Forgotten

[Mariah Boucheron]

Spoiler: Music OOC

The music stopped. The voice that came from this puppet was distorted. That was one of the first things that Mariah made out alongside its completely creepy vibes. A masculine voice. A masked voice. A modulated voice. Hollow. Ghostly. Ghastly. Empty. Lonely.

A lonely, lonely voice.

“If you lose…you die…” Toneless. If deep as the darkest pit. “If you win…you live…”

To say that she didn’t like this would be quite an understatement.

“All you have to do…” The puppet continued. It hadn’t moved during this. Suddenly it did. Slowly its head shifted. “...Is survive…”

What…the fuck…is this?

“Is this some kind of sick joke? Some prank?” No answer from the thing. Nothing. “Who put you up to this? Even if this is a legitimate kidnapping, even if you want my money, or my family's money, you won’t get away with it, you know?”

She spoke her words with vigor. With strength. She was a strong woman. She had to be. However, she could not deny her heartbeat. Her breath. The heat beneath her skin even in this cold dark room. She couldn’t move. She wanted to.

“Let’s begin.” It spoke with puppet lips, as expected, of which the movement of its mouth was all the more disturbing. Stupid. This is stupid. This is a dream. Or this is some stupid teen.

“First, I want you to take the fish. Take it…and shove it inside yourself. Between your two lips like tulips. As if it’s Darth Vader’s burnt member.”

Breath caught between Mariah’s lips. She can hardly believe this. The audacity. The speech. From this puppet. Though surely the ridiculousness of its request was just further indication that this was really was some twisted joke? The thought of that gave her some calm. Even though its words gave her anger.

“No fucking way.”

“You’re right. Unfair comparison. The fish is too frozen… How about Anakin Skywalker’s member? He was a rather handsome man.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

“No? Not him either? Thorne’s sword? A woman like you ought to set him on a straight course… Ha. Ha. Ha.”

It laughed. It…laughed… A flat deadpan laugh. This is crazy. This is silly. This isn’t even happening.

“Kidding.”

Where am I? Where’s the exit? I want out. I need to get out. Where’s Kayden?

“I hate to spoil the fun but here’s just a taste of what’s to come in this game.”

At that, and though Mariah was already short on tongue, though she wanted to speak, to plead, to threaten, there was another movement from the puppet. A projection emitted from its left eye like a holoimage.

“This is where you are.”

Spoiler

“This is some of what you will be facing in the cold. In the dark.”

Spoiler

“I added the music. Hope you liked it. The cameraman didn’t get to hear it. He didn’t make it.”

Nonsense. Stupid. This is nonsense. Anybody could fake footage in today’s day and age. She didn’t believe it. Wouldn’t buy into it.

“In this complex, you will face obstacles like what you saw. You will be hunted. You will also face obstacles in the form of…puzzles. Traps. You are in one already, Mariah…Boucheron.”

It knows my last name.

“You are in the great game now. How you play, whether you win, is up to you. Shoulder the burden. Freedom is in the eye of the beholder.”

“Kayden. Where’s Kayden!?” Her heart skipped a beat again. Unless… “Kayden? Is this…is this...you? Kay..?”

There was a delay.

“Your first obstacle is to get out of this room.”

Light illuminated the majority of the chamber just then. Mariah looked around, searching for hope, for an exit, for Kayden. Nothing. Nobody. Just me. Just this thing. Just meaningless equipment fit for a basement, for a factory even.

“Let’s get back to the fish for a minute.”

No. No fucking away.

“I want you to pick it up...and slap yourself in the face with it.”

“Shut up. Shut up!"

“Go on. Do it. It will be absolutely hilarious.”

“No. I’m not playing. I want out of here. Right now.” Light in her environment. Where’s the exit? Has to be here somewhere. Darkness still lingered near a corner. Covered it. Over there?

“Do it.”

“If you let me go now I won’t report any of this. I promise. Just…just let me go…okay?

“DO IT.”

Suddenly its voice changed. Its pitch. No. No not this. What is this. That was just too disturbing.

“DEW IT.”

“No! No I’m not doing this. I'm not doing this!”

“PICK UP THE FISH”

“Fuck you! FUCK you!”

“FISH FISH IT RHYMES WITH DISH”

“FUCK YOU!” She picked up the fish. And she swung it. “FUCK YOU!” Again. Right into the puppet’s head. A frozen fish against the mad and maddening puppet. “FUCK YOU YOU PIECE OF SHIT!”

Again.

And the puppet just…laughed.

“Hahahahahahahahahahaha.”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!”

It didn’t. So she kept hitting it. Over and over again until she was out of breath and the fish was as broken as the puppet’s face. Still, it laughed, but the laughter faded away.

“Hahahahahahahahahahaaahaaa-haaaaaa-haaaaaaaaa-haaaaaaaaaaaa…”

Until no more laughter came.

Just then light illuminated the corner that had earlier caught her gaze.

A door. A DOOR. Mariah dropped the fragmented frozen fish and rushed toward the door to open it. It was solid. Windowless. No. She pounded it with her fists. It wouldn’t open. “NO!”

She just then noticed the small window on it. She looked through. Saw nothing. Just a corridor. Something more. Adjacent from her was another door, another window, light, but nobody. Nothing. There was a handle that wouldn’t turn on her door. A lock that had no key. Key! KEY!

She turned around, bit her lip, and began her quest. Search the room. Find it. Find it. Find it. Or, if no key, use the equipment, break it. Somehow. Find it. Break it. Get the fuck out.

 

[Mariah Boucheron]

Spoiler: Music OOC (Recurring)

Moments passed. Fast. Time moves forward. Yet it went in a spiral. Viral. Infectious. Time is a virus. It infected existence. Every element. It could warp space. Space could warp it. Forward. Go forth. Toward this piece. Look for the key. Keep searching. Move bare feet. Stub toe. Screech. Not in agony though. In fury.

Agitated. Aggravated. Broken puppet over there. Broken machine over here. No key. Nothing. Keep going. Lift this sheet. Nothing underneath. Kriff it. Check behind the pillar. Extinguisher. Feel atop the pipe that can be reached. Dusty. Nothing.

“FUCK IT.”

She doubles back. Grabs the extinguisher. Heaviest object she can find. -SMASH!- Door doesn’t budge. Again. -CRASH!-

“DAMN.”

She retreats. She breathes. Hands on knees. Panting. Tired. Arms on fire. Get a grip. She spits. Stringy saliva. Thirsty. Can’t quit. That saliva is a sudden reminder of last night. A fire of another kind. When he kissed her. Gripped her. Her lips kissed him. The lips above her chin. The lips between her legs.

Kayden…

Could it be him? Why couldn’t it? Where was he? What were the chances that this was him? That it wasn’t him?

Shut up. SHUT UP. Move. MOVE.

Extinguisher did nothing. So be it. She looks around. Sees the puppet. Broken bastard. Lifeless bloody eyes. Find something else— Wait… “What the hell..?”

Another reminder. What was the line it gave her?

“Eye… Freedom is in the eye...of the...beholder…”

Was it that easy? Was this the puzzle? Fuck it. Try it. She tried. Mariah went over to that miserable piece of shit to pry the eyes right out of it. Fingers clutch the left eye. She grits her teeth. Feels good at least. Feels like she’s ripping the eye from the socket of her worst enemy.

Nothing. It won’t budge. Fine. Time for the right eye, you son of a bitch. Was there a key inside? Had to be. She pulls. Sighs. “You fucking mother fucker COME ON!” She presses her thumb into the blood red eye. It clicks. It’s a button. “SHIT!”

She gasps. Rips her hand away. Blood on her thumb. Sucks the blood. Pain. Something sharp poked her. But it didn’t matter. She looks upward. There’s no door anymore. It slid upward. YES. YES. Finally, she can leave.

Mariah darted across the floor. Didn’t care what was in the corridor. When she entered it, however, she discovered that it was dimly lit. It was small. Just a dead end on one end. A wall. A door on the other. A door right before her. The same closed door as before. Adjacent. Carefully, cautiously, she paced toward it. It had a small window like her own. She reaches it. She peeks in.

And gasps.

There, appearing out of nowhere, was a face. It faced her. Its eyes went wide like hers did. Clearly it was breathing as heavily as she was. She can’t think. Can’t breathe.

“KAYDEN!?”

He mouths something. Frantically. She can’t hear him. Can he hear me!? “K-Kayden!” He desperately tries to open the door. Same way she had tried before. She looks left. Looks right. A button! She presses it.

The door slides upward just as before. There, standing in the doorway, no longer naked as the night before, was that man in a white shirt, broken buttons, black pants, buttoned. He didn’t hesitate then. Didn’t hesitate this moment.

“Mariah..?” He licked his lips. Likely as thirsty as she. “Mariah!” He didn’t waste a second. He shot forward toward her as if to embrace her and…she shot toward him. They embrace. His arms swing over her. Hers swing over his.

“Kayden…”

It wasn’t him that did this. No way was it him. His eyes did not betray what was inside. The heart beating in his chest. Further, as she looked over his shoulder, she saw it. Broken. Given the same treatment.

That same fucking puppet.

 

[Mariah Boucheron]

Spoiler: Music OOC

Okay. In a bit of reflection, in retrospect, with self-respect, she was taken in by the moment. By the mayhem. She was so alone though. So lonely. She would have clung to a fucking bug if it was big enough to be hugged. Although, this was no bug. This was a man. No. This was not a man. This was the man. Her man.

Maybe if he wasn’t clutching her back. Maybe if he had stood in that doorway staring at her, absent of expression, motionless, like that fucking puppet, then maybe…maybe she would have stepped back. Stepped away. Anybody would have had the sense to do so then.

Yet why should she? How could she? This wasn’t a puppet. This wasn’t a machine. This wasn’t an object. He felt firm to her. Like he did earlier. His skin was warm. Cold. Like hers. Cheek to cheek. Like that evening. His breath was hot. Like hers. His shirt. It was real. His fabric. Like her dress.

This was real. He was real. Evidently, they weren’t just the only two persons in this universe yet again. Like on my bed… No. They were the only two sane persons in this universe. Wait… In his grip, her eyes closed, not wanting to open them, not wanting to sleep, to wake up, yet wanting to do both, she remembered another line from that damned puppet…

'Your first obstacle is to get out of this room.'

She did. So had Kayden? Wait. Did his puppet say the same thing? What’s the second? What’s the second ob— Thought obstructed just then. By Kayden.

“There was…some…some crazy fucking puppet in this room…”

Oh, could he feel the relief as she breathes onto his neck? To hear him say that was as disturbing as reassuring. Same thing. He faced the same damn thing. “Mine too…” Ask him. Don’t be an idiot. You’re smarter than this. Use your intelligence. Your senses. Make SURE of it, Mariah Boucheron.

“What did it tell you?” Tone is interrogative. More than she meant it. He doesn’t seem to notice it though.

