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Black mist envelops Ace, plucking him abruptly from his usual spot around the campfire, and drops him unsteady on his feet. He could never get used to the nausea and dizziness that overwhelmed him whenever he traveled like that. Annoyance flickers in Ace’s stomach; he was in the middle of a game with Bill and Adam, so close to winning their most prized flashlights, before being dumped into a trial like this.
It was a familiar place with smells of gasoline and car oil wafting in the air, with large dilapidated cars blocking most of the horizon. One thing towered over the debris. A large LED sign, which flickered frequently, read ‘GAS HEAVEN’. Tepid air ghosts over Ace’s face, a far cry from actual wind tousling his hair.
A booming gunshot cracks the stillness. A pained scream right at its heels.
Ace could take the hint; it was time to start moving.
He starts with a jog toward the noises of familiar machinery. Ace still doesn’t hurry, taking a more scenic route as he peers around trees and corners for signs of wooden chests. He had once promised Bill that he would prioritize generators over rummaging through chests, but old habits die hard. Can’t teach an old dog new tricks, and all that. Yet, it seems Bill wins at the end when Ace finds a generator before a chest. Crouching down next to it, he immediately digs his hands inside the mechanical entrails to twist and turn knobs.
The generator springs to life without interruption. A light turns on above Ace, illuminating him in warm light. Ace stands, his knees popping, taking a second to himself before another gunshot rings out. He hears another scream, but different from the first. Drawn out and wet with blood. Goosebumps involuntarily break out on his skin, and a shiver runs through him. Somebody’s been hooked.
Ace turns away from the generator and gets back on track. Finding a wooden chest. Surely, somebody else would be going for the save, while Ace could focus on other things. He only has to walk a few feet before he spots it by a pile of tires. He quickens his pace, drops to his knees, and fiddles with the lock.
Ace had to replace his gambling vice with something. The thrill wasn’t quite the same with the lack of money trading hands, so he sought his cravings elsewhere. There was a sick sense of childlike glee whenever Ace searched a chest near a killer, hearing nothing but his heartbeat and beads of sweat rolling down his temple. Or even being the last alive, and getting exactly what he needed. It seems Lady Luck still hasn’t abandoned him in this hellscape yet, by the way some of his finds turned out. The majority of his escapes were possible because of an item nestled in a chest.
Never mind the amount of times he had died, however, prioritizing scavenging over generators.
“It’s nice to see you took Bill’s scolding well.”
Ace half-turns at the voice, hands still busy with the lock. Claudette stands with her hands on her waist. An ever-present medkit in her right hand.
“What Bill don’t know won’t hurt him much,” Ace says, his mouth twisted in a smile, “Just lookin’ for something that’ll make this trial easier, s’all.”
Claudette shifts her weight, “We only have one gen done.”
“Better hope I find a good toolbox, then.”
Another generator completes in the background, punctuating his words. Simultaneously, Ace finally gets the chest open to reveal a medkit. He clicks his tongue against his teeth. Not exactly what he was hoping for, but maybe somebody back at camp would want it. Ace’s hands aren’t steady enough to be good at patching people up beyond the basics. It was more of Claudette’s thing. He rises, clutching the medkit, before turning to an amused Claudette.
“Maybe your luck isn’t turning out?” Claudette smiles, proving her words have no actual bite to them.
“Ah, ah! Don’t say that, just watch— this medkit might save your life,” Ace then gestures off in the distance, “Who got caught?”
Claudette sighs, “Jane. Renato saved, and I patched her up,” Ace hums at the information. Good practice for the kid, “Be careful, okay? Killer doesn’t seem like he’s in a good mood.”
“Like they ever are.”
Claudette’s face breaks into another soft smile, her glasses pushed up slightly due to her cheeks. She opens her mouth, probably about to urge them along to another generator, when blood splashes across Ace’s face, droplets staining his sunglasses. She drops her medkit, a hand shaking as it hovers over the spear firmly planted in her chest. Blood gushes around the wound, soaking into the pink fabric of her shirt, and the gray of her pants. Claudette chokes out a wet groan, a small dribble of blood pooling at the corner of her mouth, before being violently spun and reeled away.
