#guy who corrupts and uncorrupts your game files for fun

[qrowscant]

a friend suggested my name should be short for "malware", and i liked it so much i made a sona out of it. enjoy

[proxylynn]

Lynchtale: File Name Game of Death #1

Chapter 1: Death is Not an Escape

WARNING: THIS IS A MATURE STORY THAT WILL HAVE BLOOD, GORE, PSYCHOLOGICAL SURVIVAL HORROR, HEAVY CURSING, AND LIKELY SEXUAL THEMES/BONING. I DO NOT OWN UNDERTALE, THAT BELONGS TO LORD TOBY FOX. I DO NOT OWN DEAD BY DAYLIGHT, THAT BELONGS TO BEHAVIOUR DIGITAL INC.. I DON'T OWN THE AU'S THAT SOME OF THE CHARACTERS COME FROM, THEY BELONG TO THEIR RESPECTIVE CREATORS. I DON'T OWN THE IDEA FOR LYNCHTALE, THAT BELONGS TO PUNNYSIDEUP (AKA. SANSFULPUNS). WHAT I DO OWN IS MY SELF-INSERT OC ANOMALY LYNSIE AND THE LOVE OF FAN PARODY. IF YOU'RE STILL READING THIS, THEN CONGRATULATIONS ON EITHER BEING ONE WITH STRONG DETERMINATION OR A ENDLESS WILL TO OVERCOME THE CHALLENGE OF STOMACHING WHAT I HAVE IN MIND. EITHER WAY, IF YOU LIKE THIS AND/OR MY OTHER CONTENT, SIT BACK AND ENJOY THE ETERNAL PUNISHMENT. HAVE FUN SINNERS. ^_^

Life can be a little unfair at times and very lonely. So seemed to be the case with a nutty woman named Lynsie. Her life was fairly typical, uneventful as most would say. Growing up poor? Check. Middle child issues? Check. Parents divorcing due to reasons they couldn't explain to a child but as an adult were simple/retarded in hindsight? Check. No friends because all the world is a bunch of scummy assholes so why even bother? Check again. That is probably what someone would say if you could find anyone that knew her. She kept to herself and that was her biggest flaw. Though to her credit, there wasn't a time when she needed anyone. If a problem came to her, she'd think up a way overcome it, whether it was the right way was up to interpretation. Being alone made her mind work in ways normal people didn't understand. This was only an issue when in social situations as, used to only fending for herself, she was not a team player. Her antisocial tendencies only pushed others away more, leading her to delve deeper inward and eventually crushing her under the weight of loneliness/depression. This would get her to seek ways to fill the void in her soul where companionship had shriveled to death, and that thing was getting lost. Now that isn't some cute clever thing. She would literally go out into God only knows where, stay there, and then only when the need to return home came would she find her way back with nothing more than knowledge/skill. This behavior was concerning at first. I mean, wouldn't you be worried too if a family member vanishes for days on end? Even when she left blatant clues and information behind, her family would still go nuts till she came home. She was never gone for more than a few days to a week. Something about being away in nature, places with no humans to remind her of the emptiness inside that others were able to avoid with ease, just brought a sense of peace to her wary soul. She could forget all the worries, cares, and pain even if only for a little while. Though perhaps this was one escape too many for her. For this time...she wouldn't be coming back.

Cold. Dread. Smoke. Something...unsettling. These odd senses start to come to me as I stir from the blackness of unconsciousness. There's an eerie grip on my heart that slowly crawls over my skin as it fades yet lingers while my eyes strain to open. I can hear muffled voices, some male and some female. But there is one more that I can't identify. This soft guttural groan of a voice that whispers in my skull like a fleeting memory. I swear it says something half-way between language and pure terror. He's dead? Something like that. Maybe? A blur moves into my line of sight, what I can only guess is a hand waving in my face. Recalling that I was alone in the middle of the woods only moments ago, I understandably slightly overreact and end up grabbing this blur's arm before punching their gut as hard as I can in this fogy state. The blur falls over and I see more move in to help the downed one. My dull senses try to process everything around me as definition resets sluggishly, such as making out a bonfire and the chill of the wind rustling the trees around this unfamiliar campsite. Suddenly I'm grabbed from behind, arms looping in my own to lock them behind my head, restraining me for their safety. I snarl, making the one holding me fidget in concerned confusion. My senses begin to get better enough as one brave more human-shaped blur moves to stand in front of me. It looks timid but they are at least trying.

"H-Hey...just calm down. We're not here to hurt you."

My snarling increases as I bare my teeth threateningly at this wimp of a man, judging by the voice.

"Please?"

"*annoyed groan* Let me give it a shot."

Another figure approaches and slaps me across the face.

"Hey, bitch, you're outnumbered. If we wanted to fuck with you we would've done it by now. So get your panties out of a bunch and stop being a huge cunt."

This woman pisses me off.

"I'm going to rip your throat out with my teeth!"

"I'd like to see you try!"

"Hey!"

Another woman, based on voice, comes over and shines a flashlight in my eyes, making me hiss in harsher blindness.

"You need to settle down. We aren't your enemies. And you...Your attitude isn't helping."

"*scoff* Whatever."

Their bickering allows the spots in my sight to clear and now I'm back to clarity. The pissy one was right, they do outnumber me. There are seventeen of them, ten guys and seven girls. Another thing I notice is the area. I have no clue where this place is, but it's not where I was before. This area of the woods seems to have no day or night, just a perpetual intolerable gloom in the form of a miasma that blankets the woods yet doesn't touch the campfire zone. What the fuck is this? My visible confusion makes the man holding me let go.

"I know, this is very weird. But we'll explain it as best we can. Just promise not to hit anyone, okay?"

I have no real choice here. I'm in an unknown location with random unknown people. Any explanation would do me wonders as the moment they ask if I remember how I got here I draw a complete blank. Once gathered around the fire they proceed to inform me that this is not Earth anymore, but a fake realm made by something dubbed the Entity. The Entity is a nameless being that lives in the space between our world and our imagination, the kind of place only revealed in dreams. To obtain its source of sustenance, The Entity reaches out into the hearts of susceptible victims and corrupts them into performing hideous acts of violence, because the only way for it to manifest itself in the real world is through an act of violence so extreme, that it results in fatalities. Once this event has taken place, The Entity has a handhold into our world, being able to pull people through this weak spot into its nightmarish construct, the Realms of The Entity. The first victims are the corrupted ones, those pushed to do the deeds that summoned this ancient evil in the first place...the Killers. Prey for The Entity comes in the form of uncorrupted victims...the Survivors. Normal people who stumble into these corrupted areas and are pulled through by The Entity with no memory of how it happened. Once they awaken by The Campfire in the nightmare, there is no escape for them anymore. The Entity builds a reflection of the real world in its construct to confuse the Survivors. Unable though to understand the true nature of the world it touches, it tries to replicate it as best it can, although it never quite gets it right. As a result, the world is an ever-changing nightmarish fusion of familiar and strange elements as The Entity makes up what it cannot comprehend. In its Realm, The Entity is everything that one sees except for the Killers and Survivors, meaning it is part of what it creates. In this bizarre world, there are several familiar parts. The areas and their Realms are based on the world it infects and there are strange mechanical Generators that the Survivors can power up to open two Exit Gates or a hatch that will open when only one remains. If they succeed they will escape, although only back to The Campfire that they started from. The Entity feeds on strong emotions, for example, the Killer's rage, the Survivors' desperation, hope, or even affection towards other Survivors. Sort of like an Emotion Vampire. The easiest way for it to procure those strong emotions is through the never-ending trials, invoking hope in Survivors towards an escape from the nightmarish construct. The actual process of feeding itself comes in the form of the sacrifices. It is through that bizarre ritual that The Entity can extract the nourishment it needs to increase its power and sustain itself. With each passing death, a little of the Survivor's soul is lost. Eventually, as all hope evaporates, the Survivor becomes less and less useful to the Entity, slowly devolving into a cold and emotionless shell. These lost Survivors, whose hope has long since left them, are eventually thrown into what is known as "The Void", a limbo full of such empty shells. A weird thing is that once a year, The Entity undergoes a purge, which infests it with blight. The blight manifests itself in the form of cankers spawning throughout the Realms, which bloom into pustules from which a mysterious nectar can be harvested. Escaping from the grounds always takes the survivors back to the campfire, and offerings can be created to be burnt at it and appeal for the Entity's favor. Since the Entity feeds off the hope of the survivors to escape, it helps them just as much as the killers, acting as an impartial observer of the hunt, stepping in only to claim those hung on its hooks.