“Insanity. Nonsense. Talked about how…how it wanted to play a game…that this is a game…hell, I don’t know…what was it…a game of life and death…that I…I—”

“—Need to survive.”

“Yeah. Yes. Projected an image of the building we’re in uhhh…” Speech amid their hug. Don’t let me go. I don’t want to let go. “...Some facility. A factory maybe? A big one. Showed me…” He breathes. No, he sighs. “...Shit, Mariah. Showed me a video of this…ugh…this naked man…I don’t know what he was doing…eating…was he eating?...something…someo—”

That was different. She interrupted him. “Was there a fish?”

Finally, he parted, pulled back, only to blink into her eyes as if she was suddenly an idiot. “...A fish?”

She certainly felt like one at that moment. “On a table..?”

“No. There was no fish. There was a table though. Ha. Sorry. I feel like an idiot. My table had a dish.”

Her turn to blink. “A…dish..?”

“A plate. I smashed it. Over the head of that puppet. Crazy bastard. Mariah, what is this shit we're in?”

His tone. His eyes. This is him. This is Kayden. Strong. Like her. But like her, at this moment, his strength and confidence betrayed fear. Good. Fear was good. Fear meant she was human. So was Kayden.

“I…have no idea…I still don’t know if this is some kind of ransom, sick joke, or what…but…we’re in the same boat…same clothes...oh fuck.” Saying it out loud made her realize the gravity of this. They were naked. They had sex. In the same bed. Now...they were...dressed?

“That means…”

“...Someone…”

“...Was in the room…”

“...With us…”

Fuck.

At that moment, as they face each other, eyes into eyes, she knows he is thinking the same thing.

Give me a fucking weapon.

 

[Mariah Boucheron]

Spoiler: Music OOC

“We need to get out of here. Now.”

“Right.” Kayden didn’t need to tell Mariah twice. Looks left looks right. Right. Dead end that way. The other way was an entrance. An exit. A closed door. So far doors had buttons. This one shouldn’t be any different.

“This way.” Kayden nodded. They went. Stepped away from those dreaded rooms. Went as one. Walked together. Stronger together. Moved as a unit. Go. Don’t stop. Don’t look back. Walk. Jog if you have to. Run if you must. Don’t die.

Survive.
This.
Shithole.
Live.
Win.
So.
Go.

F it.

At the door, without knowing what’s behind it, the man, the woman, look at each other, eyes into eyes. Does it matter who opens it? Who presses the button? What if…whatever is on the other side of it…is naked…is giant…wants to feed on their flesh…or smash their bones into pieces… Maybe, then, whoever opens this door will be responsible for their death.

Fuck it.

Mariah presses the button. The door slides upward.
Kayden stands in the doorway. Sports a brave face.
Darkness in the corridor. Whatever. Have to escape.
“Ready?” "Ready.” So they move. Together. Forward.

Step carefully. Check your surroundings. Too dark to see however. Don’t go too far. She doesn’t. He does but only toward a dimly lit section against the doorway. Another button. He presses it. Light from darkness. Ceiling lights illuminate their way. It’s just another corridor. As naked as flesh. Barren. Empty.

A longer corridor. Longer than the one from before. Another door at the end. It’s quiet. Darkness ahead where their light does not illuminate. No doors lining either side of the walls. Take a breath. Hold it. Be bold. Do it. They move forward. Together. As a unit.

“Wait…” Kayden says. Mariah gazes at his face. His eyes squint as if he sees something in the distance. “I think I see…something…”

That makes her eyes go wide instead. She didn’t see anything. “What? What do you see?” She whispers, nervously. They’re halfway down their hallway. Darkness ahead at the edge of their light where it ends.

“Wait here. Pretty sure whatever it is didn’t move but need to be sure.”

“Wait here? Are you crazy? Just tell me what you see!”

“I thought I saw a light. A flash. Not like the ceiling lights. A terminal maybe. But…” He turned to her. Trying to reassure her. She welcomes his touch, his grip on her arms. He gripped her arms last night. Held her tight. Gripped her thighs. Spread her legs. Trailed his fingers up her stomach. Pinched her belly button. Her breasts.

Fuck. Shut up. Can’t help it. Anxious. Adrenaline. Get a grip.

“But if it turns out to be the eyes of a flesh-eating zombie…” He grinned. Amusement.

“Very funny.” She glared at him. So much for humor in horror. “Fine. But You’ve got as long as it takes to walk there and back before I throw my shoes at you, Kayden.”

He blinked at that. “You’re not wearing any shoes. Neither am I.”

“Right.”

Finally, she smiled. Had to. Had to break the ice. The tension. Eyes into eyes.

“I’ll be right back.”

To be fair, it wasn’t that far away, but she would let him be the big savior, the big boulder who protected her. To step into the darkness, to find another light switch, to check out whatever it was he saw.

So Kayden walked away. He carefully paced. He wasn’t an idiot. She needed intelligence. He had it.

…Right?

Mariah sighed, holding her bare arms, stroking them with her fingers. He had done so no differently. Don’t you walk out on me… She playfully teases herself. Have to stay sane. Have to keep from being terrified anyway.

He steps again. No boots. No shoes. Can’t hear his feet. But she can see. Yes. In an instant. She sees the corridor cut them off from each other as a door slams shut behind Kayden’s back.

“KAYDEN!” She shouts. If he shouted back then the door was too thick, too metallic, to hear him. She runs forward. Pounds her fists on the door. “KAYDEN! CAN YOU HEAR ME!? WHAT HAPPENED!” Again. Nothing. Searches for a button. Can’t find one. Shit shit shit get a grip get a grip.

Then, out of nowhere, there’s a voice. A lone voice. Right on top of her.

“Can you hear me?” It’s Kayden. “Check to your right. Or left. To your side. Should be a button. An intercom.”

Phew. Finds it. Presses it. “Can you hear me!?”

“Yeah. I don’t know what happened. I’m okay. This place must be old or something. Must have tripped a switch on my way. Good news: I think there is a terminal in the distance. Might be what opens this door. Stay there, okay?”

Another attempt at humor? “I’m not going anywhere. Just hurry up. This is getting to be too much for this pretty lady.” Have to stay sane. Have to find humor. Or get a brain tumor.

Time. Time passes. It isn’t endless. Yet it felt like eternity with each passing second. With each moment. Unfortunately there was nobody to keep Mariah company. Fortunately there was nobody who could eat her anyway.

Her room was empty. Kayden had come from a similar room. One end of the smaller corridor before both their doors was a dead end. The other end led to where she was and had no other doors so—

-VrrrrrRRRmmmMMM!-

Frozen fish. That’s what Mariah is at that very moment.

-VrrrrrRRRmmmMMM!-

She had been facing the closed door that separated her from Kayden for some moments.

-VrrrrrRRRmmmMMM!-

Slowly, she turns backward. Her heart is in her neck. Her head is in her feet. Her bare feet are trembling like her fingers.

-VrrrrrRRRmmmMMM!-VrrrrrRRRmmmMMM!-VrrrrrRRRmmmMMM!-

Trembling like her tongue.

“Wwwwhat the-the f-fffffuuucckkkk!?”

There, standing in the doorway, the same doorway whose door she opened for this corridor, was a figure. Taller than her. Fatter. Had a face. It wasn’t a human face. It was an animal’s face. It was a pig’s face. And it had a chainsaw in its grip.

There’s a delay.

“HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEERE PIGGY PIGGGYYYYYYYYY!!!”

“KAAAAAAAAAYDEEEEEEEEEEEN!”

 

[Mariah Boucheron]

Spoiler: Music OOC

Just as surely as she glimpsed it, just as surely as it screeched its speech, with hints of maddened hunger like no other, it began to walk toward her. Slowly. Purposely. Like a predator. Yes, its head was that of a pig, flayed at the edges, red, bloodstained, like its entire person, bloodied. Yet it saw her as the pig. As prey. Just as it claimed.

With each step forward from the doorway, toward her, into the light of the corridor, one by one did the light bulbs die out behind it. So that, as it came her way, slowly, carefully, hauntingly, tauntingly, it was paraded by shadows looming, louder than the silence of slumber, booming.

Or maybe that was just the sound of her own heart threatening to explode from her veins, in her face, as fear crawled in her ears, slithered like worms being flayed.

It screamed ‘piggy’. She screamed ‘Kayden’. Her back literally up against the door that had fallen in the corridor. That had separated Kayden from her. Again, she screamed his name, her flesh becoming one with the metal, pressed so firmly against it. Whatever this thing was, it was beyond mental.

“Piggy piggy PIGGYYYYYYYYYYY!!”

-VrrrrrRRRmmmMMM!-

The chainsaw in its grip buzzed. More devastating to her than a hundred of those bloody puppets put together.

Closer.

“KAAAAAAAAYDEEEEEEEEN!! HURRYYYYYYYYYYYY!!”

Closer.

-VrrrrrRRRmmmMMMMMMM!-

“STAY AWAY! STAY THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME! GET AWAAAAAAYYYYYY!”

CLOSER.

-VrrrrrRRRmmmMMM!-VrrrrrRRRRRRmmmMMMMMM!-

It is the sound of a thousand cries in the wind, the sound of children sighing as they lose their heads. It is the sound of ripped flesh. Not flayed with precision. Just. Ripped. Away.

CLOSER.

“Piggy piggy … PIG … Piggy piggy PIGGY … PIG PIG PIIIIIG PIIIIIIIIIIIGGGGG”

Then…the door opens…as lights go out…Mariah immediately turns around from hell…

“KAYDEN!”

But…it isn’t…Kayden…

It’s someone else.

But this time it’s thrice its size.

It is that puppet.

With violence in its bloody eyes.

 

[Mariah Boucheron]

Spoiler: Music OOC

Closer.
Closer.
CLOSER.

CLOSER.

Lights out.
Swallow the hallway in darkness.

Only…not the floor of the corridor now open before her…

Light behind this tower. This figure in black. Red bowtie. Black cloak over black suit. White face. Red spirals on its cheeks. Round and round. Those circles so round. Red lips. Red eyes. Like frozen blood. Beyond creepy.

This isn’t a fish. It isn’t a pig.

Neither is Mariah.

“Hello, Mariah.”

The man-sized puppet speaks.

With another voice modulator.

But she’s not so frozen in fear.

Giant ‘puppet’ before her.

“PIIIIIIGGYYYYYY!? PIGGGYYYYYYYY!!!”

Giant ‘pig’ behind her.

Behind it, those two chambers, and a dead end. Wherever the hell this thing came from, she knows in that frozen moment, that second trapped in time and space, that she can’t go back.

She can only go one way.

Forward.

“GET OUTTA MY WAAAAAYYYY!!”

She doesn’t hesitate. She darts to the side, beside the figure in black and red and white, flies by it, and she runs. She doesn’t stop running. She doesn’t look back. She keeps gunning. She runs as fast as she can.