Ace only stands there, his smile dropped into an open-mouthed stare.
Just barely far enough away to avoid detection, a tall (literal) cowboy stands, reeling Claudette straight to him, chuckling like he told the world’s funniest joke. He raises his weapon and knocks her down easily with one swing of his gun. He rips the spear from her chest, a wet squelch permeating the air.
A gunshot rings out, and another spear whizzes by Ace’s head, knocking him out of his stupor. Deathslinger's chuckles accompany the dizzying knocks of his heart. Ace bolts, weaving in and out of sparse trees and tiles, shoes pounding the ground. Ace hears a distinct scream from Claudette as she’s hooked.
Claudette dropping was the beginning of this trial turning into shit. It quickly rolled into people being too busy saving and healing instead of dedicating time to generators. Even when Ace could find the time to sit at one, his shaking and bloody hands connected the wrong wires, earning sparks flying in his face.
Renato kicked the bucket in front of him; he had managed to unhook and started to patch him up when the Deathslinger interrupted. He raised his gun, aiming it directly at Ace, before Renato pushed him away, blocking the target. Renato's screech when the killer ripped his spear from his body echoed in Ace's head. He couldn't stop replaying it. Renato's torso was a mangled, bleeding mess. An entire chunk was missing, and the air was tainted with a metallic scent of rich blood. Ace couldn’t even see where his shirt ended, and his skin began; it was all just a mess of gore.
Ace, unable to rip his eyes away from the scene, couldn't get up and run. He stared, eyes wide and mouth agape, as the Deathslinger dug the sharp end of his gun into Renato’s back. Ace felt the weight of his stare, leering at him, as a smile broke out on his face. The killer skewered him, like Renato was nothing more than a piece of meat, raised him high above his head, and pulled the trigger. The spear stuck devilishly out from Renato’s mouth, and his entire body went limp within seconds. Blood ran down his face, mixing with the wound on his chest, down his legs, and finally, stained the earth below them. Deathslinger dropped him to his knees, like a bag of bricks, and kicked him off his weapon.
Ace curses at himself as he connects the wrong wires again, blowing up the gen for the umpteenth time.
No matter how much gore and bloodshed he’s exposed to, his body always reacts like it’s the first time. It’s no use trying to get used to the image of people you’ve known for seemingly years getting ripped apart like it’s a fun game. Worse, even, when it was right in front of him. To somebody who wasn’t a veteran of this vicious cycle.
Steadily, Ace’s heartbeat drums in his ears. He stops short of grabbing a lever to pull and stays stock still. Something’s wrong. It’s way too quiet. Ace stands slowly and peeks over into the horizon.
Deathslinger stands, away enough for Ace to have some distance to run, but is still way too close for comfort. They’re locked in a staring contest. Ace becomes acutely aware of how much of a dead zone he’s in, with barely anything to block Deathslinger’s line of sight. He slowly backs up from the rumbling generator, as the killer raises his gun to aim. He doesn’t move, as if taunting Ace, the stance eerily reminding him of the stance his father used to take while hunting. Ace feels himself bump into a stack of tires.
Like a whip cracking the air, the sound of a far-off completed generator breaks the tension. Ace turns and starts toward the gas station, his loafers slipping on the loose dirt of the ground.
He doesn’t have to turn around to know that Deathslinger’s hot on his trail, the menacing stench of blood and the panicked beat of his heart is enough to tell him that. Ace vaults into the gas station, one foot catching on the edge and sending him sprawling on the ground. He groans from his head knocking into the linoleum tile, and a part of him wants to lie here. Pretend to be dead, or actually die, so Jane can get the hatch. His heartbeat screams at him to get up!
Ace scrambles to his feet and ducks behind a store display, just as another gunshot rings out, with a spear striking the empty place where Ace occupied before.
