Whumpee stared at the two doors, desperately trying to keep the dread clawing up their throat from showing on their face. Freaking out wouldn't accomplish anything.
"Well... I've got no clue," Teammate said, trying to break the sudden tension with an awkward laugh. "I mean, they look identical. Guess we just pick one and hope we're lucky?"
Their voice sounded muffled, drowned out by the faint ringing in Whumpee's head that only seemed to grow louder the longer they stood there. Sweat coated their palms. It was happening again.
"That's assuming there is a right choice." That was Caretaker. Their words were a lot softer.
"You said it yourself, it's a test. Every test has a correct answer."
"Depends on what they're testing." Whumpee didn't have to look to know Caretaker was watching them as they said that.
"It's just a door?" Teammate sounded confused now. Whumpee couldn't blame them. They were new to the team. They hadn't been there during Whumper's last game; they hadn't seen the aftermath. "How bad can it possibly be?"
"Bad." Whumpee's voice didn't sound like their own. "It will be really bad."
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A dark tendril wraps around their throat, squeezing tightly.
If they could have drawn a breath, Whumpee would gasp. They know who it is now. This sensation is too familiar. Why didn't they realize it sooner? Whumper. The best shadow wielder in the realm. A dutiful underling to the king; torturing his prisoners, interrogating his enemies, punishing Whumpee for their failings.
Whumper had always been creative with the punishments too. Squeezing the air out of Whumpee until they almost passed out, over and over again, without even once laying a finger on them. Cutting them open with shadows as sharp as blade, letting them bleed, turning the ground a sickly red. Attacking with no way to defend themselves, because it was shadows - and only a few select people had the capabilities to fight shadows directly. Whumpee had never learned.
Suddenly Whumpee is thrown backwards. Their back hits the wall, the forcing knocking what precious little air they have left from their lungs. Whumper doesn't waste any moment, doesn't give them any time to recover. Shadows shoot out from around Whumpee. They wrap like heavy chains around Whumpee's wrists and ankles. They pull and pull on Whumpee's limbs until it feels like they're about to pop from their sockets. A final shadow shoves against Whumpee's head, smacking it back into the wall with a loud thud!
Whumper grins; a wicked look overcoming their face that would send lesser beings scrambling for somewhere to hide. Whumpee couldn't hide even if they wanted to. They can't move an inch; immobile and helpless, left completely at Whumper's mercy.
At least, Whumpee thinks to themselves, the others got away. They're safe.
Whumpee barely has time to brace themselves as Whumper thrust their hand forward with clear intent. Whumper's lips pull back into a wide smile that shows off every single fang in their mouth. It's the only real warning Whumpee gets for what is coming.
It's not a singular shadow that strikes this time. It's just... shadows. Darkness swallowing Whumpee whole, as if they have fallen into the very fabric of darkness. One moment, Whumpee is restrained against the wall with Whumper leering at them; the next, everything is gone.
It's familiar - Whumpee knows exactly what is happening - but it does nothing to stop the panic as each of Whumpee's senses abandons them. They can't see. They can't smell, can't taste. They can't even feel the shadow-chains wrapped around their body. Whumpee knows they are still there only through the way they can't move. For a brief moment, Whumpee can still hear, a last few, fading sounds; a chilling laugh, receding footsteps, and...
Content: hostage situation, held at gunpoint, tied up, betrayal, "nobody's coming".
Word Count: 822.
The countdown hit zero and Whumpee braced for the impact. This was it. This was the moment Whumpee died. Killed for a cause they thought had been worth it. Every risk, every ache and hit and droplet of blood - Whumpee had never thought this moment would come. Because they had thought they had someone watching their back. They had thought someone would come to save them. Now, they knew better. They would die right here and now, and nothing would change. Nobody would come. Nobody would cry.
At least, if nothing else, Whumper wouldn't get what they had tried to trade Whumpee's life for. Whumpee would lose, but so would Whumper. Just slightly less so. Was that worth it? Whumpee wasn't sure. They had always been prepared to lose their life for the cause. They had just never expected it to be like this. No heat of the moment, no firefight going out of control. Alone. Just them and Whumper. Not a fight, but an execution. Whumpee had nothing left.
So, they closed their eyes and waited for the killing blow. Instead, they were met with with nothing. A silence so loud it felt like their eardrums would explode.
The weapon in Whumper's hand trembled. It swayed back and forth, the nuzzle of the gun bumping against the back of Whumpee's skull. Whumpee stared at the door across the room. The door that didn't open; that wouldn't open. Whumpee could barely feel the breaths going in and out of their body. They were already dead. A ghost waiting for the executioner's blade. Whumper's breathing on the other hand was loud. Rough; too quick, too shallow. As if they'd run until their body begged for release. As if their body couldn't accept the oxygen. As if their legs threatened with collapse.
Yet they were not the ones kneeling on the floor, harsh wood digging into exposed skin. Their wrists were not bruised and bloody from where the rope had chaffed. They did not have a gun holding the bullet that would have killed them pressed against their head.
Whumpee and Whumper remained were they were - stuck in a moment that seemed to have frozen. The second before disaster, before death. The moment that would change everything. Not for the cause, and not for Whumpee's team. But for them. For Whumpee who would die and Whumper who would walk away from a corpse at their feet. Except, that moment should have already passed. The clock struck zero. The world kept spinning. Yet here, in this shitty, awful warehouse, the moment stretched on. On and on and on it went. Nothing happened. No gun fired. Nobody fell dead to the floor. No door opened. Nobody moved or spoke or-
Oh. The thought hit Whumpee like the bullet that was never fired. They had thought it would work. Whumper had genuinely thought it would work. They had thought Whumpee's team would show up. Walk through the door, trade their advantage for Whumpee's life. Fall into Whumper's trap or explode the moment with a last-second rescue. That hadn't thought this moment would come either. Whumper had no plan for this.
Whumper had said that they would kill Whumpee once the clock hit zero. Whumper had said - but it had just been a ruse. They hadn't actually meant to go through with it. Because they hadn't thought that they would have to, Nobody let the clock hit zero. Not when you were supposed to be the good guys, the heroes. But here they were. The clock screamed zero. The deadline was passed. And nobody showed up. Nobody came or called or even acknowledge what hat happened - what was supposed to have happened.
And now Whumper didn't know what to do. They hadn't planned for this. They hadn't considered to possibility of actually having to pull the trigger. They were hesitating before the choice they were left with. Make good on their word - be the ruthless killer they claimed to be - or admit that they weren't all that.
Whumpee's harsh laugh cut through the silence like a sharpened sword. Turns out that Whumper wasn't the ruthless one. They couldn't even be the final nail in the coffin of the betrayal that burned deep in Whumpee's bones. Whumper was the one who hesitated. They should have been the one to seal Whumpee's death, yet when faced with it, they were the one shocked by it.
"I told you," Whumpee spit out, feeling Whumper's gun lower slightly behind them. "I told you that it wouldn't work."
Whumpee stared at the door. At the spot where their would-be-rescuers should have arrived. Should, would - if it had gone down like Whumper had planned. Like they had thought and assumed. But that would have required Whumpee's team to accept the lost. To accept the risk of loss. It required them to consider Whumpee's life worth that risk. They didn't.