Now Mariah’s heart isn’t pumping so much from dread as adrenaline. Now it doesn’t matter that this stretch of corridor before her leads to more darkness. It doesn’t even fucking matter that she hears the Pig screech as its chainsaw sings.

It doesn’t matter that it screams as its chainsaw swings.

It doesn’t matter that she can’t hear the Puppet say anything.

It doesn’t matter that, suddenly, as she’s too busy running to think or see, she no longer hears the chainsaw.

It just doesn’t matter.

Mariah doesn’t look back.

Even when her ignorance beckons an answer from behind her.

“YOU OWE ME A SCREEEEAAAAAM”

 

[Mariah Boucheron]

Spoiler: Music OOC

Run. A voice tells her. It isn’t his. Is it even hers? It wasn’t like she was some robot who didn’t recognize the sound of her own voice. She was no android. Yet, this sounded so very different. So uncannily different.

It was a woman’s voice, granted, but she sounded so far away in her own brain. So close. So far. Like a whisper in the dark from a person you cannot see. No other way to describe it. No other way to perceive this anomaly.

RUN. Mariah Boucheron. That is her name. That was her name. That's the name of the lady in her head, the one commanding her, urging her, as desperate as a drowning woman gasping for breath. Only there was no ocean here.

This environment was quite different. No, it’s a different kind of sea. It’s a pit whose life force has been emptied, like a body drained of blood. A well but with no water. What caught her is her ghost in hell.

Run. Run! RUN. RUN!

This is a voice that Mariah will listen to. A voice of her past, her present, her future. It doesn’t matter. It is the most desperate, the most distraught, the most violent voice she has ever heard from her own conscious. It beckons this woman, commands her, to run. With all effort. Faster. Onward.

Don’t stop. Don’t stop!
DON’T STOP. DON’T STOP!

She will not. Cannot. Neither will she look back. Not at either one of them. Not at Pig. Not at Puppet. Not to glimpse what happened. What becomes of this and that. Not her business. She only has one mission. Live. One objective. Run…

So she does. She begins in the light. What little there is in her position within the corridor where before her is darkness, an endless stretch of it, leading to who knew where. Yet, there is still light, still some semblance of vision, and it is maximized, even in its minimum.

She doesn’t cry. She doesn’t scream. She doesn’t try to hide despite seeing a door on one side and a door on the other. No telling what’s behind a door anymore. Doors were her surely enemy unless they said ‘EXIT’ in red. But not red like his eyes… Please…not those eyes…

Shut up. SHUT UP. RUNNN.

There it was. That voice. The woman who commands the woman. The Mariah who tells the other Mariah what to do, who to see, where to go, when to sleep, who to fuck, what to eat, how to breathe, love, hate. She was telling her all this time in her life so that, if ever the weaker one needs strength, there she is. Telling her. Pushing her. Run.

Forward. Toward the darkness but we don’t care. Let it be the light that hides her. The upside down world to shroud the girl from the monsters at her heels. She feels frightened. Can’t deny it. But she doesn’t care. Fear is what guides her. The pounding heartbeats. Her bare feet. Run.

She runs. Even as she hears the scream, not of a voice, but of a noise further behind her—of steel on steel—scraping—squeaking—screeching—but not like that puppet’s three wheels. It’s different altogether.

-skkkrrrrrrrrnnnGGGGGG!-

Somehow it’s even worse than that chainsaw’s sound.

-skkkrrrrrrrrnnnGGGGGG!-

It is the sound of a blade scraping along the wall. An echo that follows her feet. She’s running. She’s breathing heavily. Panting. Energy escaping. Adrenaline pumping. She won’t quit. She won’t give in. She runs until she steps toward the darkness. Dreading it while welcoming it all at once.

Run.
Run.
Run.

Then…just as happened only moments ago…the expanse expands from darkness into light by ceiling lamps that dance into her eyes… Lights that guide Mariah’s way. Who was turning them on anyway? Kayden? Then…why would he turn them off for the Pig? Maybe…to save energy… It was an old building. Not everything was working. Perhaps power could not be fully restored. But it doesn’t matter.

She can’t think. Has to run. From the dark. To the light.

THE LIGHT.
THE LIGHT.
THE LIGHT.

Onward. Forward. The corridor carries her. More doors at her flanks. Closed doors. Doesn’t know what’s behind them. Maybe it’s Kayden. Maybe it’s another monster. Doesn’t matter. Just run.

Has to find the right door soon, right? The one with the ‘EXIT’ sign? Has to be a way out of this nightmare. She’s scared, and that fear fuels her. Surely Kayden is near, unless the Puppet got him. Unless he was murdered. Was he tortured? Shut up. Run.

Forward. Legs burning. So now it feels like Mariah is running up a hill. Sweating. It is a cold sweat. She welcomes it. Skin glistening in the light from ceiling. Running for her life. Running up that hill. Otherwise she’ll be killed.

-skkkrrrrrrrrnnnGGGGGG!-

But Mariah isn’t listening!

 

[Mariah Boucheron]

Spoiler: Music OOC

Well, if this is hell, and if Mariah Boucheron is a ghost of her own self, then she is the ghost in the shell. An insignificant infant in a seashell at the bottom of the ocean.

On that earthen bed, sandswept beneath the leagues, dust kicked up like volcanic crust, she is frozen in the moment, yes, she is alive and dead at the same time, while beside her is the hydrothermal vent turned thermic geyser to birth her to the surface.

Words, in the end. Words curve. Words hurt. Words burn. Yet words were worthless. Sentences make no sense. Letters in her head. What were letters to her? Numbers. Digits. Messages. Endless. Hydrothermal vents. Particles of the universe. Fabric of spacetime continuum. Continue.

Space is liquid. Time is fluid.

Forward. Backward.
Leftward. Rightward.
Down that mountain.
Drown in that ocean.

For frozen dreams, you were conceived.
Where time’s strings stretch to infinity.
In stillborn sleep, drifting on that sea.
Alone, naked, empty, shallow, deep.

If all letters are strings, were words balls of yarn that arc? What did that make sentences? Paragraphs? Holograms?

I have to return some holotapes.

SAYS KAYDEN

Madness. That’s what this is. Maybe that’s it. That’s the lattice. Bridges instead of hyphens. Webs instead of paragraphs.

I guess? Or is it just lettuce?

Forgive this. If time is fluid, Mariah Boucheron exists in this moment as much as THIS.
Don’t worry about the image, though, because, in the end, EVERYONE IS A SKELETON.




But, at the moment, Mariah runs. Forward. Onward. She does not stop. The lights are on before her. The lights go off behind her. She doesn’t look back. She can’t. She has to get to the exit. Wherever it is. The corridor is long. More darkness the deeper its depths. Must go on. Don’t stop. Run. RUN.

From the monsters in the corners and at the borders. Behind her that -skkkrrrrrrrrnnnGGGGGG!- She finally looks backward. Sees nothing. Too dark to see. Keep going.

The corridor before her transforms. It isn’t dark. But it’s dark. Letters on the walls. On this side and that side. Left and right. Red sentences. Blue phrases. Green letters. Purple words. Other colors. What the fuck!?

FEED ME STRAY LOTH-CAT

I AM INEVITABLE

LET’S PLAY A GAME


Is that…is that paint!?
She asks on her way.

MY SISTER CAN SUCK IT

YOU KNOW NOTHING

FOUR MORNINGS AT FREDERICK’S

Amid other nonsense that she glimpses as she runs.

Or…is it…blood..?

Blood from one species or another maybe—

A door opens just then. On her left. She didn’t open it. She ran past it. But she glanced at it. Oh, man, damn, she wished she hadn’t.

She gasps. Eyes wide. Glance at the man inside. He screams that instant.
Because of what another man was doing to him.
Run past. FLY.

A door on the right flies open.
More screams. More torture.
More doors. More gore.

The violence, caught in milliseconds, was its own torment for her, graphic images, trigger warnings, kind of like this.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck SHIT. “FUCK!” Run. “RUN. RUN. YOU DUMB BITCH. RUNNNNN!!”

That voice in her head. It’s Mariah Boucheron. She isn’t gone. But she’s gone.

She becomes a ghost. A ghost in the shell. Her soul has drowned. Her heart pounds.

Here in the doll house.

 

[Mariah Boucheron]

Spoiler: Music OOC

Doll house. Mad house. House of a hundred horrors. House of a thousand corpses. Whatever this place was, whatever its original purpose, it wasn’t just some factory. Not anymore. No. It had been repurposed, retrofitted, to become something...different. Something…that shouldn’t even exist to begin with… It was a slaughterhouse.

One could glean the feeling, maybe, from the chamber with the puppet. From the rooms that one ran past? That one dared to pause in order to peek? There was no doubt about it. This building was a fucking death machine.

The puppet. That was something. It showed images of this building. It showed footage of a giant monster attacking another person. Yet it was never proven.

The pig. That was certainly something. It was a man with a pig’s face on his head. It came with a chainsaw. Turned on.

-VrrrrrRRRmmmMMM!-

Yet, even then, it never actually attacked her. What happened at haunted houses? Actors playing killers would chase you. But they never actually hurt you. If they came close, you were safe. From blades. From saws. From chainsaws. Could have been the same with that pig. Could have just been a prank.

-skkkrrrrrrrrnnnGGGGGG!-

The giant puppet. Now that was something, wasn’t it? But, even then, it never actually attacked her. Had it attacked the other? Did the Pig and the Puppet have at it with each other? A woman can’t remember, because a woman never glimpsed it to begin with. So, who knows, maybe they shook hands, maybe they danced, like it’s all a prank, a twisted game, maybe, but nothing actually wrong.

Then again…maybe not.

Because…those other chambers…those rooms that she moved past…at the flanks…either side…those men were real…those women were real…

The ones in the chairs…the ones on the hooks…the ones on the tables…the ones on the walls…the ones that were whole…the ones that were broken into pieces…

The ones that could move so as to thrash and dance…the ones that could not move because they had no hands…had no legs…no heads…

But the blood…that was real blood she saw…wet and wild…some blood dried…with the stench of death…yes…death, agony, misery…

Screams…those screams…nobody screamed like that if they did not mean it. It was a chorus of screams. Deafening. So loud it was blinding even despite the lights that were guiding. If pain could mutate, could evolve beyond its stage with no choice, then it became a voice.

A lonely, lonely voice.

Yet those voices joined each other in those moments. On the left. On the right. Behind this door. In that room. On the floor. In that tomb.

She screamed the previous evening. Passionately. Wildly. Wantingly. Wantonly. When he penetrated her. When he entered her very being. When he filled her up and when he filled her up. When she came. When he came. She screamed. She moaned. But her passion was of pleasure.