He hears the bell ring, signaling Deathslinger’s slow waltz inside. The strong thuds of his footsteps feel like earthquakes, and Ace briefly wonders if Deathslinger can hear how fast his heart is beating. He crouches, placing a hand over his mouth, and strains his ears. The killer continues walking, nonchalantly, as if he was a real customer. He could hear the slight clinking of chains against themselves, the thuds of solid footsteps mixing with his harsh heartbeats. A deep rumble pierces through the air, and Ace tilts his head to hear better.
Is… is he humming?
The revelation makes Ace’s ears burn hot. He pushes it back into the recesses of his mind to mull over later, and he dares to risk a glance over the display when the gas station is quiet. Did he leave? Ace couldn’t immediately see the killer, or hear anything, although this wasn’t enough to calm the raging anxiety. Ace collapses back in his spot, a hand placed over his heart, and feels the adrenaline slowly ebb from his body.
Jesus Christ, he’s getting too old for this shit. If the killer doesn’t do him in, a heart attack sure would.
A sharp laugh cracks the stillness of the air, and Ace spins toward the sound. There, looming over him, is Deathslinger, effectively blocking him from reaching the window behind. Despite himself, Ace shouts, something shrill and panicked. Deathslinger’s eyes grow an unnatural white, and Ace thinks he might have a heart attack after all.
He thrusts his gun forward, the pointed spear stabbing through Ace’s shoulder. Before he could even acknowledge the weapon sticking out of him, Deathslinger yanks it back out, the sickening squelch of torn muscle ringing in the air. Ace's hand shoots out to cover the wound, trying not to vomit at the feeling of blood gushing through the opening slits of his fingers. The unnatural feeling of knowing his entire left arm is there, but not feeling it. Another chuckle breaks his focus, and Ace looks up through blurry eyes, to watch Deathslinger admire how his blood drips off and onto the floor. The urge to vomit overwhelms him further.
He scrambles backward, just barely making it to his feet, and rushes into the side garage. Ace knocks himself against the car stationed in the middle and curses the Entity heavily through the white-hot pain. There’s no fucking way in hell he’s making it out of this garage, no amount of luck that’s going to turn back in his favor. Even if he is the luckiest bastard alive.
Ace hears the Deathslinger follow behind at a leisurely pace, and irritation builds in his gut. He hisses and hurries around the car, briefly crouching behind a thick pallet. Ace waits until the footsteps grow louder, until he can see the artificial light hit the sharpened end of a gun. When Deathslinger barely moves toward the pallet, Ace shoots up and slams it down. An annoyed, more than pained, grunt escapes from the killer, filling him with a sick sense of justice. He dashes away from it, a hand still covering the wound in his shoulder. All he needs to do is lose him, maybe try to find Jane and get patched up.
It could never be that easy.
Ace stumbles, the pain from his shoulder blinding him momentarily, and he clips his injured arm on the edge of the car. He groans, tears springing to his eyes. The brief blunder is enough for Deathslinger to catch up. Ace could practically feel his breath on the nape of his neck. He hears the chains of the gun clink against each other, and immediately, pain blossoms from across his back. It burns something fierce, and it rips another scream from his lips. Ace stumbles, again, just managing to catch himself on the edge of the car. He pushes himself from it, hopefully to gain a bit more distance, and starts running toward the opening of the garage.
There’s no way out of this, there’s no way out of this, there’s no possible fucking way out of this!
Ace hears the echoes of Deathslinger’s raspy chuckle, and he spares a glance behind him. He stands, tall and cocky, in front of a locker, his gun raised and trained on Ace’s back. Ace doesn’t have the energy to weave and try to make him miss. He grimaces and continues running. If he goes down, then he’s as sure as hell going to make the killer work for it. He hears the gunshot ring, and he stills, expecting a spear to make itself known in his chest, but the pain doesn’t intensify. Ace looks down at his still bleeding and battered body, but there are no new wounds. He swirls around, just in time to see Jane take a hit from Deathslinger’s gun, and run further inside the gas station.