Needless to say, I find this a bit much and call bullshit. I attempt to leave them by finding my way back into the woods to a more familiar place. They warn me not to do this. That to leave the fire means to put yourself in great danger, possibly even running into one of the killers that like to taunt and freak out the survivors. Again, I claim this as a massive steaming load and enter the foggy woods.

This does not end well.

I tried to march my way out of these forsaken woods to no avail. Aside from the fog being super thick and nearly impossible to see in, but the sounds are disorientating as hell. From the echoing caws of crows to indescribable growls, I regretted this choice quickly. Then I saw something I can't explain. Something was stalking in the darkness, a being in a human form, even though "human" is an exaggeration. No, this thing was a monster. A shadow of its former self, a horrid shadow. I just manage to escape by dropping to the ground and creepy crawling back following my footprint impressions. Back at camp, I am more willing to believe them and their odd information that they themselves got from a journal left by a man named Benedict Baker whom they've never seen. Yeah...They really make it hard to believe shit is real with things like that. They swear the guy is alive out there somewhere even though they told me the guy's been in this world since 1956 and I'm from 2019. They tell me that means nothing as the Entity can rip anyone from all across time which sounds like a lot of convenient bullshit. But what the fuck do I know? I'm no interdimensional god expert. I don't know of its powers.

Lame exposition aside, I introduce myself to the group and they do the same back. The timid mad from before is Dwight Fairfield, a nervous leader and possessing a purple soul. Dwight was geeky and scrawny through high school. He always wanted to be one of the cool kids, but somehow never had the charisma. He tried out for the football team but was cut, the basketball team didn't even take a look, and his grades were distinctly below average. One weekend, on a team-building exercise from his dead-end job, Dwight's boss led them deep into the woods before breaking out his family recipe moonshine. Dwight remembered taking the first sip before waking up late the next morning all alone. During the night, the others had abandoned him. Once again, the laughing stock of the community Dwight tried to hike his way out of the woods. That was the last anyone ever heard of Dwight Fairfield. Dwight isn't the typical guy you think of when someone says "Survivor". He lacks that certain pizzazz and without his glasses, he's more or less blind. But as the sun sets and the woods come alive, Dwight clasps to his rat race life, making sure that he'll live to see another day even though something unimaginable is after him. Dwight won't stop. He'll survive no matter what. As others spent hours being seen in high school. He spent hours becoming invisible and avoiding danger. And it doesn't matter if it's dangers in the hallway or dangers in the woods. Survival is key. As other employees panic when terror infects them, Dwight makes use of his disturbing teen experience. The tables have now turned and now others need to follow to Dwight's firm directions if they are to survive as he knows how to disappear.

The pissy cunt is Nea Karlsson, an urban artist and possesses an orange soul. Nea is of Swedish descent, a tagger and a bit of a troublemaker. She started rebelling when she was 16, she dyed her hair black and cut it in a way she liked it. In her early teens, her parents thought she lacked that thing that makes everyone else "normal". She may have gone too far when her friends, not thinking well, dared her to tag the old asylum. She was never seen again and now tries her best to survive the Entity's dangers. Nea grew up in the small town of Hjo in Sweden. She had a happy childhood even though her mom and dad worked hard. As the opportunity to move to the US became a reality she started acting out. Her parents didn't pick up on this as a reaction to their move. Nea was forced to leave her friends and life behind. Nea shied away from what her parents considered "normal". Instead, she took refuge in skate parks, and her tag "Mashtyx" was seen more or less all over her new hometown, and Nea made a sport out of tagging government buildings. Finally, Nea's parents became used to Nea disappearing for a few days on end. As she's nimble and almost catlike, she's able to evade deadly dangers. Years on skateboards have proven worthy training. And keeping her head down, avoiding the fuzz can be applied to all dangers. The only question is whether she has some interest in not giving up.

The woman of reasoning that blinded me is Laurie Strode, a determined survivor and possessing a red soul. You never know what matters in life until you've realized it might end soon. Laurie is one of those who just want a quiet life in the suburbs, hanging out with friends, family and maybe go on a date or two. Laurie is a typical teenager. You could pass her on the street and not think twice. She does her homework and is liked by her friends, teachers, and family. A simple night of babysitting turns into something that will forever change the course of her young life. A knife swooshing through the air. Screams from afar. Noises that plays tricks with her mind. But not Laurie, she's made of something stronger. Something that won't give up.

The man that held me back is William "Bill" Overbeck, an old soldier and possesses a blue soul. It took two tours in Vietnam, a handful of medals, a knee full of shrapnel, and an honorable discharge to get William "Bill" Overbeck to stop fighting and try to live a peaceful life. He hated it. After decades spent drifting aimlessly through dead-end jobs, Bill went in for a routine surgery and woke up to find the world he knew was gone. A plague was turning normal people into mindless killing machines. Naturally, the first thing he did was fight his way home and put on his uniform. Making his way through rural ghost towns and pitch-black forests, he found other Survivors, and together they fled from the infected hordes. In the end, Bill sacrificed himself to ensure their safety. Bill was left for dead. No one knows that he still has the only thing he ever wanted: an enemy to fight endlessly.

The tired-looking man is Quentin Smith, a resolute dreamwalker and possessing a red soul. When he heard that his friend Nancy's mother had disappeared, Quentin Smith knew instantly that their success had been short-lived. Although their plan had seemed to work flawlessly, Dream Killer had beaten death yet again. But Quentin wasn't about to give up. It may take many attempts, but he vowed that somehow they would find a way to beat it, once and for all. If he didn't, it would only be a matter of time before that thing would win and Nancy was lost. Someone like Quentin never attracted attention in a library, no matter how strange the texts he requested. He devoured all the information he could find, on shared dream worlds, lucid dreaming, and the methods to control the dream space. Forcing himself to stay awake, via a steady diet of pills and energy drinks, he searched through dusty volumes, finding myths about the demons that live in dreams, trapping their victims in limbo and feeding off their terror. He worked quickly as he knew that the killer would soon be coming for him. It wasn't long before that moment arrived and it began appearing in his dreams. He stayed at the periphery at first, taunting Quentin, seemingly hoping to tire him out. Using all that he had learned, Quentin was able to see flaws in the dream; cracks where escape routes could be formed. He tested this skill carefully, not wanting to show his hand, hoping that it would give him some kind of advantage that he could use to defeat that thing. Then, one night, he found himself in the familiar environment of Badham Preschool. the killer had tired of the taunting and had finally decided to gut him. Quentin ran through the school, his quick eyes scanning for something useful in the maze of rooms. He found a can of paint thinner and quickly formulated a plan. Once the trap was set, he waited, acting as the lure to draw the murderer into the right position. And there it was, claws scraping on metal as he closed in for the kill. Quentin allowed himself time to enjoy the surprise on that thing's face as the corridor ignited and then he was away, running through the building, heading for the exit that he knew existed. If he harried it, weakening it and then escaping the dream, surely that would defeat him over time? Before his eyes, the cracks in the dream closed and his escape route was blocked. He was in the killer's secret room again, and there was nowhere to run. As it closed in, a broad grin spreading across its ruined face, Quentin was consumed with a need to see this thing finally obliterated. He wished it had been him, not his father, who threw the gas can that ended it's life, that it had been him who cut its throat. Perhaps that desire would be enough? This was a realm of the mind after all. He let it consume him, concentrating all his thoughts on wishing it gone. His vision was obscured with roiling tendrils of fog and, when it cleared, he was somewhere else. In another dream? If so, it wasn't his; it felt cold and unfamiliar. A flickering drew his attention and he realized he was by a campfire, and he wasn't alone. Other people were trapped here too, and they needed his help.