These screams…these moans…there was passion within them too…but there was no pleasure…only the pleasure in the laughter of their captors…of their owners’ torturers…

It isn’t something she wishes to think about. Can’t think anyhow. Too busy running. Forward. Onward. Run.

She does. Her corridor stretches forth. The light guides. She can’t be seen as long as those monsters are in their chambers. She can’t be heard because she runs on bare feet. Darkness dead ahead. As before, the light straddles the line, battles with the darkness, hangs at the edge of a knife, in those broken if unbroken shadows.

Come on, Kayden! She has to see. She has no flashlight. No torch. She needs sight to cross the floor. She doesn’t even know if Kayden is behind some closed door. Not all are open. Maybe he’s trapped. Maybe he’s the one helping her.

-skkkrrrrrrrrnnnGGGGGG!-

She has a mouth and she can scream. But she doesn’t dare to. The last thing Mariah Boucheron needs in these moments is for one of those beasts, those freaks, to catch onto her presence, to treat her next as they did the rest, to make her scream the same way they made their victims scream. Not like Kayden did. As blades slashed necks. As hammers hit chests. As teeth bit into heads.

The light. The light!
THE LIGHT. THE LIGHT!

And, just like that, there is light in the dark yet again.

It is dim. It is taken. Even if it isn’t Kayden.

It illuminates the center of the floor in the corridor before her. Light shines on a wall dead ahead. Yes! That meant the corridor ended. Wait! Was that good or bad? Where to go next? No sign at the end that read ‘EXIT’.

The light is dim. This is fine. It is what it is. She looks left. Spots a corner that leads to another corridor. Good. This hallway she’s in is a junction. What’s around the corner? Dangerous. Risky business. Tricky. But better than staying in death’s valley.

She looks right. Another corner. Toward another corridor. Left? Right? Still running. Has to make a quick decision. The monsters in those rooms don’t see her. Don’t hear her. Yet. But another monster is still behind her! Coming for her!

-skkkrrrrrrrrnnnGGGGGG!-

Looks left looks right. Left. Right. Left!? Right!? Left! Right!

Left…
…Right

Then, just like that, from the darkness, from the shadows, from the corner of the right corridor that is anything but right, into the light, a figure emerges, appears before her, drives her eyes wide.

Her eyes itch. Sting. She isn’t crying. She easily could be. Dry. Tired eyes. Frightened. Frightening, this figure is, similar to whatever is behind her. But different. Dark outfit. Pale mask. Dark hair. Dark eyes. Armed with a knife.

Unfortunately for Mariah, this monster sees her. Sees her face as she sees his face. Its face. It is silent. Quiet in its pace. Alone. Slow. Puprposed. Yet it comes toward her. No...no...no...fucking...way!

The question is...does she go forward...or backward?

 

[Mariah Boucheron]

Spoiler: Music IC

Just as surely as she sees the beast, as she hears the screams, as agony’s entropy withers and wails, crying that this uncanny valley is her reality, the notion that this is existence and it isn’t a dream, she isn’t asleep…she hears…something new…

It is the amalgamation of this sound with that sound. That noise with this noise. Ordered. Not disordered. Yet it sounds disorderly. Violent. Not like what was in her apartment. This is different.

M-Music!? Coming. From. The. Ceiling. What the fuck!?

Why? Why was there music? Kayden wouldn’t do this. Who did? For what purpose? It flooded the corridor. Heavy. Industrial. Metal. In a building that has become an industry of murder, depravity, rape of sanity, rage, hate, pain. There’s music. So loud it pumps within the blood in her very veins. Pumping. Bleeding.

Blood. Drums. Guitar. Heart. Music. madness.
Yet it does not, no, it does not, not once, does it drown out the screams.

-skkkrrrrrrrrnnnGGGGGG!-
Scraping along the wall behind her.

Silence.
On the floor before her.

From this other figure.

No…no…no… Not another one! No, please, no! No! No! “No! No! NO!”

Yet, for all her pleading, for all her inching away, backwards, this creature before her did not appear to be listening. It ventured forward. Toward her. Eyes were dead. Yet eyes weren’t red. Black eyes beneath the light, dark as midnight, no, blacker than black.

White face. Another mask. Isn’t a pig. It’s just…it’s…dead…like a ghost’s…like there’s no life or soul behind the pallid complexion…behind the eyes that don’t exist… Left hand brandishes nothing. Fingers free. It’s a man’s hand. It’s empty. Right hand holds a knife…it’s bloody.

“P-Please! D-Don’t come any closer!” No hesitating this time. Except with her stuttering. Otherwise, Mariah drops any disguise, any idea that everything is under control. She knows she still has her soul. Her life. Her mind. Yet, if this guy comes closer, she knows she will lose her mind, lose her life. Because this is not a haunted house. This is slaughterhouse.

Corridor. Floor. More corridor behind her. Two corridors that split at end of this corridor before her. In either direction. Left. Right. LEFT!? RIGHT!? Either way Mariah has to first get past this figure. This man. This nothing. This…thing.

Run? Hide? Rooms behind her. On the left. On the right. Though…she knows what’s inside the open ones…easy to guess what might be behind the closed ones…

Have to act. Have to actually think this time. Have to find a way to run past. Wait. She ran past the Puppet. Surely she can run past the Mask? He’s tall. He’s strong. He’s quiet. The monster somewhere in the darkness behind her is not.

-skkkrrrrrrrrnnnGGGGGG!-

“YOU OWE ME A SCREAM”

It speaks.

Fuck this! FUCK THIS!
And so Mariah takes off!

She charges forward as she had before. She is defenseless. Weaponless. Swift on her feet she darts to the left corridor to round the corner. Her opponent proves to be quick. There is a whip of wind as he swings his weapon with the flick of his wrist.

-FWICK!-

It missed! But barely. Another inch and it could have severed an artery or simply nicked her skin. She doesn’t wait to debate it. She rounds the corner…only…to see…a door. A door in the corridor. Like before. The same kind of fucking door that had separated her from Kayden!

“NOOOO!” Turn around. Gaze down to the other end of this new corridor where the masked figure had emerged to find… “NOOOOOOO!” Another. Corridor. Door.

And the Mask steps toward her…
As tortured screams grow louder…
As voices suddenly join the noises…
Not so tuneless if frantic…with music…

“PLEASE! DON’T DON'T KILL ME! LEAVE LEAVE ME ALONE!”
That’s hers.

“WHO OPENED MY FUCKING DOOR HUH!? WHO THE FUCK INTERRUPTED MEEEEE!”
A man’s. Shrieking. Not the Mask’s. Not the Puppet’s. Not even the Pig’s.

“SHUT UP! SHUT THE FUCK UP! I’M TRYING TO WORK HERE! DO YOU WORK! DO YOU WOOOOOORRRRRRKKKK”
Another's. A woman's.

“LET’S GET TO IT THEN!”
-skkkrrrrrrrrnnnGGGGGG!-
“LET THE SHOW BEGIN!”
That’s the Puppet’s.

Madness. Chaos. Mayhem.
Can’t think. Can’t rationalize.
Can’t comprehend insanity.
Endless. Mindless. Terrified...

Run? Hide? Run WHERE. Hide WHERE.

Screams. Maniacal. Wild. Coming from every everywhere. Nowhere. Along with blades as if swinging, clashing, breaking. Saws. Hammers. Flashes of light. Flashes of fire. Casting shadows into her corner of this other corridor. Her back against the door. Same as before.

The only figure coming at her is that figure in the pale ghastly mask. What can Mariah do? Run past? Where to?

Then…it happens…
As Mask closes in…
As Mariah’s heart dies…
There’s a flash. It isn’t light.

It’s another figure slamming into the Mask.

“POP SHOT HOT DOG”

Mariah gasped, loud, but quiet beneath the music, beneath the screams, beneath the chaos.
Puppet suddenly crashed into Mask, sent the latter flying backward into the wall.
Mask slashed back at his attacker.
Knife swings wide. Misses target.
Puppet slashes back at the Mask.
They begin to dance in darkness.
In light. In shadows.
Mask is silent.
Puppet isn’t.

“FISH FISH IT RHYMES WITH FIST GIMME A KISS”

-SLASH!-STAB!-SLASH!-STAB!-

Fuck. Fuck! Fuck this! RUN.

So she does. She runs!

 

[Mariah Boucheron]

Spoiler: Music IC

…One question remains, however…
…Where the fuck can she even run!?
Door behind her in this other corridor.
At other end before her, another door.

She can go back to the main corridor she exited. But that’s where the other doors were on the flanks. The open doors. With the chambers. With the torture chambers. With the sick and twisted torturers and their victims. With the screams.

No. More. Now that corridor was a gaping pit of chaos waiting to swallow her whole. She didn’t know what was going on, couldn’t see from her corridor’s corner, but she could see the wild light, the firelight, and she could hear the banging, the clanging, the scraping, the ripping, the sawing, the drilling.

The screaming. All those screams at once. It was a chorus of screams, and she had heard a chorus before. She had been to symphonies. She could afford the most expensive tickets. However, she could not afford to be in this current theater, for this was a theater of wanton carnage, and the only song was the piercing cries of its inhabitants.

Deathly cries. Wild cries. A cacophony of male and female cries, of species Human like her and alien, yet inhuman all the same, and unrelenting. They did not let up. As each voice joined the other in those instants, fractions in time that could be frozen and dissected within her mind, the screams merged and mutated as did the music.

Run. Yes. She must. She does. All she knows is that she cannot run down the corridor she came from.

First, she has to deal with two masks. The Pallid Mask and the Puppet Mask. They had left the main corridor, turned the corner and arrived near her. They were not a part of the hellish machine that became that hallway, however, but they were like two cogs kicked off.

And, more importantly, their attention was not on Mariah.
Their attention was on each other.

Run. NOW.

She ran past as both figures, garbed in darkness, slashed at each other, stabbed at each other, but she did not give them her attention. She did not care what happened to them one way or the other.

DON’T LOOK DON’T LOOK DON’T LOOK.

Sometimes that worked. Walking on a rickety bridge between two cliffs, you tell yourself don’t look down, and you don’t. Walking past a pastry shop when you're on a diet, you tell yourself don’t look, but you may do so. Even if you don’t go in.

Mariah told herself not to look down that main corridor where evil swarmed corner to floor. She didn’t listen. She stole a look as she had stolen a look into those rooms and…there was no description. If her legs did not have a mind of their own then she might have died by being stuck in time.

Men. Women. Human. Zeltron. Bothan. Trandoshan. Devaronian. Sullustan. In a glimpse. Naked. In aprons. In macabre attire like suits of flayed flesh, red robes or black cloaks torn and frayed. In everyday dress of red green striped sweater or in a yellow dress. Clown costume there. Flight suit there.

And all of them tearing into each other.
She glimpsed an axe burying into a head.
A sword severing through someone’s neck.
Rope round throat. Shocking. Biting. Burning.