The giddy feeling in his chest takes over the pain, and Ace would jump for joy and click his heels if he didn’t still have only one arm functional. Reminder to worship Jane profusely once they all get back to camp. He turns from the gas station and runs farther away. He ducks behind a wall made of debris and takes a moment to catch his breath.
Now, what to do about his shoulder and back?
Ace had used most of his medkit on patching Renato up, before his unfortunate end, and only now has half of a bandage roll. He groans in pain as he unravels it, starting to wrap it around his shoulder. It’s as best as he’s going to get. His back screams in protest, at every stretch Ace has to do, and he manages to use up the entire roll on his shoulder. He can barely move it, but it has to be good enough. The pain simmers down to a whimper. He slowly rises from the floor, hand clutching into the crushed debris of the wall to hold him up.
A final scream from Jane calls his attention. It cuts itself off, no doubt ending in a garbled noise. Fuck. There’s no way Ace could hide from Deathslinger and keep his head down long enough to finish the last generators.
The ground heats up from underneath his soles, and an unnatural fear settles on his back, signaling the near end of the trial. The fear is not solely his own, only exacerbated by the spider entity controlling their entire lives here. Knowing this doesn’t mitigate its effects. No goddamn way the Deathslinger managed to find the hatch that easily? Ace squeezes his eyes, a hand pinching the bridge of his nose, breathing heavily.
Oh, he’s so fucked.
Waving away those thoughts, Ace opens his eyes, steels himself, and moves away from his hiding spot. The odds being stacked against him is not an unfamiliar feeling. He's been through this situation millions of times, even before his time in the fog. Memories come back to him; running from debt collectors, slipping in and out of places unseen, and cheating at blackjack tables with the best surrounding him. Ace made his best getaways and casino wins under immense pressure. That's all this is now. With each thought, Ace feels his familiar confidence flood back into him. The more he sneaks around the map, the more it fills his chest. He could do this. He wins these.
Ace crouches down to a wooden chest and begins fiddling with the lock. The fear, now quietened down to a murmur, festers in the silence. His ears strained to hear even the slightest pin drop. C’mon, c’mon, give him something good, give him something he can work with. Hasn’t he been the most obedient lapdog for Lady Luck? He pops open the chest, and there, sitting on top of a mangled toolbox, is a (surprisingly) glistening metal key.
He grasps it, almost giddy, and holds it against his chest. Thank God whoever thinks Ace is more entertaining alive than dead. He stands from the chest, and is about to turn away to find the hatch, when the anxiety takes hold of his heart and squeezes. The ground heats up to an impossible temperature, something that Ace could feel even through the soles of his shoes, and he intrinsically knows what it means. He instantly jumps away, pressing himself against a damaged car, when a spear runs through the empty air he left behind.
Jesus, how many near-misses was that?
Ace watches as the spear gets reeled back, dragging along the angry ground, and up to the killer wielding it. The Deathslinger moves his jaw, cracking it back into place, and shifts his weight into his back leg. He raises the weapon again, and Ace bolts from his place where he stands half in shock.
Okay, okay, okay, the hatch. It could show up effectively anywhere, but where were the usual places?
Ace runs through a list of locations that Feng Min once fed to him, trying to remember what landmark she burned into him the most. Only once it appeared on the horizon, did he finally remember. The shack. A shabby, decrepit thing that was a near constant in every single place they went through this death loop. Ace runs into it, throwing himself behind the generator, and strains his ears to listen for the Deathslinger. Thick footsteps, one stepping heavier than the other, make their way toward him. His breaths quicken. It’s fine, Ace knows how this dance works, and the beats are familiar. This is no different from dodging debt collectors or angry gangs belonging to people he’s pissed off.
Through a crack in the wood, Ace sees the silhouette of Deathslinger walk past. It’s not lost on him that he could easily go through the window, and catch Ace off-guard. It’s the hunt, the chase, that most killers like. Ace shivers at the thought, and he pushes it down to creep out of the shack. He peeks over the edge, heart hammering in his throat, and spies it.