The man in the police get up is Detective David Tapp, an obsessed detective and possesses a yellow soul. Detective David Tapp was one of the good guys. His determination to see Killers brought to justice and their victims avenged had led him through a long and respected career. When he first saw the details of the Jigsaw case, it seemed like many others. More grisly and macabre, sure, but just another lunatic with a penchant for the over-dramatic, who would soon be behind bars. A stroke of insight brought Tapp, and his partner Detective Stephen Sing, to an abandoned mannequin factory, where they discovered Jigsaw's lair. They apprehended the man but he managed to escape before being unmasked, slashing Tapp's throat as he did so. Leaving his partner, Sing went in pursuit but fell victim to a booby trap. Tapp had failed to go by the book on this one occasion, entering the lair without a warrant, and it had resulted in a Detective's death. He was discharged from the force and left with a ruined throat and crippling guilt. He channeled that guilt into an obsession: he would find the killer, stop the murders, vindicate himself, and avenge his friend and colleague. Following the evidence trail brought him to Dr. Lawrence Gordon and he staked out the doctor's apartment, sure that he would find some evidence of guilt. Then he saw a stranger at Gordon's window and heard gunshots. Tapp confronted him and the man fled, with the pursuit leading to an industrial building. Tapp's age caught up with him, a fight that he would easily have won in his younger days ended with Tapp taking a bullet to the chest. Slumping to the floor, he saw only failure. He had failed his partner and the other victims. Whoever the killer was, Tapp had been unable to stop him. More would die and it would be his fault. He let the rage and guilt consume him and closed his eyes for the final time. Beneath him, the concrete floor softened. He dug his fingers into the ground, feeling dirt and leaves. Where his chest had been wet with blood, the shirt was now dry and the pain had gone. His eyes opened onto a darkened sky and the jagged, searching fingers of branches. Screams echoed through the forest and a new determination filled him. His mind was clear for the first time in months. Victims needed to be avenged, killers thwarted. He didn't know what this place was, but he was still a cop, and he always would be. He had a job to do.

The brooding loner that isn't me for once is a man named Jake Park, a solitary survivalist and possessing a cyan soul. Growing up the son of a wealthy CEO was always going to put pressure on Jake Park. When his brother graduated with honors from Yale, the pressure on Jake intensified. Jake just wasn't the academic type, but his father never really understood his refusal to embrace the expensive education he lavished upon him. Eventually, Jake rebelled by dropping out of school entirely. Now, Jake lives off the grid on the edge of the woods. It's been years since he spoke to his father but his mother checks in once in a while. It was she, who eventually called the police. The cops said he got lost in the woods and a search party looked for days but gave up as bad weather rolled in. Despite passionate pleas from his mother, they never resumed the search and Jake went down in history as another casualty of the woods. Jake's destiny was set even inside his mother's womb. Heir to wealth, noble manners and caretaker of the family reputation and legacy. During torture it's not the pain that breaks a man, it's immense pressure. And Jake couldn't handle any more pressure. Instead, he sought the opposite of fine dining and maids. He left the grid and ended up with a forest as the closest neighbor. A self-made outsider, Jake understands nature. He's not there to tame something - rather him becoming feral. Remove the brutal Killers that seek out blood to drain and Jake would feel just at home. No Wi-Fi. No Fortune-500 companies. No father nor mother. Years away from modern life has given Jake a new feel for problems. Pain is just an obstacle that hinders you from getting fed. No matter what is hunting you, you need to stay one step ahead. Struggle, blend in, adapt. Just don't make it easy for others to erase you from the Earth's surface.

The red-headed girl making me want a Wendy's burger by just looking at her is Meg Thomas, an energetic athlete and possessing an orange soul. Perhaps it was her mother that had instilled the fierce streak in her or maybe it was her father that left them when she was a baby. Meg excelled at schoolwork but she was off the rails. Fortunately, an athletics coach encouraged her to channel her misspent energy on the track. She motivated herself into becoming a high school star and earned a scholarship to college. When her mother fell ill, Meg decided to give up her chance at college to care for the woman who had raised her. One summer's day, on a long run deep in the woods, Meg vanished. Search as they did, they never found her body. Meg is one of those who is just simply filled with energy. Unfocused and uncontrollable energy that had to come out. As a kid, it came through rowdiness and rebellion. Someone had to focus Meg before something went wrong. Fortunately, someone did. She started to run. Maybe from something undefined that fueled her energy. So to run equaled life. But to run now might attract those beings that crave the pain of others. But as she runs from something, instead of towards it, she understands something. She understands that speed is not of the essence. It's reaching that finish line. Rather last but still breathing. She deludes whatever is out there as she glides through obstacles and fear, thus managing to stay alive.

A man with an old flattop haircut is Adam Francis, a resourceful teacher and possessing a purple soul. Adam was born in Rollington Town in Kingston, Jamaica. His father died in a car accident when he was two, and his uncle took him in. His uncle was a strict, but fair man, who raised him to value education. At Kingston College, Adam discovered his father's published works, which triggered his passion for literature. His campus, however, was known for its focus on athletics. As a shy teenager with his nose stuck in books, he was the perfect prey for bullies. What he lacked in sports, he made up in grit. He learned to defend himself in the thick of it. It's during his years in college that he started to imagine his life elsewhere. While his close friends orbited the music industry, he followed a surer path. His grades granted him admission to higher education, and there was a demand for teachers abroad. After graduating from university, he taught extra classes to afford applying fees overseas. He had a steady diet of long commutes, grading piles, nightly lesson plans, and early classes. After a year, he managed to apply for a position abroad. His first plane ride took him to Southern Japan for a new start. His life in Kagoshima was hectic. There was little time to do everything he took for granted back home. His Japanese was elementary at best, which slowed him down. Buying groceries took hours, long commutes had to be planned, and lesson plans relied on Japanese notions, which he had to learn. But after a few months, he found his rhythm. He reflected on it one morning while riding the train to work. He no longer had to study the Kanji characters filling the map. He knew his way. His language skills had improved, he felt connected to his students, and he'd treat himself to luxurious restaurants on weekends. He even had his first vacation planned. Within seconds, Adam's world was brought down to slow motion. Rails hissed, bags came pouring down, and the floor trembled before the hit: Adam crashed forward as the train flipped upside down. He landed on a windowpane as an unhinged door came flying at a passenger. He rolled over so that the door would hit him instead of the girl. He shut his eyes as he braced for impact, but nothing happened. He squinted one eye open and he saw nothing but darkness. A heavy Fog had taken over the train. Ice seemed to flow through his body, reaching his lips first, then the tip of his fingers before spreading to his legs. Lulled by the warm hum of the dark whisper, he closed his eyes, drifting. No one truly knows what happened to Adam Francis. The school teachers imagined the worst when they watched the train derailment on the news and saw he was missing. Their fears seemed to be confirmed when Adam's bag was recovered from the crash site, but his body was never found. To this day, his uncle believes that Adam took off after the train crash, alive still, somewhere out there.

The quite gal staring off into the brush is Claudette Morel, a studious botanist and possesses a green soul. From the day that her parents gave Claudette her first science kit, she loved experiments. Her single-minded pursuit lead to an early scholarship at a great college. It was a huge decision to leave Montreal, but the chance was too good to pass up. Her introverted nature means that chat rooms and forums are now her best source of social interaction. Her new favorite activity is to answer botany questions for others under her new moniker of Science Girl. One evening, during a long bus ride back from the city, Claudette took a stroll that would change her life. It only took a minute for her to get completely disoriented in the thick woods. She never found her way back. Her forum only started to wonder where she was a week after she stopped posting. Claudette is not the outgoing type. Her brilliance provided her with a social handicap and she has fled the real world for chat rooms and forums. Botany and studies fill her life and even though she yearns for something else - it won't come via a modem. Being thrown into a real-life situation can feel awkward and forced. But as she is used to shutting out the world, she suddenly finds hope in this unexplained darkness that is slowly devouring her. A plant. A tree. A bush. Simple greenery that might save a life. She hides within and amongst them. Her knowledge and skills flourish as gruesomeness roams free around her.

The sleazy man that appears to be taken from a shitty casino is Ace Visconti, lucky gambler and possesses a cyan soul. Ace Visconti is one charming guy. With his sharp Italian looks, grey-streaked hair and silver tongue, he could pass for an aging 50's movies star. His heart has always belonged to the cards. From his roots as a poor boy in Argentina, he gambled, scammed, seduced and smooth-talked his way to a life of luxury as a high roller in the land of opportunity. Despite money always having a way of slipping through his fingers, Ace always figured he could win more. He never fulfilled that ambition; eventually, he racked up too many debts with the wrong kind of people. And when they finally came to collect, Ace was nowhere to be found. No one knew who tipped him off or where he fled to, but anyone who knew Ace Visconti can agree on one thing. He will survive: against all odds.