Only after she made it to the other side of her own corridor did Mariah process what she had spied with her naked eyes. She wished she didn’t.

It was an instant. All she had were instants. Moments with her back pressed up against this other door that sealed off this other section of corridor. At least she was furthest from Pallid Mask and Puppet Mask. Or so she thinks.

Can’t…can’t listen… Not to music. Not to screams.
Can’t…can’t see… Not those Masks. Not memories.

-SLASH!-STAB!-

The Masks dance and attack.
Pallid is silent. Puppet isn’t.

“This is one shameful fucking performance!”

Puppet dashed back and brought his stomach in away from his opponent’s blade.

“Stop moping and SCREEEAAAAAAM”

Just as quickly, as Pallid’s swing missed, something that didn’t seem to faze him in the slightest, Puppet rebounded. He shoved into his opponent. And he thrust. He hit. He didn’t miss. He stabbed at him.

Again. And again. And again.

It was fast. The quickest stabbing Mariah had ever witnessed. Too fast. She can’t look away. Can’t escape anyway.
It was as unnatural a movement as brutal. Puppet plunged his knife in, ripped it out, in instants, over and over again.

Is…he…is he a droid!? An…android!?

It would fit his voice. Maybe it wasn’t a modulator at all in that mask. Maybe he, or it, simply had a high-tech prosthetic arm. Whatever it was, whatever he was, Puppet laughed as he stabbed his opponent in the chest, in the stomach, and then his speech matched his speed.

“FISH FISH IT FUCKS THE FISH FUCK THE DISH GET IT GIVE IT STAB STAB STABBY HAPPY MADLY FAMILY KRIFF THIS DUMBFUCK BLOOD BLOOD IT RHYMES WITH HI I’M A DRUNK SKUNK DIE DIE DIE DIIIIIIIIEEEEEE”

His efforts paid off. Pallid slumped in the bloodiest of heaps to his knees, motionless, and his black eyes that were never alive, that never had life, were as silent as his tongue. A huge pool of blood spilled from the kill and…Puppet began to dance in the blood. As he laughed.

"HAHAHA-HEH-HEH-HEH-HEEHEE-WOOHOO-WOO-HAHAHAHAHAAAAAA-HEEHEEHEEE!"

Sweat lined Mariah’s forehead. It was a hot sweat. It was a cold sweat. It was not the sweat of last night’s bed. This was the sweat of dread.

“WHITE KNIGHT TWO SCARY GUYS IT RHYMES WITH BLUEBERRY PIE”

Then, from the corner of her eye, from the corner of the corridor, another figure emerged, rushing forward toward Puppet’s back. It was an Ishi Tib. He brandished, not blade, but pipe. Pole. A long metal object that he slammed into his opponent. It struck the Puppet.

“OWWWWWWWW” Puppet cried.
Yet somehow he still managed to cackle even as he crashed to the ground and the two began to wrestle.

"NOT THE HIP"

Mariah didn’t see who one this next battle. Suddenly, there was no longer a weight on her back. Like a burden removed. But, no, that wasn’t true. The door behind her had simply opened.

She spun. Run. She ran. Didn't look back. She stepped past the doorway. Yet she didn’t take another step. Didn’t want to. Didn’t need to.

The door slammed shut once more behind her. Thick steel. Feet deep. Soundproof to an extent. Not enough to drown out the symphony of screams.

Nothing she can do. She just drops down like Pallid Mask had. Buries her head in her knees. Peeks down this new corridor with doors on the flanks and, as before, it is empty if dimly lit, stretches into darkness.

And, finally, Mariah Boucheron weeps.

 

[Mariah Boucheron]

Spoiler: Music OOC

A woman is...broken. Exhausted. Soul fragmented. Once whole. Now in pieces. No…was she ever whole to begin with? Was this woman ever really a person? String theory. Spaghettification. Black holes. All that nonsense aside…was she just…just a figment of someone’s…imagination..?

Who can comprehend it? Who can truly comprehend their own existence? Even in this universe, in this shared reality, there are those who actually believe the universe is just some giant simulation. That reality is fantasy. Fantasy is reality. But who can judge someone’s beliefs? Who truly believes in anything?

Was she asleep?
Is this a dream?
No want to think.
Leave be me be.

Thinking is…suddenly…so…broken…like her skin…which glistens from frozen sweat…in this pit…this ocean…of madness…

“Fish…fish…” Hard to speak, hard to breathe, when you’re weeping.
“It…rhymes…with…” Hard to see in the darkness. With blurry vision.
“Rhymes…rhymes…” Back. And forth. Rocking. Chin between knees.
“With…Kayden..?” Mumbling. Moaning. Looking up...at...something.

Coming toward her. There at the edge of light. At the edge of dark. In those shadows that straddle either side like lines, like letters in a lattice, numbers in a matrix, patterns in a web of life and death.

Whatever. This wasn’t supposed to make any sense. This entire factory was one of death. It was lifeless. So maybe Mariah was alive…if already...dead..?

A figure. Coming toward her. A silhouette. A shadow. Was it Kayden? Is it Kayden? Come to save her? Wasn’t he the one who opened the door, let her in, then quickly shut it before the others can come after her? Before the monsters can get her?

A dark figure. Coming toward her. Taller than her. Stronger than her. From darkness. Into dimness. It crosses the threshold between the black hole and the bright light. And…in that naked moment…that shallow moment trapped in space and time…she sees…a…face…

And it isn’t Kayden’s.
No it isn’t Kayden.
It isn’t even a face.
It’s a mask again.

It’s another monster.

Coming toward her.
With a knife longer than the others.
Slowly. Steadily. Silently.

Is that…is that a…hockey…mask..?

Yet Mariah does not get up. She does not run. No. She’s fed up. She’s had enough. She’s stuck. She’s done.

Come on then. She sniffs. A lonely finger wipes a tear away from her eye. She stops rocking. She’s motionless.

“Come on then.”
She whispers…
She lingers…
“Do it.”

He, or it, walks forward. No response.

“Do it!”

Footsteps.

“DO IT.”

Silence.

“DO ITTTT. COME OOOOOOONNNNN. DO IIIIIIIIIIIIIITTT.”

It. It. It rhymes with it.

 

[Mariah Boucheron]

Spoiler: Music OOC

Footsteps.

Figures.

Another monster.

Figures.

So come on then.

Come and get her.

“I’m right here, you bastard!”

But he doesn’t listen.
He doesn’t respond.
The monster walks.
Instant. By. Instant.

“Come and get me!”

Footstep after footstep. One step after the other.
Mariah gets up. Brave face. Aggravated anyway.
She’s agitated. But she’s had enough of this shit.
He swings his blade? Kay. She’ll die in a moment.

Whatever.

“You MOTHER FUCKER!”

Figures. The monster’s. And another’s!

Footsteps. His. And another’s!

Mariah’s eyes fly wide open as she hears someone running.
Though it wasn’t Hockey Mask with his machete advancing.
She sees another shadow begin to emerge from darkness.
Into the light. As Hockey Mask is halfway to her. KAYDEN!?

“OH NO YOU FUCKING DON’T!”

-SLAM!-

“KAYDEN!”

IT’S HIM.

Running up that hill. Coming from behind the stalker. Walker. Too late for it to turn around.
Kayden crashes into Hockey Mask’s back. Tackles him. And the pair fall down. They wrestle.

Hockey Mask slashes, swings wide, but Kayden catches the fist, and rolls to the other side.
Kayden! Dumbstruck, heart racing, suddenly alive, Mariah can only watch. Alive! He’s alive!

He got to his feet. So did Hockey. He is as silent as Pallid. Kayden isn’t so quiet.
“You want her!?” He has no weapon. Only his fists. Oh no. Watching like an idiot.
Kayden stands in between Hockey and Mariah. He’s ready. His back turned to her.
In his shirt. Pants. But with the stature of a soldier. “You gotta get through me first!”

Oh no. No. He’s…he’s no match. Hockey advanced. Mask so deadpan. He attacks.
A slash. Kayden dipped back. The machete missed him but only by inches. SHIT.
Slash was followed up with another slash. No skin but his shirt is caught by it.
Fabric danced like a feather in the wind. MOVE. She tells herself. GO HELP HIM.

So she did! She runs but she doesn’t run away! Mariah charges toward the pair.
Weaponless, like Kayden, but she’s like a lioness, yes, she isn’t a fucking kitten!
They’ll flank this fucker, and she’ll use her teeth if she has to, she wasn’t scared.
Hockey spots her. Proves to be faster than Pallid. Slashes Kayden then he kicks.

Mariah is struck in the stomach. The wind is knocked out of her that very instant.
“NOOO!” Kayden roars. The machete missed. He’s quick. Now he is distracted!
Mariah is on the floor. Kayden turns to her to check on her, like some lover would.
KAYDEN. LOOK OUT. But she’s still catching her breath! There they both stood.

Kayden. Hockey. Kayden was bloodied. And Hockey’s blade is ripe and bloody.
Kayden roars. This time because of the blood that spills from his arm by a slash.
Cut the fabric. Cut the flesh. Hopefully not bone though. Mariah just can’t see.
Finally gets to her feet. Ready! Kayden doesn’t hesitate. Runs into Hockey Mask.

Yet he’s wounded. Weaponless. Hockey’s back is slammed up against the wall.
Against a button. It is pressed as a door opens beside him. Both men stand tall.
Then Hockey pushes Kayden off of him. Kayden spins. He swings. Extends arms.
Grabs Mariah. “LOCK THE DOOR!” “NOOOOO!” He throws her in. Into the dark.

 

[Mariah Boucheron]

Spoiler: Music OOC

There was just never enough light. It was a taunting thing, really. In this haunted building, she might as well be blind. By the fire behind the madness of its inhabitants, like in that corridor, with the bodies on the floor. By the light. By the darkness. Just drive Mariah blind already. At least she won’t need to worry about what and when and where she should see.

All she can do is hear. Not music. There is quiet except for her breath. To her screams. To her words as they escape between her lips. As they fly from her tongue with spit. To her fists as they hammer the door that closed before her. A door that, go figure, she can’t open again—and she didn’t even lock it like Kayden demanded. It must have had an automated locking mechanism.

“KAYDEEEEEEN!”

Why did he throw her in? To protect her, granted, but what about him? Who was going to protect him? Who was there to defend her protector from the creature trying to kill him and her? Was he still there? Were either of them? She couldn’t hear anything.

Soundproof. Soundproof. Just like last time. He’s fine. He’s trying to unlock the door from the other side. He’s fine! You’re fine. He’s fine! HE’S FINE.

“KAAAAAYDEEEEEEN!” She pounds the door again. Kicks it. Slaps it. As if it’s Hockey Mask or Pallid. Puppet or Pig. Even that Ishi Tib. “NOOOOOOOO! NOOOOOOOOO!”