Nestled in the grass and dirt is the hatch. Ace lets out a breath of relief despite himself. It’s further down the side, but he could probably get to it quickly if—
Pain explodes in his already damaged shoulder, and he screams. Deathslinger's chuckles behind him are lost within Ace’s groans and whimpers. He grips at the spear in his shoulder, absentmindedly tugging at it, as he tries to limp toward the hatch. He’s so close, if only he could rip this fucking harpoon out of his shoulder, but he slips backward, twisting the spear deeper. It’s honestly surprising it hadn’t sawed the limb off completely.
Ace moans something garbled, all the wounds and bruises on his body taking this exact moment to make themselves known. He tries to dig his heels into the ground, but it's useless. His feet are uncoordinated and fumble, making nothing but deep grooves in the ground, and eventually, he hears the click of the spear clicking into place. Deathslinger lets him hang on the spear for a few more painful moments, before ripping the weapon free. Ace screams again, his arm being so loosely connected beams alarm bells in his head. He drops unceremoniously to the ground, his head hitting the dirt hard. Ace groans, the surrounding sound giving away to a soft ringing in his ears. No doubt, nursing a concussion now.
Beneath him is a mess of blood and dirt, mixing to create some kind of fucked up mud. Every inch of him aches something fierce, each demanding medical attention. Ace breathes out slowly, avoiding any harsh movements in case it irritates his wounds further. He can still feel the Deathslinger's eyes on him, examining him like he's some experiment. Ace shuts his eyes. He hates when killers prolong the inevitable, especially when they're particularly chatty, like the guy with the fucked up headpiece and the flashy one with an impossibly sharp bat.
His eyes fly open at the feeling of hands digging in the pockets of his pants. He groans, trying to shift away as best as he can, but the hands follow.
“Hey… take me out to dinner, first,” He murmurs instinctively.
Ace feels the killer grip around the key in his pocket, and hears the crunch of Deathslinger’s boots move away from him. He raises his head just in time to see him crouch by the hatch. Deathslinger inserts the key into the lock, and it flings open, the black fog reaching out with its misty tendrils. Deathslinger straightens to his full height, seeming even taller from where Ace is sprawled out on the ground. He reloads his gun, the spear clicking into place, and he looks at Ace expectantly.
This wasn't exactly a new thing to him. He had heard, and experienced, countless times of killers pretending to be merciful, only to shut it at the last minute, and kill them. Ace huffs, dropping his head back into the dirt, slightly grimacing at the blood. Is this one of those moments? He doesn’t have the patience for this. He would much rather Deathslinger get over himself and hook him already.
A gunshot rings out, and Ace flinches, looking up to see Deathslinger reeling in his spear again. He points at the hatch with the tip of it and meets Ace in a stare. He sighs.
Alright. He could play this game.
Ace reaches out, grabs a fistful of dirt, and pulls. His wounds scream at him to stop moving, to just lay there and die. He's got half a mind to pay attention. His useless arm does nothing but drag behind him, fingers getting trapped underneath the weight of his body, and threatens to tear him in half. Ace cries out and stills for a moment. After a second, he grits his teeth and pulls himself along. He's aware of Deathslinger's stare, and it burns holes into him. It's embarrassing, to be groveling in the dirt like this, and even more so if the killer just decides to close it right in front of him, after all. Ace thinks he would curse him out to the high heavens.
Finally, the tips of his fingers grip onto the edge of the hatch. Ace huffs, and bites down the grunts of pain and bile. He turns on his cheek, catching a small glimpse of Deathslinger, and he waits. Any second now, he will laugh something guttural, slam the hatch door closed directly on his fingers, and then spear him with that fucking gun of his.
Deathslinger doesn't do any of that. He stays there, eyeing Ace with something in his white eyes, and he turns to leave. His long coat wafts air over Ace, slightly grateful for it and a bit miffed at the treatment. Ace stares as Deathslinger moves farther and farther away, still not letting himself believe it. He only does once the Deathslinger disappears behind a stack of crushed cars.
‘What the fuck?’ is Ace's last thought before he lets himself fall into the dark void of the hatch.