be decent, no, he not much less than swaggered in the direction of where he threw the can. It was quiet, except for the humming of the generator Renato must've finished, but no sign of the cloaked figure. 

“Gee, look at little old me! All alone in the woods, totally helpless. Such a shame.”

Angel discreetly traced for blood or maybe footprints as he rounded a nearby hook, trailing the cold metal with one finger. He had a feeling of being watched, and yet couldn't see anything but trees and grass and dirt. The fog was thicker here, and a shiver ran through him as he could feel a pair of eyes on him, watching, waiting.

“Where are ‘ya, daddy-o? Baby lost his pacifier and needs something else to suck on…”

A quiet whir behind him made him turn and grab a lean and muscular arm, stopping the blade just mere inches away from his side. He stared not into a face, but a mask - a white, cheap looking rubber one, a white face with two black holes that looked like they were melting and a long, equally black mouth open as if in a blood-curdling scream. Angel cackled and tugged the arm, the killer surprised by his unexpected strength, stumbling forward until his head hit the hard, rusty metal of the meat hook.

"Uuuuh, what a nice long blade 'ya have, hot stuff." he cooed, putting his hands on his hips with a smirk as the cloaked figure whipped around with a grunt. "But if 'ya want to rearrange my guts, I know other things than a knife that are way more fun."

"You're a mouthy one, huh?" His voice was rough and saturated with aggravation. Young, not as young as the Legion fuckers, but younger than most of the killers Angel had met.

"Oh, daddy, 'ya don't know half of what my mouth can do. Care to find out?"

Angel dodged and tripped him as the killer pounced forward, quick but not inhumanly quick - interesting. His height was human, his voice too, his mannerisms, his motions, his speed and his abilities... not supernatural. Not like the other killers at all. He used the second of his weak momentum to lock the already twisting figure between his legs, pinning him on the waist into the dirty ground. Angel laughed as his upper pair of hands had the gloved wrists in a tight grasp, while he let his second pair of arms grow out of his sides to ram the fallen knife blade-first into the ground. In the distance, he hears a generator pop into life - Kate was doing her part, one more to go. Good girl.

"Fuck, you... survivors are not supposed to fight back." the stranger growled, squirming under him.

"Dang it, I forgot - we oughta run from 'ya! And 'yer supposed to kill me, right? And yet, here we are, handsome."

Through the layers of ragged, black clothes and cloak, Angel could feel a tight, muscular but lean body - hot, but definetly normal. Not bulky like the trapper dude, not slimy like the running Melty-face or cold and eerie feeling like the Ding-Dong-Douche. As the figure under him bucked again, he could also feel something else that was entirely human and he had to surpress a laugh.

"Ohooooo, daddy, is that a dagger in 'ya pants or are 'yay just happy to finally meet me?"

With a hot fury the killer ripped his hands free, planting a fist directly into his fluffy chest with surprising force. With a breathy sound that was half cough and half wheeze, Angel's grip around the young man's waist weakened, enough for the cloaked man to throw him off. Angel could hear a rib break at the sudden punch to his side - motherfucker, that would be a bitch to heal after the trial. As he propped himself back on his arms, the cool, dirty steel of his own knife's blade touched his throat and forced his gaze upwards to meet the mask's holes.

"Enough with the goddamn nicknames. I'm fucking Ghostface, and you better remember that name as you'll scream it when I'm done with you."

Jesus, that new guy made it too easy for him.

"Mmmmh... Kinky."

Decades of whipping around poles and fucking every porn actor pride had to offer - twice - had one or two good things going for Angel. Bendy as he was, and with strong, long legs he had no problem to just pull one of them forward and ram the pointy heel of one of his overknee boots straight into Ghostface's balls, leaving his captor sputtering and writhing while Angel pushed backwards to stand upright. He sauntered towards the disoriented man, kicking the knife further out of reach and looked at him with both pity and amusement as the last generator went off, and the blaring sirens of an exit gate about to be opened echoed through the forest. Kate was near - too near for Angel's taste, but it had to do.

"A'ight, Ghost Daddy, that's my cue. Me and Katie are gonna fuck off, was fun though, 'ya might get the hang of the whole killer thing if 'ya keep practicing."

"We'll see about that, Angel-Cakes."

Angel-Cakes.