Exhausted. Yet again. Left in darkness. Yet. Again. Can’t see. Can’t think. Can hardly breathe between clenched teeth and rapid heartbeats. Takes a break. Has to breathe. Head leans. Feels cold steel.

Kayden… Please…don’t…die…don’t… “Die… Don’t die… Don’t die! DON’T DIE DON’T FUCKING DIE!”

-BANG!-BANG!-BANG!-

Balled fists. Curled fingers. Pathetic grip compared to his but she doesn’t mind it. She swings away anyway. Her fists are hammers. She is a soldier like him. Determined to bring this damn door down.

“LET. ME. THE. FUCK. OUT! LET ME OUT. LET ME OUT. LET ME OUT.”

However, moments pass, and there she stands, in the darkness…in silence…except for her breath…and tears that threaten to spill once again…and then…there is light…as if someone flipped a switch.

Mariah turned around, as curious as concerned as to what might be behind her, but this chamber was…empty. Four walls of metal. A floor and a ceiling. Nothing. No. Not true. There’s something. No. Two things. On the wall. On the floor.

She noticed after her first glance. A viewscreen is on the wall dead ahead of her. It shows nothing. In the center of the chamber, however, is something. No. Someone. A person. A woman. Laying as if sleeping on her side. Facing away. Hips wide. Easy to see. She’s naked.

Long black hair. White skin. Apparently Human but all Mariah can see is her back at the moment. What’s this then? What new fucked up shit am I in? Yet, despite Mariah's fear, her anger, this naked woman, if alive, might need her as much as Kayden.

So she takes a step forward toward the stranger, has no choice unless the door opens, when there comes a voice. Not from the woman. From a video on the viewscreen.

“Hello, Mariah. Let’s play a game.”

 

[Mariah Boucheron]

Spoiler: Music OOC

History repeats. She should have expected something like this in retrospect. There was already more than one puppet to begin with. The one in the room she woke up in. The one in the room with Kayden. Small puppets.

Then there was a larger version. The one that might be a man, might be a man-sized puppet, the one that Mariah Boucheron nicknamed Puppet Mask.

Then there was another puppet, the one on the viewscreen. It speaks. Because, though it sounds like a he, masked and masked, it is a thing.

“How fast is your metabolism?”

What the fuck?

There was barely a pause, as if the puppet, whether live or prerecorded, knew this woman standing before it, its audience, would hesitate to answer its odd question.

“There are creatures, beings, persons, who can consume a high amount of food due to their fast metabolism. They can eat more than others without gaining much weight. A fast BMR, or basal metabolic rate, is a good thing, really. The entity with it can eat, eat, eat.”

Another pause. The puppet just looks outside of the viewscreen. At me.

“Eat. Eat. Eat. A good thing, isn’t it? It even allows a wide variety of consumption, I think, without having to worry about getting fat. Granted, a person with a fast metabolism still needs nourishment. Take that woman, for instance. The woman before your feet.”

As it speaks, Mariah looks between the puppet and the woman, suddenly afraid to move toward her, to determine whether she is alive or dead, what she looks like, if her eyes are open or closed. She saw no breath, no signs of breathing, but she could be in a deep sleep. Mariah, meanwhile, was breathing heavily.

“A Human like her, like with many species, dies if she does not eat. Slow BMR. Fast BMR. Whatever. Doesn’t matter. However, what happens if, no matter how much you eat, no matter how much your digestive system processes what you eat, it is never enough? That, even if you enjoy a wide variety of meat at once, it doesn’t do anything?”

What? What is it…saying? Why did it emphasize ‘meat’?

“Have you ever heard of SS0? Stands for Sica Sigma 0. Basically, it is a chemical substance that, when injected into the system, slows the heart rate, slows the breathing, everything, puts you into a deep sleep, until your heartbeat can’t even be heard, your pulse can’t be felt, and you do not appear to breathe. The duration isn’t endless, of course, and this trick it has its risks. It was developed as a prototype only and for the purpose of feigning death to the enemy.”

Feigning death to the enemy… It was all Mariah could do to just blink. At the puppet. At the woman. Sica…Sigma…0..? What does any of this shit even mean?

“What about AMS? Stands for Anabolic Myohypertrophic Stimulator. It is a serum that was created to, eheh, create a super soldier. Bone is expanded. Muscle is developed. The subject is strengthened to the extent of a Huttball athlete. Can even toss a Jedi or Sith into the wall like a ball. However, it has its side effects. For instance, a rapid increase in body heat and nervous system, the swelling of internal organs, and ultimately the subject’s death.”

Faking death. Now…death? Despite her breath, despite her state of mind, despite her exhaustion, Mariah was beginning to put the pieces together. Either this woman is asleep or she’s already dead.

“Only this process continues even after death. The subject rises, as if life from death, but it is…undead…with the appearance of fresh flesh at the start…then the body gradually deteriorates…decays…yet, reanimated, the subject is hyper-aggressive…with a craving of flesh from any living organic. Yet, no matter how much the subject feasts, it can never be nourished. It can't so quickly digest its meat.”

Mariah slowly shook her head.

“AMS. SS0. BMR. Here is your predicament and your challenge, Mariah. Here is your test. Your question. Is the woman before you alive…but with the appearance of death? Or is she dead…only to rise…as undead…and eat your flesh?”

What. The. Fuck.

“Unfortunately and obviously there is no equipment in this room to test either theory and, not exactly and, naturally, I will not help you. What I will tell you is that you will not leave this room until either theory has been proven. You can wait but no one will come to rescue you. You can try to wake her up but you will not succeed. If she is asleep, SS0 must run its duration and, if it fails, she will die anyway.”

This made sense. This didn’t make sense. Yet Mariah doesn’t speak. Puppet wouldn’t listen even if she did.

“If she is yet a victim of AMS then she will rise in time. And you will die. From dust to dust. Then you will rise. And, in your naked flesh, you will wander this room for eternity, as an empty husk. At least you won’t be alone.”

Mariah looked down at the woman, suddenly aware that she herself had taken a step backward. In the end, though, she would have to take a step forward.

“But wait, there’s more. In order for you to leave this room you will need a keycard. Hard to find in the dark so you have light at least. Only…the keycard…is beneath…the scar…carved on the woman’s body…from her belly to her neck.”

No. No fucking way.

“To open it, you will need a key. A rudimentary key. Slender. Metallic. Jagged. Like a knife but not quite. Sorry. Too easy. Right? This is much more exciting. Don’t you agree? You will find the key beneath her body. I suggest you act quickly. If she proves to be a zombie then it won’t be easy to carve the keycard out of her heart. If she proves to be alive...she will die...because your sorry excuse of a knife will put her to sleep. Decide. Goodbye.”

“...”

 

[Mariah Boucheron]

Spoiler: Music OOC

No. No way. Even after everything she has seen and experienced in this factory, all the murder and torture, all the pain she has observed, all the heartache that bled into her veins, things she previously thought impossible, she could not believe this. She would not believe him.

It was stupid. Wasn’t it? The virus was one thing. AMS. Then SS0. Something that could slow your system down was one thing. There were creatures who could hibernate. But for a substance to stop the heartbeat? To keep the pulse from pulsing? What could do that? Science?

Nonsense. This is nonsense. Mariah just stood there watching. First the viewscreen. But it was empty. Vacant. Darkness. Puppet had left it. That left just the woman. No. Two women. The one standing. And the one laying.

Who is she? Or was the appropriate question…who was she? One implied life. The other denied it. Rejected it. Described death. Is she…alive…or dead? Even then, based on the puppet’s explanation, its description of this situation, there was a third option. Undead…

She couldn’t be certain. She had to stop thinking about it. She had to do two things: investigate the woman and get that fucking door open. Well, she had already attempted the second. It was time to finally determine the first.

Go. But no need to run. Walk. Step. Do it. You know have to. Even if what puppet said was bullshit, was utter bullshit, because he/it was twisted, sick in the head, fucked up behind the mask, even if all that, there might still be a key. A clue. No. That wasn’t what was even most important this moment.

Mariah Boucheron had to determine if this woman was alive because she was another person in this chamber. A Human. A human being. Like me.

So she stepped forward toward the motionless body on the ground. Hovered over her. Observed the body’s body. Feet. Legs. Breasts. Head. Naked. Except that long black hair covered her face. Mariah couldn’t make out anything on it. And her arms covered her stomach. Her bare breasts covered her chest. So Mariah knelt down. Turn her around.

Carefully, hesitantly, daringly, expressionlessly, she held her breath, bit her lip and touched the skin. It was like touching a stove and expecting it to burn her fingers only to discover that the stove wasn’t turned on to begin with. No. Bad comparison. Dead bodies don’t burn. Unless…they’re heated…from AMS… Whatever that meant.

Neither was this brunette woman cold, however. Coldness suggested death. Her skin was like her very body: motionless. Vacant. Not hot. Not cold. Not even warm. Just…just skin. She was also skinny. It didn’t look like the kind of thin from a person who had been starving. She was just a slim woman.

Like me. A woman like me. Empathy. Sympathy. Relatability. Connectivity. What did all this mean? Maybe Mariah was just hesitating, procrastinating, but she started wondering what the odds of this encounter were. She had witnessed torture chambers. Were these other chambers predesigned traps? For her? For anyone? It spoke my name. As a recording though? Or a live video?

Another question: How did this other woman even get in here? Did Puppet put her here? Some other creature? Did she enter on her own? Did she— Shut up, Boucheron. One Mariah tells the other.

"Hey...are you okay? Are you awake?"

No response.

Do it. Turn her over. Investigate her face.

She did it. Gently. Carefully. Mariah laid her hand on the woman’s shoulder and turned her over. Loose strands of hair lazily escaped away from her face. It was a pale face. A feminine face. Girlish. But not adolescent. Eyes closed. Black eyeshadow. Small nose. Black lips. Makeup. Creepy thought. Put on before…or after..? Surely this woman had been kidnapped no differently.

Younger than me… Has to be…in her early twenties..? Eighteen..? Motionless. Eyes don’t open. Mariah’s gaze ventures from this lady’s face to her chest, pulls the arms away, between her breasts, to her navel, eyes trailing a line that ran from it to her neck. Just like puppet said. A scar. A blade had carved her skin apart.

“Hey…can you hear me?” Even as her heart beat rapidly, Mariah’s tone was low and composed, barely above a whisper. “Can you hear me?” Louder. “Wake up. Please. Please wake up.” She rocked her, gently, rocked her harder, hands like lightning, voice like thunder.

“Wake up! WAKE UP! WAKE UP! WAKE UUUUUUP!”

All at once, out of nowhere, Mariah’s hand went up and slapped the woman across the face. Nothing. No response. She didn’t wake.

“Fuck. FUCK.”