The ray of sunshine woman strumming softly on a guitar is Kate Denson, a hopeful songbird and possessing a green soul. One of Kate Denson's earliest memories was standing in front of her family, singing a song that she'd learned that morning at school, and watching smiles spread across their faces. Seeing how something as simple as a song could make people so happy was the moment when she knew what she wanted to do with her life. She practiced, learned the guitar as soon as she was big enough to reach over it, and was performing in front of crowds by the time she was eight years old. Her mother did everything she could to fulfill Kate's dreams, taking her all over their home state of Pennsylvania, then across the South, and even to Nashville itself. Kate won folk music competitions and talent shows whenever she participated, but for her to win others had to lose, and that wasn't in her nature. She only wanted an outlet, a way to touch people's lives. To make them forget the worries of the world and just enjoy themselves, if only for a while. With age came new-found freedom. She bought a battered old Chevy truck and was able to travel around by herself, meeting fans and making new friends wherever she stopped. Hers wasn't a story of rock excess though: just the road, her guitar and maybe a good bourbon to end the day. From sun-baked festivals to dark and cozy bars, people flocked to her voice and her self-penned songs of friendship, family, love, and home. These sentiments weren't just lip-service: she made sure to return home as often as she could, to help out in her community and entertain the local children with her tales of the wider world. She saw it as a way of giving back, of supporting others in the same way she had been. It was home where she found most of her inspiration as well. She had always loved to take long walks in the woods around her town, exploring off the beaten track, finding a quiet spot to play and write her songs. She had a favorite location she returned to time and time again, a natural hollow, encircled by trees, that looked almost as if it had been blasted out of the rocks thousands of years ago. Here she felt a strong connection to nature, and to the Earth itself. She let her mind be enveloped by the forest and it rewarded her with constant inspiration. She picked up her guitar and played, her fingers dancing across the fretboard. The music that she made this time was unlike her usual uplifting tunes, being much more melancholy, even dark. Still, something compelled her to continue, to finish the song. Around her, the leaves vibrated in unison with the guitar strings and the boughs of the trees lengthened, coalescing into a living form. Spider-like legs descended from the canopy above, grasping for her. Regaining her senses, she grabbed a rock and tried to beat them back, but their skin was as hard as iron and the rock simply bounced off and skittered away. The legs coiled like tendrils around her limbs and lifted her towards the darkness overhead. Fog rolled across the clearing, obscuring both Kate and the creature of nightmares that drew her up towards itself. When the fog cleared, there was no sign of any struggle, or life. Just an acoustic guitar, the scratchplate engraved with flowers; as well as the initials KD, inlaid in mother of pearl.

Another keeps to themselves type is Jeffrey "Jeff" Johansen, a quiet artist and possessing a green soul. Jeff Johansen was born and raised in Ormond, Alberta. He grew up as a quiet, only child with an aversion for large crowds. During High School, his anxious nature was mislabeled as shyness, which he covered up with a tough, stoic persona that intimidated bullies and teachers alike. At home, he discovered an interest in heavy metal and started a vinyl collection. The evocative symbolism on the covers inspired him to make some art of his own, which helped him cope with his parents' constant fighting. To escape his parent's increasingly recurrent blow-ups, Jeff started working at a video store. Few customers passed by, so he had a lot of free time to draw. A late-night regular noticed his sketches and asked him to do some artwork for his gang at the abandoned lodge up Mount Ormond. Jeff accepted the challenge and painted a large mural depicting "The Legion" in runny, bloody letters. He was given a fifty-dollar bill and a 12-pack for his hard work. It was his first paid commission, a milestone to be proud of. After his parents' divorce, Jeff was forced to move with his mother to Winkler, Manitoba, which was miles away from his home town—and his dad. In Winkler, Jeff was more isolated than ever, except for art and music. His solace came shortly after graduating from High School when he started working at a local bar with live music performances. He found a roadie gig shortly after, leaving Winkler behind. A few years later, Jeff got injured after getting involved in a fight during a concert. He was told he could lose part of his eyesight, so his doctor asked him to stay in town to monitor him. It was a difficult time during which Jeff re-assessed his life choices. He went back to school—art school. His eyesight slowly returned, but he had to be careful. He took a few courses, experimenting with a wide range of mediums, ultimately choosing oil painting and digital art, the latter of which offered paid internships. He took up a desk job and found his calling in designing labels for microbreweries. He led a quiet, simple life: he brewed beer, took-in a rescue dog, designed tattoos, and freelanced album covers for bands he liked. All until one morning, when he got a phone call from Ormond saying that his father had passed, leaving a few things to sort out. Jeff drove back to Ormond. He felt a pang of nostalgia when he reached his late father's house. Inside, there was an old guitar case sitting in against the wall. It held a black, vintage model with a sticky note that said, "for my boy." He stayed in town longer than he planned to, reminiscing about his childhood. Driving by his former High School, he remembered the mural he painted up Mount Ormond. He bought a 12-pack and headed to the lodge. After weeks of not hearing back from Jeff, his colleagues assumed that grief had gotten the better of him. His neighbor got tired of sitting his dog, which became more and more agitated as days went by. The dog became a stray again, erring while seeking the familiar trail of Jeff's malty scent.

The on her guard woman in a team outfit is Feng Min, a focused competitor and possessing a red soul. Feng Min was a young girl when she first picked up computer games, and she was instantly hooked. The brand new worlds enchanted her with colors, sounds, and explosions – a chance to be somewhere else, or someone else. Her parents saw no wrong with a few minutes in front of the screen, but as minutes turned into hours and sometimes days, they finally decided to pull the plug and force Feng Min to put more efforts into her studies. She felt smothered by her parents who refused to see the potential of a future in games, so she left home and spent her time in internet cafés and LAN parties where the old rules didn't apply. She spent hours playing, streaming, competing to rise to the top. Her parents became what she called "holiday parents" as she never saw them outside the holidays, and she became the black sheep of a one-child-family. In the gaming world, however, she finally found respect. Nicknamed the "Shining Lion," she was invited to join a prestigious e-sports team and to live in their dorms, where she found a sanctuary free of the misconceptions and prejudice she had felt from her parents and the non-gaming world. Feng Min pushed her limits to prove she was the best. Sleep was less important to her than training. At the top of her game, she filled stadiums with fans who adored her. But it couldn't last forever; The pressure to be the best grew stronger and stronger. She pushed herself too far, slept too little, and her performance began to slip. She started to lose. At night, she would stay up, tormented by the thought of disappointing her parents...and her fans. She spiraled out of control and fell into a pattern of self-destruction. She started wandering the streets and visiting bars, where no one knew of e-sports, waking up in places she didn't remember. One day she woke up somewhere completely different...in a never-ending nightmare. Feng Min did not despair – as she learned more about the challenge she was up against, she realized this was what she had been training for her entire life. Now, she was going to win.

The man making flirty eyes at me is David King, a rugged scrapper and possessing an orange soul. The single child of a wealthy family, David King seemed destined for greatness. While growing up in Manchester, he demonstrated serious potential in both sports and academics, and with his family connections, all doors were open to him. He could have succeeded at anything if it weren't for his combative nature. David lived for the adrenaline rush of a good fight and would go out of his way to get into one. His robustness and athletic abilities led him to rugby, where he could cut loose and cause a ruckus. King excelled and gained a reputation as a promising, if somewhat reckless, rookie. His meteoric rise came to an abrupt end when he lost his temper and assaulted a referee, earning himself a lifetime ban from the league and cutting short what most people assumed was going to be a long, successful career. King was unconcerned; money was no issue, so he took it as early retirement and focused on other fun things to do. Free from the constraints of career and enabled by the wealth of his family, David King spent most of his time at the pub, drinking, watching games, and getting into fights. Some might say he was wasting his life away. Not many people knew that he was an occasional "debt collector" or that he fought in clandestine bare-knuckle fight clubs. When David King stopped showing up at the pub, the few friends he still had were not surprised. They figured he had finally picked a fight with someone stronger than he was. In a way, they were right.