The name echoed in his head like a bad spell, a curse. Fucking Roo must've fed him that fucking pet name, these dreaded words that Valentino had always used, along with his intoxicating pheromone smoke that had left him dizzy and weak-willed too many times to count. Using the moment of his stunned stupor, Ghostface flipped around, getting up with a speed Angel didn't deem possible or had accounted for, and rammed his elbow into his face before he started running - not to go for his blade that laid aside about four feet away or the trembling Angel, but straight for the woods. Straight for the opening exit gate. Straight for Kate.

Angel's eyes widened as a dark, content thunder roared from above - that bitch. That stupid bitch and her fucking new toy.

With a dizzy head he ran after him, wheezing from the pain in his face and stomach. There was Kate, screaming as she saw Ghostface coming, charging at her, her knuckles white from the tight grip on the lever to the saving exit. He could see her legs tense and start to bend to take off and make a dash to flee, to maybe hide, and before he could think any further, Angel lunged forward, using a tree as leverage to throw himself forward and tackle the approaching killer to the ground. There were gloved hands and black fabric everywhere, furiously trying to get him off, entangling in his limbs and his fluff and his hair, but Angel didn't care. He knew now what Roo wanted - had wanted all along. He had played her game exactly how she had wanted him to play it without realizing - Surviving the trials and saving his own ass. Good deeds upset her.

"Don'tcha let go of that fucking lever, Kate!" Angel shouted, feeling his head pulled by his hair back into his neck. Ghostface punched, pulled and clawed at anything he could find of him, but Angel held onto the fighting frame - today would be the first day he'd die in a trial. And that was exactly what Angel wanted. The signature bell sound of the dooms clock went off as Angel heard the heavy gates slide open. In the mess of his wrestling with the cursing killer he caught a glimpse of Kate, her eyes fixated on him as she started to run towards him. Her expression, her eyes... they had almost the same look in them like Husk's when Roo had pulled him away. Determined to get to him. Desperate to help him.

"NO KATE, GO!" he screamed, and was awarded another painful punch into his face and his hair pulled even further, but he didn't let go, even when tears started to wet his face, and Ghostface's laugh mingled with Kate's distressed shouts and cries as he felt cold, hard steel piercing his side. "FUCKING GO! NOW, DAMN IT!"

The earth shook with Roo's anger as the girl, sobbing his name, ran back and bolted through the gates into the nothingness. Finally, Angel let go of the heavy breathing killer. A twist of the knife and his arms gave out, his head falling next to Ghostface's masked face, only a small pool of blood escaping his lips.

"God fucking damn it - Fucking idiot, you ruined it. FUCK! What a pathetic excuse for someone called 'Angel'." The killer ranted with panicked rage, pulling on the slipped and oddly twisted mask that only clung to half of his face to pull it off and throw it on the ground with a frustrated growl as he got off him. Deep brown hair clung on his forehead from sweat, framing dead eyes with dark circles under them. His face was handsome, maybe even pretty, with sharp angles and a strong, set jaw that was locked in anger.

"Anthony."

The clock rang again, and the ground was breaking apart into deep red’s and black's.

"What the fuck did you say?"

The man stared at him, knife still in his hand as Angel smiled a bloodstained grin.

"My name, asshole. S'Anthony... Angel's the name my fucking pimp got me. Just like your stupid-ass one." He managed to throw the offended looking man before him a grin. "Can't tell me 'ya gave yourself such a lame-as-fuck name."

"You're pathetic. She honored me with that name - it's nothing like with you and your... pimp."

Angel laughed as he reached down to him with his black gloves to throw him over his shoulder. He didn't resist, no use in that anyway with the wound in his side, even if he wantted to. But Roo's anger was electrifying the air around him, she was upset in more than just one way. Not only had Angel found a way to get under her skin and sour her game - but it seemed that she was especially angry about the way her newest toy had handled this trial, and him.

"'Ya just wait, Ghost Boy. With folks like her and Val, they always show their real face, sooner or later. And I have a feeling 'ya gonna see for 'yaself real soon." ***

Ghostface's face was stoic and emotionless as he threw the skinny man on the hook. The world she had created was already crumbling - he was just in time. Three out of four wasn't bad, he knew that. But it wasn't just that he missed the perfect four. If she hadn’t helped him, he would've failed even more than he had. He felt her anger, her fury bubbling beneath the realm she created. Gone was the soothing aura and the gentle caress of her invisible fingers on his cheeks. All he felt was hot gushes of wind and unseen sharp nails scratching on his arms and neck. And for the first time, he feared the punishment.

"Danny." He said quietly, watching as the survivor's grin widened before the lights behind his unusual, unsettling eyes slowly disappeared. "I was Danny once."