Heartbeat. Pulse. Do it. So she did. Fingers to wrist. Nothing. Fingers to neck. Nothing. Chest was next. Nothing. She leaned her ear in to listen. Nothing. Breath then. Ear near lips. Nothing. What did that mean? She’s dead. She has to be dead. Nobody doesn’t breathe. Nobody doesn’t fucking breathe! SS0. Chemical Go Fuck Yourself. Nonsense. Nonsense.

Breath caught in her chest. Remembering. What else did Puppet speak? Key. Keycard. Key. Keycard. Keycard in the body. Key beneath. Well, she had progressed this far, so what was the harm in checking? Do it. She did.

Mariah turned the woman over once again, rested her on her side, looked between her back and her backside and…saw something. Slender. Metallic. Jagged. Just as Puppet said. A key.

“Oh...fuck me...”

 

[Mariah Boucheron]

Spoiler: Music OOC

Moments passed. Moments pass. Time. Timeless. Can’t comprehend it. Cannot be comprehended. Nonsense. Nonsense. Thoughts. Thoughtless. Seconds stretch like minutes. Minutes stretch like hours. Hours circle back around into seconds. Circle. Round. Endless. Infinite.

However, whatever amount of increments have been given, despite having no comlink or smartphone or watch or clock of which to count and check, Mariah is determined to wait and watch. To do nothing as she sits in a corner of this room, motionless, resting her chin between her knees.

Her dress was indeed rather modest. Just wasn't her personality. She had class. So no cleavage of which to bare breasts. Not that a bit of cleavage was against her outfits, or a bit of stomach, but the restaurant was a different experience. Fabric pulled taught down her legs this moment though. This room is cold and she has no blanket. Goosebumps on her arms. It isn’t dark but the light offers no heat. She has bare feet. The floor is cold. Her garment only provides so much protection.

The other person? Naked. Motionless, yes, but has no option. Conscious? Unconscious? Mariah just watches. Wonders. Mariah gave him no modesty the previous evening. Didn’t want it. But wasn’t some harlot. He wanted it. She wanted it. So she gave into Kayden. Remembered that moment this moment.

When she wrapped her legs around him on the counter. Oh, how she so much wanted Kayden to take her then and there. Pelvis against pelvis. Chest against breast. Lips on lips then kiss on neck. Yet she didn’t. She waited. Patient. Let him carry her away to her bed. Let him undress her as she undressed him. Then, only when she was naked, did she let him take her, again and again, over and over.

Naked… Even as she thinks of that occasion, there is no stirring within her. Under the circumstances, such a stir of pleasure was not warranted. Would not be rewarded. It is her nakedness she remembers. In your naked flesh…wander for eternity…empty…alone… It said it. It is cold. It was cold. That puppet’s voice was cold. Naked. Empty. Alone.

A lonely, lonely voice.

She has a choice. She has a key. Who is she? Who was she? She presently has plenty of time to surmise, theorize, question, imagine, investigate with her mind as to the identity of this other, younger woman trapped within this prison. What happened to you? Who did this to you? Who did this to me? To Kayden? Did they hurt you too? Are you alive? Are you dead?

She is cold. She is hungry. She is hot. She is thirsty. Cold sweat on her skin. Hot beneath the surface. Like there’s a sickness within. Yes. She begins to feel sick. Or simply recognizes that she already did. Yet, amid this madness, from waking up on a floor to sitting on the floor, conscious, Mariah was fortunate that the only wound she had suffered was that pinprick from the puppet whose eye was a button. It wasn’t a deep penetration. Not like Kayden gave her. The blood stopped quickly enough. Yet the puppet gave her pain whereas Kayden gave her pleasure.

She has a key. It unlocks a door. In a manner of speaking. It moves. It shifts between fingers, slowly, lazily, like rolling a coin, maybe. Crazy. This is crazy. She’s waiting. Not for this young lady to wake up but for Kayden to open the door. He will, won’t he? Surely?

If the girl really is alive, if this SS0 shit is legitimate, puppet said she will wake up in time. Surely that must mean minutes. Even if Chemical Special makes its subject appear to be dead for all intents and purposes, even if there was some secret heartbeat beneath the flesh that couldn’t be registered, breath that couldn’t be heard, an untold pulse, but the girl still had a soul, how long could that last? Hours? Too long. Too long. Not possible.

What if, though, SS0 had a negative effect. It was only a prototype, puppet said. That meant its injection could end in the girl’s death. Fine. I’m sorry, then. I really am. But I can’t help you. I can’t wake you. She had already attempted to over and over again. It would be a quiet death at least. Silent sleep. Not like whatever happened in that corridor. Madness…madness and monsters.

If this is all a dream, please let Mariah Boucheron wake up from it.

The woman didn’t. The girl doesn’t.

If the girl is asleep then maybe she will wake up soon enough. If she doesn’t then she may die. Fine. She will show signs of death. Her skin with its lack of temperature will turn cold. Eventually she will decay but Mariah doesn’t need to witness this to determine her death.

Her already pallid skin will turn waxy. Her eyes, that Mariah had tried to pry open to find black irises, will have its black pupils fixed. Those black lips may part as her mouth may fall open. There will be no breathing and no heartbeat. No way for her to be woken.

Right. Great. Only some of those signs are already present. Damn it.

What if, though, this wasn’t SS0. That not only was the puppet not so full of bullshit but what if Sleeping Beauty was actually the victim of the AMS virus? Then…then she’ll wake up…from death…to consume my flesh…to make me naked…and we will sleep for eternity in this fucking room…

What if…what if the girl had both AMS and SS0? Wouldn’t that be quite a cocktail from a puppet with no cock or tail? That would maybe mean that this girl is indeed dead already; maybe SS0 led to her death, and AMS would be what wakes her up. To consume. To feast. To feed on me. The only food in the room.

She watches. She thinks. Head on her knees. Silent as Sleeping Beauty. Why her? Why me? Why Kayden? Why anybody?

Suddenly there is life. But not from the girl with long black hair. There is light. But not from her eyes. From the viewscreen.

“Hello, Mariah. I decided I would check on you. I see you haven’t turned the key.”

I…see..? Heartbeats. Hearts beat. He…sees me..? Live feed? Could still just be a recording. Maybe there were sensors. Monitors. Or cameras. She turns her head. This corner. That corner. Sees nothing. Hidden? It speaks again.

“So, to help you pass the time and decide, let me simply tell you that a subject of SS0 will wake up normally as if from a deep peaceful sleep. No need to show you the injection or this event. You can imagine it. No. Let me instead show you what happens when someone wakes up when infected from AMS.”

Spoiler

“Oh. Sorry. They were already awake. But you get the picture, surely? Of which, what did you think? Once again I added the music. That little slogan at the end: ‘You Are Dead’. Do you like her white dress?”

AMS. AMS. AMS. She thinks. She sees. Again and again even after the viewscreen turns black again. Infected. Zombies. Monsters. Mutants. Naked. Flesh. Chin between knees. Now she’s rocking. Back and forth. Eyes on the woman on the floor. Still no open door.

Moments pass. Seconds? Minutes?

Another viewscreen flash.

“Hello, Mariah. Just checking on you again. We hope your girlfriend isn’t infected with AMS. If she is, well, she will wake up from hell in only moments. Her strength will overtake your weakness. She will feast on your flesh. You will wish you had listened. Except…maybe she isn’t infected…and she will wake up to tell you about her dream after being injected with SS0… Who knows? I know. How about we watch a sitcom to pass the time again? What do you think? This one is a compilation of some of my favorite scenes.”

Spoiler

Knee. Knee. It rhymes with scene.

 

[Mariah Boucheron]

Spoiler: Music OOC

Moments pass. Moments passed. Images flashed. Videos danced. Puppet laughed. Movies on the viewscreen that just went on and on and on.

“Stop.” Mariah feebly pleaded. “Please… Just…stop…”

But he didn’t. It didn’t. The television just went on and on and on. As did that puppet in between the images and the vids.

“Time is irrelevant here in the seventh circle of hell.”

Mindless speech. Meaningless. Nonsense. Nonsense. All of this. All of it.

“Punched in the face by a man now dead.”

“Enough…enough…just…shut…up…”

Dance. Flash. Laugh.

“I said…shut…up…”

Laugh. Flash. Dance.

“Shut. Up.”

FLASH. LAUGH. DANCE.

“SHUT UP.”

FLASH. DANCE. LAUGH.

“SHUT UUUUUUUUUP.”

And she’s up.

“SHUT UP SHUT SHUT UP”

And she runs.

“SHUT THE FUCK UP”

And she stabs.

“AAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!”

As she’s mad.

“FUCK FUCK FUUUUUUUUUCCKKKK”

And the glass cracks as a key bashes it.

“Hahahahahahahahahaha!”

And the viewscreen breaks. Finally there is blackness. Finally there is silence.

And she collapses.

Exhausted. Finished. On her knees. Breathing. Panting. Catching her breath. Breathless. Is this the end? Is this it? Is she destined to starve in this room of death?

Life. Death. She’s alive, yes. Is the other woman dead? She looks from broken television, windowless wall, to ceiling, no longer standing so tall, crouching, eyes crawling across the floor toward the woman.

Key. Key. It rhymes with free.

“Let me…let me go…”

He won’t though!

“Let me out…please…I need out…”

Was this her fault? Should she not have broken the viewscreen? Now it can’t speak. Can’t listen. Can’t give tips.

She can’t look away from the woman who shares her presence. The only other soul within this shithole.

“Wake up…” Mariah whispers. “Please…” Where is Kayden? “Kayden…save me…please…”

But he wasn’t. Was he dead already? Was his body behind the door like this girl’s? Silent? Motionless? With a machete buried in his head?

No…don’t think it…you dumb bitch…you dumb fucking bitch…

But…what if Kayden really is dead? If he’s dead, he can’t save her. Her only protector. That meant this chamber really would be her death. Door won’t open. Girl won’t be woken.

No. Not dead. NOT DEAD. Get a grip, woman.

No. He was dead. He would have been banging on the damn door even if it wouldn’t open. Like her fists did!

No. Not dead. He’s searching for a keycard. Like he searched for controls to open those doors. Or had to escape at the moment. Being chased by Hockey Mask. Yeah. That’s it. He’ll be back.

Or he was wounded. That blood on his arm. That slash. Maybe stabbed. Maybe he’s bleeding in some corner. Maybe he’s bleeding! Maybe he’s bleeding! Maybe he needs me! I have…I have…to hurry…save him…save…Kayden..

Can’t hide. Can’t run. Can’t suck up anymore time despite this entirely fucking sucky situation. What if puppet wasn’t lying? What if this girl wakes up any moment, not in peace, not to speak of dreams, but to feast? To eat me. Eat. Me. Alive. Then Mariah would die. Then Mariah would not even be able to save Kayden.

I’m sorry…

She begins crawling. Crawls across the floor. Not toward the door that won’t open. No. Toward the other woman who won’t be woken.