The last of the women is Jane Romero, an influential celebrity and possesses a red soul. Jane Romero was the daughter of the famous actress, Loretta Lawrence, of whom she had no memory. Her parents had separated when she was still a baby, mainly since her mother was often away filming. Jane was raised by her father, a struggling visual artist. She grew up torn between resenting her mother's absence from her life and admiring her presence on screen. As a teenager, Jane secretly wished to emulate her mother's talent. She would direct and perform in plays, audition for TV commercials and help her father at his studio. During her senior year, she entered a national oratory contest and won first prize. Her performance attracted the attention of a radio station that contacted her for an interview. During the live show, her natural charm and repartee impressed the staff, who offered her a part-time job at the station. After graduating from college in Communication, she quit her job at the station to work for a trendy variety show. But her frank delivery and ad-libs were not appreciated by the show's executives, who fired her after five months. Desperate for another opportunity, Jane pitched a show at the radio station she used to work at, only to be turned down, her proposal being too risky. Four months later, she received a phone call from a producer who had seen reruns of the show. He was looking for a co-host to spark up the failing show Quick Talk. Live television meant long hours, a low salary, and no stability, but it also offered a platform to broadcast her views. She disputed the crude inflammatory tone of Quick Talk and pushed for a relate-able coverage of personal issues. Her honest delivery resonated with her audience and within weeks, the show's viewership was steadily growing. After two years, she launched a full-hour segment called The Jane Romero Show, which was broadcast nationally and covered tabooed topics, including her struggle with abandonment. Her show broke records and her initials J. R. became synonymous with products ranging from beauty creams to fashion accessories. But Jane needed more; she wanted others to follow her in her footsteps. She published a memoir that covered her childhood with an absent mother. Her book was an instant best-seller but was reviewed harshly. Critics called it "a serving of sad anecdotes seasoned with bland, generic self-help tips." Jane took this criticism to heart since, despite her success, a voice in the back of her mind was starting to doubt her achievements. Her success also generated an increasingly demanding schedule and a growing pressure to entertain constantly. During a particularly tense week, she canned an episode and instead launched a two-hour-long special on divorce. Her stress peaked when she learned that her mother had agreed to star in her show. Jane put on a brave face and began the show. Most of it went without a hitch, but her mother walked on set, smiling warmly at the audience, Jane's stomach lurched unpleasantly. She was consumed by violent envy that had been festering. Yet she carried on with a strained smile, until Loretta interrupted her, saying that they were not related. The interview went haywire after that. After the show, Jane was driving to her father's house in New Jersey. She needed to talk things over with him; she had not been feeling like herself lately. She turned on a free-way along the coast to avoid major congestion and popped some painkillers to numb the throbbing pain in her temples, which had been nagging her all day. Then she started to relax and turned on the radio; classical music was playing. The drive was slow. Black ice covered the highway, which was packed with cars on their way back home. Night fell. A darkness began to blur the corners of her vision and turned the headlights into swirls of red. Jane blinked to sharpen their outlines, but each time she closed her eyes, her eyelids became heavier and heavier until they remained shut for a moment too long. The following morning, authorities were fishing out Jane's car from the water. Despite leading a meticulous search for weeks, they were unable to retrieve her body. The airing and production of The Jane Romero Show was suspended until after her funeral, which both her father and mother attended. As the public grieved for Jane, there was a surge of orders for J. R. products and all her episodes were re-released a month later, with an opening credit that wished her eternal peace.

And lastly for the men is Ashley "Ash" Joanna Williams, an alone wolf and possesses a blue soul. During a weekend at a cabin with friends, Ash Williams uncovered the Necronomicon Ex-Mortis (The Book of the Dead) and awoke something dark in the woods. Evil possessed his friends, whom he was forced to kill, and his right hand, which he sawed off. For the next thirty years, Ash ran from his past, working at a Value Stop department store and seducing women in dive bars. But he screwed up one night while being high when he read from the Necronomicon to impress a woman. Evil found him once more, wrecking the life of those around him. But his co-workers, Pablo who was raised by a shaman and Kelly who was orphaned by the Deadites, helped him put up a fight. While battling Evil, Ash was reunited with his long-lost daughter Brandy, who encouraged him to embrace his role as savior of humanity. After a terrible fight with a fully formed demon, Ash, drawing his last breath, was taken by the Knights of Sumeria and transported into the future. Ash wakened to a voice, his head throbbing. Since defeating a gang of Deadites a weak ago, he had been in a perpetual state of hangover. He heard the voice once more; a woman singing, sensual and inviting. Stepping into the corridor in his boxers, he strode towards the voice, which lead to the public locker room. As Ash pushed open the door, the singing stopped. There was a rustling of curtains. He called out, entering the change room. His voice reverberated off the moldy tile walls. He pressed on, reaching a shower that was still dripping wet. Cold, humid fingers ran down his bareback. He turned around. A woman stood naked, her skin glistening in the morning light that streamed in from high windows. Ash recognized her instantly: Linda Emery, one of his former high school flings. They had gotten back together years later while saving their home town from Evil. He had ended their relationship soon afterward, preferring to indulge freely in his new-found popularity. Linda winked at Ash, who closed the distance between them. He caressed her cheek wistfully: What was she doing here? Did she know anything about the whereabouts of her daughter? And Pablo and Kelly? A sharp blade dug into his hand, making him jump back. Linda slid a finger across the edge of her blade, collecting Ash's blood on her fingertip. She smiled, and her skin shriveled, her hair faded, her shoulders stopped, and her curves sagged, aging decades older in a matter of seconds. She attacked Ash, who poorly managed to block, being half-naked. Every blow she delivered earned him a new wound. She slashed his bad knee and he fell to the floor. As she jumped on top of him, Ash shrieked in disgust, knocking the knife out of her grasp. Her varicose hands wrapped around his neck, strangling him. Gasping, he outstretched his arm, hand landing on a soap dispenser. He spurted out some liquid on his fingers and poked her in the eyes. The elderly woman winced, weakening her hold, and Ash elbowed her in the face, knocking her back. He rolled over and grabbed the knife on the floor. Just as he was about to plant it in her chest, he stopped. There was something else he wanted more. He pressed the blade against her throat. Let's make a deal, demon. In exchange for not killing you, you portal me back to my friends. The demon agreed. She began reciting the incantation, instructing Ash to repeat after her, which he failed to manage. When nothing happened, Ash threatened the demon, who argued back, blaming his poor pronunciation. Their combined exchange of Sumerian words triggered a hiss from the shower behind them. The wet tiled floor darkened, and the pipes burst. A whirlpool of dirty water, shower curtains, and used toilet paper swallowed the demon, while Ash held onto a locker door, which slowly slipped from his fingers. FFFUUUC- ...Ash landed flat on his chest in the Realm of The Entity, sputtering grass. He got up, brushing off the dry clothes he suddenly had on. Then he looked around and his grin fell. It was the kind of place that made two things obvious: one, there wasn't any bar for miles, and two, he was going to need his shotgun and chainsaw, both of which he lacked. As he started to walk towards a glinting light ahead, a scream rippled through the trees. Groovy.

As for me? By comparison, I feel a sense of relating to some and others I just can't get a feel for. Mostly because we nearly all come from different points in time that makes no sense to each other, aka Bill and Ash. Bill comes from a zombie-filled time and Ash a demonic one. So add alternate timelines to the fucked up mess of things. Other than that we all seem to have the unfortunate thing in common of going to areas where we shouldn't have to wind up here. My role and soul have yet to be determined due to just arriving. Only after a trial are these things discovered. Though they tell me there is some time before the next trial starts. Seems when the Entity drops in a new survivor, it gives them a chance to get their bearings before sending them off to die. Apparently, it doesn't do that with the killers which have lead to random encounters and sudden deaths of unsuspecting survivors. Though from what Jake tells me, even though the killers brought here have done terrible things, not all of them easily bow to the Entity's will. The Killers are made to do the Entity's bidding, which is to relentlessly hunt and kill the Survivors. Many Killers do not do so willingly, although some are happy to sate their Bloodlust. Some have to be tortured over endless years to be coerced into doing what The Entity wants. The Entity is ever patient and the torture ever more severe. Eventually, they all cave in and start the hunt for the Entity. To mold these unwilling ones even further and strengthen the willing, the Entity has embedded its power into them, changing them to beasts that are no longer human. The killers are monsters, both figuratively and literally. For successfully sacrificing to their master, the best Killers are granted the sweetest reward of being able to slaughter Survivors on the spot without hooks. Either way, everyone on both sides loses and only the Entity wins.

Suddenly there's a deathly chill in the air. The tops of the trees sway in the opposite direction. And the fog thickens to the point the glow of the fire reflects off of it. My puzzlement grows when four of the group (Nea, Jeff, Bill, and Feng) stand up and become engulfed in black smoke, disappearing from the camp without a trace.

"They've been called out to trial, Luv."

David voices as he plops himself down beside me.

"No worries though. They'll be back. Though if those soddin' monsters hook'em up, they'll be takin' a bit longer."

"Why?"

"Because they'll be fed on by the Entity."

Meg states.

"It takes its time to feed and restore our bodies. We take a lot of damage in trials. Stuff you shouldn't live through. Not even Claudette's healing skills can fix everything like the Entity."

"But don't let that bug ya, Luv. Even if we die, we never die. Think of it as a fucked-up version of immortality."

I look into the fire and smirk.

"That is not dead which can eternal lie, and with strange aeons, even death may die."

My words make Ash flinch.

"Whoa...That sounds familiar. And by familiar, I mean, sounds like some Necronomicon type shit."

"It's a quote from an H. P. Lovecraft book. He wrote a lot about Elder Gods, demons, and messed up stuff from other dimensions. Heh...Kinda fitting considering this whole thing."

He shakes his head and waves off with his metal hand. The hell kind of prosthetic is that?

"If you have more questions, you don't have to hold back. It's best for all of us to have a full understanding."

Laurie interjects.

"Well...I know you said the killers sometimes roam the woods but is that a permanent thing? Like, is that where they live?"

David scoffs a laugh.

"Oh, that's fuckin' cute."

"Don't be such an asshole."

Meg moves over solely just to punch his shoulder.

"What? It was cute."

The guy is ridiculous. Though I'm a cliché for digging his English accent.

"What he means is, no. The Entity picks the killers before it chooses survivors, but it lets the killers roam around to mess with us, maybe even pick which of us they want like lobsters at a restaurant. Though they can't come into the campsite. It's off-limits and the Entity prevents them from coming in."

"We found that out thanks to that twat, Nea. Damn bird kept tauntin' the monster till it got fed up and charged for all of us. All these black throne riddled vines encased the camp like a dome. And when they came down, the monster was gone."

"But while the killers do sometimes come to our forest, they don't live here. There are sixteen killers that we know of right now. They have territories that relate to them and they often choose to stay there. Some even sharing the area because the Entity put it's belonging there. Though it's those territories that we get sent to for the trials and sometimes it's not even that territories killer that hunts us."

"Agh...So much info-dumping. It's making my head hurt."

"Easy, Luv. We just have a little bit more to share."

I groan and give into this.

"Fine."

"There are twelve territories we've seen so far. These territories are pockets within The Entity, who constructs everything from itself except for the Killers and the Survivors. The Realms do not co-exist at all times but are rather created whenever needed. The location of the Campfire is also located within such a pocket. The Woods and Fog beyond the Trial grounds represent the boundaries of the pocket and are just a façade. The MacMillan Estate is home to the Trapper. The Blood Lodge around Autohaven Wreckers is where we guess the Wraith to live. Coldwind Farm is home to the Hillbilly but is shared with the Cannibal. The Nurse shares her home turf of the Crotus Prenn Asylum area with the Clown who stay in a carny's caravan around Father Campbell's Chapel. The Shape lives on Lampkin Lane, Haddonfield. In the Backwater Swamp there is the Hag and a shack called the Grim Pantry is where she resides. The Doctor can be found at Léry's Memorial Institute. The Huntress resides in the Mother's Dwelling and the Plague in the Temple of Purgation, both are found in the Red Forest. The Nightmare lives on Elm Street, Springwood. The Pig hides out in the Gideon Meat Plant. The Spirit is at her Family Residence of the Yamaoka Estate. The Legion is found in the Mount Ormond Resort. And Ghost Face...doesn't really have a place as far as we know."

"The narcissistic fucker likes to roam apparently. No one place is ever good enough for long."

"But even with all these zones just for them, there is one place they all have control of. The Killer Shack and it's Basement. Down there is a room of pure hell, the closest point to the Entity itself, what with all the freaky unnatural lights and sounds found there. It's packed with memories of endless suffering and torture. The smell of dried blood and bowels stays with you even after death."

"Huh...Maybe it was him out there then."

"You saw one?"

"Why else do you think I came literally crawling back? I'll admit that sometimes I can be crazy, but I'm far from insane. If I see something weird, I don't stick around like a dumbass in a horror movie."

"Clever girl..."

David's arm rests over my shoulders.

"If you're smart, keep your 'ead down, and can move fast, you should 'ave no trouble avoidin' those creeps."

I give him a funny look which has him looking back at me in playful confusion.

"What? What's with that face?"

"...You're lucky I have to save my energy for not being killed or that arm would be up your arse."

I use the British word for ass hoping it would make it sink in. It has the opposite effect, as he smirks.

"You got spunk, Luv. I like it. Nothin' more attractive than a woman that can kick some arse."

Oh for fuck's sake.

"Dude, I'm giving you ten seconds to back off before you find out just how spunky I can be."

"Is that a promise?"

I can hear the bones in my right-hand pop as it clenches into a fist. Though this is made for nothing as a hand on my shoulder keeps me just levelheaded enough to not punch David's teeth in. It's Quentin, and a simple shake of his head is all he needs to do to say so much. I sigh and stand up, walking towards the outskirts of the camp.

"And people wonder why I don't socialize."

Leaning on a tree that just barely stands within the glow of the fire, I hear the petty squabbling of a few of them berating David on his actions. Honestly, they're wasting their time. I don't blame David. Dude's honestly got a nice cut of jib. I'm just not used to having attention. Especially THAT kind of attention. It makes me feel awkward.

"Are you okay?"

Adam comes close but not very, wanting to stay in the light and not be so close to the forest.

"Yeah, I'm okay. No harm, no foul."

"Are you sure? You looked pretty upset."

"Why is it that when someone says that they're fine, the questioning party always repeats the same question again but in a different format?"

"I'm just trying to make sure..."

"I said I'm fine! I don't need to be babied!"

I can't stand this. There's too much pressure. Bad enough I'm in a huge group. Bad enough this whole Entity and killers bullshit. But I don't need someone thinking I need help or pity.

"Okay...You don't have to snap."

I growl at him and myself.

"Don't do that."

"Huh?"

"Don't make me out to be the bad guy. I told you I was fine and you kept at it like somehow my answer would change. I don't need this. Fuck this shit! I'm out!"

Fuck the danger. Fuck these people. Fuck everything! Nothing matters! I storm off into the woods, ignoring the shouting of warning, I just want to be alone and away from all this fuckery. So what if I run into a killer? Big whoop! They claim to die all the time by these monsters and they're still kicking. Bet the only inconvenience will be the pain. To quote a famous movie killer doll..."Go ahead and shoot! I'll be back! I ALWAYS come back! ...But dying is such a bitch". Geez...How long have I been walking now? If I keep going would I end up in a loop or possibly wind up in one of those other areas they told me? Why is it that all the cool stuff always happens when you have no means of recording it? Then again, who would I be recording for anyway? Wait...Is this really the direction of thought I'm having while all of THIS is happening? What the hell is wrong with me? I mean...

*CRUNCH*

Uh oh. That wasn't me. Maybe? Just to be certain, I won't move.

*CRUNCH*

Yeah, that wasn't me. Did someone follow me out here? No, they're too fearful to do something like that. I'm the idiot with a death wish.

*CRUNCH*

It's getting closer. Whatever it is. Damn fog. Can't see a thing it's so thick. Okay, keep calm. Don't panic. Just stay low to the ground and scurry into some shrubbery till it goes away. Then run like hell.

*CRUNCH*

lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...

Is that...Is that my heart beating in my ears? Wow, that is clear. Also creepy as hell.

*CRUNCH*

lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...

Okay, really don't like how that's getting louder.

lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...

What the fuck has my heart going nuts?! There is nothing out here! What kind of crazy bull...

*CLANG-CLANG*

Shit?

The sound of a bell tolls and a figure materializes from the shadows. A tall imposing thing now stands not far from my little hiding bush. This thing is draped in a faded black hooded tattered cloak smeared with ash or dust traces, it's face obscured from sight with only the tiny glow of white coming from its eyes, and bandage wrappings around the mid to lower torso region along with parts of both arms. On its waist are two pouches, one large on it's right and a smaller one on it's left. I can't see its legs but going off on how it walked I'd say this thing is barefooted. There's strange scarring on what I can see of its right arm, this arm also holding a very macabre and deadly weapon. What looks almost like an ax but made from the skull and attached spine of a human that has three wickedly sharp blades coming down from the teeth. Its left arm seems to have wire or ring-like bangles along the wrist, and in this hand it holds the source of the ringing. A heavy-looking cast iron bell that is also made of a human skull. I'm seeing a theme here.