“I’m…sorry…”

She has a choice. Doesn’t she? No. She is choiceless. Voiceless. She has a key. She’s asleep. No. She’s dead already…

Fingers creep closer. Toward her. They reach bare feet. Bare feet just like her bare feet. She’s scared. Worried. Her heart is beating wildly. As wild as this entirely fucked up situation to begin with.

“I’m sorry…”

Mariah Boucheron. She wasn’t an evil woman. Sure, she had her stuck-up moments. She could be a bit of a bitch. She had her wealth even if not power. She never cared for influence like her family did. She wasn’t wicked. She was a good person…wasn’t she?

“I have to do this…”

Granted, to be honest, she didn’t intend to rip up her stomach or chest. That wasn’t her intention. That isn’t her purpose. However, she had rocked those shoulders more than she could count. She had slapped her face. And again. She had even punched that stomach earlier. Moments ago. Because moments were moments. Time was time. Only one moment mattered now, however.

“I hope you fucking feel this…if you do…it’s…it’s all that’s gonna…wake you up…”

Do it. Mariah licked her lips. Do it. No. She won’t do this. She won’t give in. Do it. She won’t listen!

That key in her grip, between her fingers, she squeezes it, squeeze and squeeze, like she had squeezed Kayden’s member the previous evening.

DO IT.

NO. I WON’T.

DEW IT.

NO.

DUMB BITCH. DO IT.

“I…I’m…I’m sorry!”

Sweat. Dread. Breath. Chest.

Heart beats… She inserts her key… Into the scar… Into the stomach… There’s a bit of blood just up from the belly button… She turns the key… Ignores the voices speaking in her head… Shifts the metallic sliver as her fingers squeeze it…

There’s no response.
A girl is just motionless.
Silent… Eyes don’t open.
Mariah Boucheron thought.

No. She’s thoughtless. She doesn’t think. She just slides her key despite the blood that covers her fingers.

KEY. KEY. IT RHYMES WITH FREE.

 

[Mariah Boucheron]

Spoiler: Music OOC

She shifts the key up from the belly button along the abdomen into the stomach.

Up.
Up.
Up.

It puts the key into the skin so that it gets to bleed again.

Where is it? This voice in her head. Where is it coming from?

The blood. In this instant. She knows. Knows where it comes from.

It pumps. It twists in rivulets. It covers her fingers like her man’s slobber.

Up.
Up.
Up.

She watches. She listens. Her eyes are gone. Her eyes are...off...
She knows it’s wrong. All of it. All of this. All of this is just fucked.
Moments. Moments. She gave in. Have to do it. Needed Kayden.
Kayden needed Mariah. Survive. Live. Give in. Had to do it. DO IT.

Cut. Up. Cut up. Not down. Upward. Yes. Here in the Upside Down.

No pleasure in this. No pain. She’s asleep. Aren’t they both though?

Mariah wears a frown as she cuts up from reverse, yes, upside down.

Time moves so slowly. No. Time moves quickly. No. Time is pretty slow.
Not so pretty now though, is she? This girl. This woman. Neither. Both.
She listens. She watches. Has to do it. All of this. All of it. She knows.
She didn’t. She pauses. Has to stop. Listens. Watches. A girl moans.

Oh…oh no…

Movement. It isn’t Mariah’s wrist. Her key shakes beneath the skin.
Movement. Up. Above her hand. No. Not motion. Yes. Of her lips.
No. Not hers. Hers. Not the woman’s. The girl’s. Her lips split.
Parted. Opened. Mariah watches. Listens. Haunted by this.

By what she did to this other woman with her pale skin.

“I’m…sorry! Oh fuck! I’m fucking sorry! I’m sorry! I’M SORRY!”

How could she have done this!? Actually done this!? Done it!?

Then…in an instant…as the girl’s moans of anguish…wait...no…

This was not the moan of agony. Low moans. No not of pleasure either.
It wasn’t the kind of moan that Kayden had earlier given Mariah though.
The girl didn’t scream from pain. Didn’t scream like Mariah last evening.
Didn’t move. Didn’t sweat. Oh she bled, but her groan was…so…hungry.

What…the…fuck..?

And a girl’s eyes open up!

Only…as she lifts her head…as hair falls away from her face…in long beautiful black locks…

Those black eyes, black of pupil and black of iris, black of night, are as empty as when she was asleep.

Her lips part, as if to speak, but the young naked lady just moans, and her moan is empty, like some dying echo. She doesn’t even seem to breathe. There is no excruciating pain in her face from the key that was embedded within her flesh, that had shifted like a spider up a web. No. There. Is. Nothing. There.

She just…stares…at her…at Mariah…empty gaze…as if some predator…gazing at prey…

No. No way. No fucking way.

Mariah is too busy gazing, however, her eyes wide and wild, quite unlike this girl’s gaze.

“I’m…I’m…s-sorry…”

Mariah again begs for her forgiveness for what she did. But. The girl. Just. Doesn’t. Listen.

Then, the next instant, both women moved at once, and if somebody questioned Mariah as to who moved first, she wouldn’t be able to answer. She wouldn’t remember.

She just ripped her key out of the girl’s body and crawled backwards, elbows and knees as weak as her own stomach, as her own hunger, as the girl began to stand, slowly, steadily, and entirely empty of expression.

And she stood. And she stared. Alone. Like a ghost. Only…she continued moaning…groaning…and in her voice, beneath the void of her eyes, Mariah heard it. Hunger. Unlike her own. No. It was some maddening thing, like a beast that been trapped in a cage for eternity, for seconds and minutes and hours and days undetermined, and that starvation was emptying out from between those black lips.

And the woman…the young naked woman…took a step forward…toward the other woman…even while bleeding, even while blood seeped out of her broken scar, dripping down her belly, dropping on her feet like droplets of rain, still she stepped forward, obliviously, with both arms raised.

And Mariah felt her back press up against the wall. Cold. Hollow. Still on her elbows. Still with her knees raised. Unable to speak. Seeing this thing coming. Thinking what was coming. As the girl quietly came her way. No. Not so silent. She moaned. Alone. In the void.

A lonely, lonely voice.

 

[Mariah Boucheron]

Spoiler: Music OOC

Circle. So. Round. The Upside Down.
Honestly, what was this nonsense?
Nonsense. Yes. That was obvious...
Yet…even nothing…has meaning...
Whatever the kriffin kark it means.
It meant everything. Also nothing.
Maybe it’s similar to the building.
A haunted building. This factory.
It is dark. With endless screams.
Even in light... Only darkness...
Always so cold... Never warm.
Broken window. Closed door.
With moans behind the wall.
Creepy vibes and eerie halls.
You don’t want to visit this.
Unless you were an idiot.
This is the house of pain.
Where souls are flayed.
And everybody is slain.
Everything’s okay then.
Except for her and him.
For Mariah and Kayden.
Him. Her. Neither is okay.
There under their monster.
Beneath the monster’s blade.
Have to remember to stay safe.
Reminders like this knife in a cake.
The universe of onions has its layers.
Existence isn't infinite for the players.
Maybe that means anybody might die.
Here in the thread created by Die Shize.
Which is definite nonsense. Bein’ honest.
What is? Who knows. In the Upside Down.
For Kayden is a square. No circle so round.
Eh semicircle but what the hell who counts?

Her mind was already bent, maybe, if somebody were to ask her the question and she answered honestly. Maybe not broken. Yet definitely fragmented. Whatever lurked beneath her surface, Mariah Boucheron was never so innocent to begin with.
If this is her end, nobody will notice her death. She will scream in silence. In darkness. Then she will sleep for eternity. She will wander this room as a zombie too.

She couldn’t believe what she was seeing. So she couldn’t really think. She was frozen. Like her ocean. Like her sea. Like her dreams in that moment. Her entire reality was broken. It was one thing to listen. It was another thing to see.

“Stay…” She whispered. Her lips parted, her chin lowered, before she even realized she’s trying to speak.
“Stay…” Louder. Barely above a whisper. As that ‘thing', whatever was once a woman, walked toward her.
“Stay..!” She breathes. Easier to speak between heartbeats. Whatever is beneath this woman, it isn’t human.
“...Away!” There we go. Finally Mariah could speak. She could hear the command in her voice within this void.

Mariah is speaking.
A girl isn’t listening.

Her arms raised as she came from maybe twenty feet away. Lips parted as if to speak. They even began to move. Up. Down. But her speech is silent. No. Not speech to begin with. That understanding is upside down. She is moving her lips as if she is eating.

Squeezing her fingers. In. Out. As if she is trying to grab something. From twenty feet away. Crazy. Made no sense. Slowly she paces toward the woman. Lazily biting lip. Casually grabbing…nothing.

“STAY AWAY!”

It was enough to drive a woman insane.

“STAY AWAY!”

The wall is too tall. Mariah’s back cannot penetrate it. It isn’t falling down. It isn’t so round. Not even a circle. It’s a square. Like the other walls. Like the ceiling. Like the floor. With the door. Like the corners. It’s a box. It is cubic. It's a music box. No it isn't. It’s a prison. And Mariah isn’t the only prisoner in it.

What…what…what the fuck is this!?

Right. Of course. It wa the AMS virus.

Mariah pleads. But the dead girl won’t listen.

Twenty feet is reduced to ten within moments.

“I SAID STAY THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!”

And Mariah gets on her feet!

Looks left. Looks right. Find something! Anything! Had to be a weapon, right!? Looks around. Finds nothing. FUCK. Looks up. Just a fucking ceiling. Looks down. Glass. Glass! From the broken viewscreen! DAMN. Would probably just cut her hand on what was smashed.

Left. Right. Dead girl almost arrives. She has eyes but they off. They are no longer eyes. They are simply voids. She licks her lips. She gnashes her teeth. -CHOMP!- They slam together like a bone popping out of its joint.

Here, in the silence except for Mariah’s panting, her panic that pumps blood in her eardrums, pounding, and of course the girl before her who moans and whimpers like a beast whose meal isn’t moving toward her and she doesn’t know why because she is not alive. She just wants the woman. She just wants to eat.

Eat eat it rhymes with KEY.
She was still clutching it in her fist this whole time! It was her only weapon.
MOVE. She does not know where or why but she moves. She runs forward.
The girl actually moved to. No longer walking, no suddenly she sprung forth!

And Mariah screamed. She roared. Swinging her feet. Kicking her opponent.
The girl didn’t even register it, but it connected and sent her flying backward.
Screaming, Mariah quickly followed up and slashed her key across her throat.
Its jagged edge scraped flesh above the collarbone. Blood began seeping out.

AGAIN! Someone in Mariah’s head said. Another slash. Across the neck again.
The girl didn’t need to breathe. She just threw herself forward toward her feast.
Mariah’s eyes find hers. Like black holes. And dark seas. Those circles so round.
Can’t think or breathe. Can’t believe or scream. Out of instinct. She fell down.