"Tra la la. Come on out, little one..."

That voice...like a quiet garbled growl, as if it has a congested throat.

"You can not hide forever."

The hell I can't.

lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...

Man, that is getting old. Am I only hearing this because it's so close? Gee, that would be useful knowledge to have. Thanks, teammates! You spam me with all sort of crap about your lives and you leave out the essentials. I hate people.

*CRUNCH*

It stomps harshly into the ground and it makes me flinch, which makes the blush rustle faintly. Too bad for me that this slight rustle is enough for the creature to notice. A sudden red glow coats the ground in its line of sight and it covers the bush I'm currently in.

"Found you. Tra la la."

My choices for moves at the moment are limited and time-based. I have to pick something. Instinct and pure randomness kick in. Making me pull one of the weirdest moves out of my zany bag of tricks.

"*sheep bleats*"

Arguably not the smartest sound to make but the effect is what I was praying for. This odd sound coming out of a bush confuses this killer. This momentary mind fuck is just the slight advantage I need, using its daze state to dash out of the shrub on all fours. This also adds a bit more confusion to the killer but not for long.

*CLANG-CLANG*

lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...

Okay, still beating hard but not booming crazy like before. No doubt it's giving chase. Only things I don't know are how fast it can move, if it can flank me, and which way is camp. Best to serpentine as much as possible.

lub-dub...lub-dub...

It's settling down? Is it not following me? No! Don't be stupid. Don't slow down. Don't look back. Keep going forward and never stop.

*CLANG-CLANG*

The red glow suddenly flashes at my left side. I do my best to dodge out of the light's radius and I do manage to keep my vitals from harm. That, unfortunately, didn't mean I avoided the attack. No. While still in its reach, this creature took great aim and swung it's weapon down hard to stick its blades deep into my left leg's calf. The sound that escapes me becomes a haunting roar that makes the forest even more spooky than it already is. I skid across the ground into a tree, a trail of crimson highlighting my path, the weapon of my crippling still jammed in my flesh and possibly bone.

"Poor little lamb..."

Please don't rub salt in this wound by gloating.

"You should've stayed in the corral with the rest of the herd. Tra la la."

Don't do something stupid brain. For the love of God, do not do something stupid because you're distracted by that somewhat adorable speech tick it has.

"*wincing* I can't help...that I'm sheepish."

Okay, that wasn't doing something stupid. That was saying something stupid. Good job. You found a loophole. This stupidity puzzles the killer. I know I'd be questioning so much if I was in its place.

"You are a strange one. Tra la la."

I meekly shrug.

"*wincing* I prefer...quirky. *whimpering chuckle* Oooh...fuck that stings!"

That gets it to snicker lightly as it approaches.

"Quirky? Heh...I suppose that is more fitting for an oddity such as you."

I can't move. I mean, I probably can, I still have three working limbs. But I can't make myself move. Its aura is smothering enough to hold me down. So when it reaches for the ax handle I nearly bite my tongue off to keep under control for when those blades are yanked haphazardly out of me. Though my attempt is a failing one. Another eerie wail cries out of me and into the forest as more blood is spilled.

"Such odd sounds you make, little one. But a refreshing change none the less. Tra la la."

Thank you I guess? Honestly, I can't tell if it's complimenting me or dicking around. Either way I'm in too much pain to care and I'm fairly sure the bone in my calf is broken.

"Till we meet again."

For a moment I swear it was going to leave. To spare me this one freaky encounter since this wasn't a real hunt. But that is wishful thinking on the hopeful part of my soul. For these monsters aren't called KILLERS for no reason. In that fraction of a second where my hope had spiked, I fail to take note of the dark whispers in the wind and the violent swinging of the ax to my back. The first strike alone paralyzes me as it's a direct blow to the spine. Blood splattering in a vicious burst across me, the area, and it. The next three are just overkill and break my body's necessary connections to keep it going. Regrettably, I'm still alive. Bodily functions are coming to a slow stop and I'm bleeding out rabidly, yet I'm still very aware of all of it.

"Maybe next time you will remain in your pen like a good little lamb. There are wolves about. Tra la la. It would be a shame to see such innocence strewn about like a gutted corpse on a hook."

I want to say something. Anything. But all that leaves my mouth is blood that is flowing out of my deflated lungs.

"Tra la la. Let this be a lesson, little one. Learn it well."

My unblinking eyes lay their sight on that dripping ax once more as it's lifted high and comes crashing down like a merciful gift to my skull. Because all pain stopped the second darkness takes me.

[The Entity is pleased! The meat. It bleeds. Wiggle, little worm. Wiggle. Do not waste precious time! Find others! Quickly! Kill more meat! Catch meat. Sacrifice meat. Appease The Entity. Do not let the light in!]

I bolt upright with a sharp gasping breath. A cold sweat coats my skin and my heart is pounding a million miles a minute. I don't get the chance to question if any of that was real, for the first thing my eyes see is the campfire and then the people around it giving me weird looks. All seventeen are there now so I guess the trial ended. I instinctively feel around for damage I know happened but find none. There's no ripping of my clothing or even a drop of blood staining it. It's like...nothing happened. The only odd thing, the thing they're all looking at me funny for, is my exposed soul. It's not a single color like theirs. Hell, it's not double, triple, or even a handful of colors. This heart-shaped soul floating out of my chest is a fucking rainbow of ten, yes, ten colors all sloshing about in a torrent of colliding waves. Black, purple, blue, cyan, green, yellow, orange, red, pink, and white. Three of these colors I don't think they've ever seen before. Not liking their staring, plus this soul exposure makes me feel naked, I force the heart back inside my body and react as one might do in such a situation.

"The fuck are you looking at?!"

That bark gets a good chunk of them to turn away. Yet some don't and one has more balls than the rest to come near me...David.

"You don't look so good, Luv. Did one of the monsters moris ya?"

I'm sorry, Brit boy say what now?

"Come again?"

"Memento Moris. It's the killer's ability to kill Survivors while skippin' the whole stick you on a 'ook thin'. A neat little trick they don't often get to do."

"Oh...Yeah. That happened. Not sure if how far I got or if you lot heard me at all."

"We didn't 'ear any screams. But we did 'ear some messed up shit. Was that the killer doin' all that?"

Alright, that makes me laugh. They thought that was a killer? Can't blame them. I don't make human sounds when in pain. My amusement puzzles him and even more so when I pat the spot next to me, giving him the okay to join me. He does so but cautiously.

"What's so funny?"

"Those sounds you heard...*giggles* That was me."

The "what the fuck" look he gets is priceless.

"You? You made those monster noises?"

"Yeah."

"Bullshit."

"Dude, why would I lie about that?"

"I...How?"

"I don't know how to scream."

"...Okay, now I know you're fuckin' with me."

"Dude, I literally woke up here growling and snarling like a beast. Are you sure I'm yanking your chain?"

He ponders this a moment.

"I guess not. Still a bit nuts though."

"And what isn't in this place?"

"Good point, Luv."

Maybe David isn't so bad in small doses. At least now he isn't being a flirty douche and I can take note of the two tattoos he has. One is behind his left ear of a Rose and the other is on his right forearm of a Lion. From what he spoke of in his past, that rose is from his Rugby Union Jerseys.

"So...Which of them freaks was it that did ya in?"

"The hell would I know? You were all so busy tell me your life's stories that you didn't give me info on the killers other than names and territories. Which, by the way, thanks for that. Real fucking helpful."

He chuckles as I glare. Though it doesn't hold much attitude when he pats my head apologetically.

"Sorry, Luv. But to be fair, we didn't expect ya to run off a second time."

"Yeah yeah. Excuses excuses."

"If it 'elps, I'll make it up to ya."

This shouldn't get to me but does get me curious.

"How?"

"If we get paired up on a team for a trial, 'ow about I watch your back?"

I shoot him a look.

"What?"

"You're just going to check out my ass the whole time."

That catches him off guard and he laughs loudly.

"Oh man...I fuckin' love it..."

"Come on, you know you totally would, Mr. English ball buster."

It takes him a bit to settle down. Though when he does, he pulls me into a playful headlock and nugies me.

"Not gonna lie, Luv, I would. The tail around 'ere ain't really fair game. I mean, all but one or two of you birds aren't of jail bait standards. Little Laurie is only seventeen. The oldest one is Jane but that duck ain't my type. Everyone else falls somewhere low but older than Laurie. It's a real minefield."

I feel like lying about my age would be a smart move on my part. Too bad I already gave that detail out when we did our whole "hi, my name is" thing. Curse being 32.

"You, on the other 'and, I like."

I'm starting to think I had it easier with the monster in the woods.

"Now spill it, Luv. What did this monster look like?"

He stops the nugies and I growl at the rat nest he made out of my head. That's going to be a bitch to fix.

"I couldn't see its face. Just the eyes. Though if it helps with knowing what it was, it had a bell."

He nods with recognition.

"Ah. The Wraith. Soddin' tosser can go invisible with that bell. Can't attack though till it's visible again. But it's much faster while 'idden."

"Again, really could've used that info before. Explains how it caught up to me so fast."

"And again, we didn't expect ya to leave."

"Well, now you know. And knowing is half the battle."

"G.I. Joe is still a thing in 2019?"

Laurie chirps.

"If you think that's weird, so is Cabbage Patch Kids dolls."

She gets this look that says "why" very clearly.

"How?"

"Some things just can't die no matter how much time passes."

That innocent yet ominous statement sets a chilling mood. The others keep away from me for now, only speaking to me if needed. David remains with me and aside from a few random blunt flirts here or there, his willingness to chat gives me a little more details on this bunch. Laurie and Quentin are the same age, making them the youngest ones here. Bill, even though he's been pulled from 2009, is the oldest here at the ripe age of 80. No clue how he's so damn spry for that age and managed through a freaking zombie apocalypse. In second place is Ace at 63, followed by Detective David at 58, and Ash at 57. David swears that Jane is in her 60s, yet she looks to be in her 30s, but it's always hard to tell how old a person is in the entertainment industry. They seem to defy aging...just like Madonna. Everyone else is all scattered between 19 and 40. It makes me think. I mean, I get why some of them are here. They went somewhere that was tied to a killer in some way or were with the killer when they too were picked by the Entity. But some of them...Why are they here? Were they pulled in because of crazy strong wills? Did the Entity taste something it liked and was like "sure I'll take that"? God, I have so many questions and I doubt I'll ever be able to even begin to scratch the surface for answers. There is however two questions I don't want answered...When will my first trial start and who'll be the killer?

[Elsewhere: Killer Shack]

*CLANG-CLANG*

"Tra la la. Meeting will come to order."

Wraith materializes and gets the other killers attention.

"Ah, so I was thinking...Tra la la...If we all stop wiping and griping and looking at our weapons after we hit one of those little squirts. We'd probably kill them a lot faster. What does everyone think? Tra la la."

The fifteen other monsters make sounds of agreement.

"Any questions?"

A hand is raised by the Huntress.

"Is it true that a new punk has been brought here?"

Wraith nods.

"Yes, dear. As some of you may have felt, the Entity has brought in a new Survivor. Tra la la. One that I have had the pleasure of finding in the woods outside of the campfire."

"A new human, you say?"

Ghost Face toys with his knife.

"Tell us, darling, what manner of prey are we getting to enjoy this time?"

"A new female has been added to the group. Tra la la."

"Heh...Another bitch that needs to be put down like the rest of the dogs."

Nightmare says with a menacing grin.

"I am not so sure she will be as easy as you think."

That gets some notice.

"AND WHAT IS THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN?"

Trapper, understandably, questions.

"Do not toy around with riddles, friend."

The Nurse makes a good point.

"Just tell us what you know already, bellhop. Some of us have kills to be ready for."

However, Hillbilly is more blunt about it.

"Very well. Tra la la. While I did kill her, she was not without some odd tricks. She did not act like the other humans. Nor did she move like them either. Tra la la. If it weren't for her inexperience, I most likely wouldn't have caught her."

"Sounds more like you're losing your edge. *coughs*"

The Clown interjects between hacking fits.

"There is more. This human also is in possession of a very...how to put it...perplexing soul. Tra la la."

Interest is now at its maximum level.

"hag wants learn. hag learn ALL THINs!"

Hag, for the better part of it's effort, is eager to learn.

"Upon killing her, I managed to glimpse her soul before the Entity could take her away. This soul is unlike any I've seen before. Tra la la. It had multiple colors."

This gets some chuckling out of the Legion.

"heheheh...really trying to hype up this girl, aren't you?"

Wraith shrugs.

"I am merely informing you of what I know. Tra la la. Do with this knowledge what you will."

"then in that case, i choose to call dibs on the new meat."

The others voice out in disapproval.

"🕈☟✌❄ ☝✋✞☜💧 ✡⚐🕆 ❄☟☜ ☼✋☝☟❄ ❄⚐ ❄☟✋☠😐 ✡⚐🕆 👍✌☠ ☺🕆💧❄ 👍✌☹☹ 👎✋👌💧✍" (WHAT GIVES YOU THE RIGHT TO THINK YOU CAN JUST CALL DIBS?)

The Doctor asserts his authority.

"..."

The Shape is very displeased.

"Deary, as much as that tough act is cute, there is a pecking order. Newer killers like us can't claim things willy nilly."

The Plague seems to know her place or just doesn't care.

"screw the rules. i have numbers."

"*snarls*"

Cannibal grips his chainsaw tightly, ready to have it's blade feed on the nearest flesh it can touch.

"I-If you think y-you're good enough to have a s-shot at the new meat. M-Maybe you should p-prove it."

The Pig isn't very menacing when she speaks.

"If anyone should call dibs IT'S ME! I need TENSION! CONFLICT!"

Spirit twitches violently, it's body trying to keep itself together.

"the way i see it, this bull your calling me on is moot. everyone here is gonna vote for themselves to go after the new meat, that is obvious. but what you dorks fail to remember is i don't have just one vote. there are four of me. and last i checked, four beats out any of your ones."

The dirty looks given to Legion would be worth their weight in killing potential if looks could kill. Yet he shrugs this off with a cocky grin and tucks his hands into his pants pockets while heading for the stairs leaving the basement.

"welp...catch you guys later. i'm gonna see what's so special about this human. wait...scratch that...my human."

He mockingly laughs as he ascends the stairs and the remaining fifteen are all glaring at where Legion once was.

"Can we end the meeting on agreeing that the Legion is an arrogant prick? Tra la la."

The resounding agreement is unanimous.

"Very well. Tra la la. Meeting adjourned."

*CLANG-CLANG*

With that, Wraith vanishes and takes its leave along with the other killers. Returning to their areas to prepare for the coming trials. For soon they will be unleashed upon those poor unfortunate souls. And there will be much bloodshed, for some Survivors more than others.

Let me know what you think. And I'm so sorry for all the info-dumping in the beginning. I personally hate it but there's no other way to describe the Survivors. Now...Some of the Killers aren't set in stone yet, but here's the idea for each killer and the monster they are.

Trapper = Fell Papyrus Wraith = River Person (AU determined later) Hillbilly = Flowey (AU determined later) Nurse = Horror Toriel Shape = Undertale Grillby Hag = Horror Temmie Doctor = HorrorFell Gaster Huntress = Fell Undyne Cannibal = Asriel (AU determined later) Nightmare = Napstablook (AU determined later) Pig = HorrorFell Alphys Clown = Asgore (AU determined later) Spirit = Mad Mew Mew (AU determined later) Legion = Sans (tale,fell,swap,horror) Plague = Undertale Muffet Ghost Face = Fell Mettaton (Yes, I'm aware of two more killers coming soon, I'll plan them out when they appear)

Also, you may have noticed I didn't say Freddy Kruger during Quentin's backstory even though his game bio dose. There's a reason for it and it fits with the lore. Nightmare is Freddy, no doubt...Now you're picturing Napstablook as Freddy and it's fucking cute...But, thanks to the Entity, he doesn't remember that. During a Q&A with game creators, they were asked this question..."CAN THE KILLERS REMEMBER THEIR PAST?". They answered..."It depends on the profile of the killer. Some of them do. Some of them don't. And remember might not be the right word. Have access to... maybe." This means that even the willing killers can be altered by the Entity to make it easier for them to be used and kill for their master. So if the Entity can mess with the killer's memories, why not the Survivors? So I'm making it that none of the Survivors that knew a Killer before the Entity got them remembers that Killer's past identity. This makes them true monsters. I'll also be editing the Killers lore to match the monsters a bit better, Legion for one in the game is comprised of 4 souls (2 male, 2 female), but in this story, the 4 souls are all male (4 different Sans). Needless to say more, that needs some tweaking. Thanks for reading all this. Have a good day or night. Laters. ^_^