L O S T - a Markiplier fanfiction

Chapter Two - Plunged

Her first waking thought was - It’s summer time, thank God. Had she been in school, she probably wouldn’t have that hefty collection of news clippings, missing persons and other various, mildly discerning things stashed away in that notebook. She probably wouldn’t have gotten this far in a case that didn’t concern her, but somehow called to her and drug her into it’s grip, and she probably wouldn’t have slept this late on a Monday morning.

Since it was the new day, that creepy faceless messenger from the social website was gone from her mind, and had she bothered to look on her computer, was also from her messages; as if the frightening event had never occurred. Waking up at such an hour, eleven in the morning, allowed her peaceful moments of thought. For once her missing idol was not one of them and she felt nothing but tired peace. Except, when sleepy eyes opened, blue in their hues, to the world around them, she recognized nothing.

This wasn’t her room.

With a panic she’s quick to grab the sheets on her bed and rip them up, as if covering herself could’ve made this nightmare end - but there’s no sheets beneath her. There’s nothing but cold steel which she can suddenly feel against her back, and upon further realization she’s no longer in the clothes she went to bed in, but the clothes she wore yesterday. She’d changed into night clothes, she went to sleep in her bedroom, but this, this had to be a nightmare. This wasn’t possible. Her breath is caught in her throat, burning like she wants to scream but the sound won’t come out. Shakily, she forces herself to look around. This room, or wherever she is, is black. Blacker than the darkest night, than coal, than anything she’s ever seen. When she slides off whatever she’s been laying on, that’s gone too. It’s black, blending in with everything around her. She feared that her own body would blend into this endless night, had a beam of white light not shown itself from behind her. Quinn turns, eyes narrowing as the beam was far too bright to look at dead on, a hand raising in front as her body’s instinct to protect her sight. It eventually fizzled out and took on the glow of a monitor, like her computer’s, but that only served to unnerve her more. It was a wonder she wasn’t freaking out, crying, but the fear somehow subsided with the shock of the light. The light began to take the form of a square monitor.

She’s dumbfounded; embarrassed, because this was far too absurd to be real. A screen? Her computer screen, the very same one, risen from the darkness? It wasn’t real, and she stands up straighter as her confidence returns. If this was a dream, however, shouldn’t she be able to wake up? To control it? “Just stop. Wake me up. I’m done.”

“‘Fraid this isn’t a dream.”

Oh, but that voice that responds to her, coming straight from the monitor, sent a mortified chill up her spine. She’d heard it, time and time again, but never in a dream; nightmare. Never was it’s tone so deep, so serious, so cunning.

No. Wake up, Quinn. Wake. Up

“Or - maybe it is?” Now it was familiar; though it was still ominous in it’s heart, it was mischievous. It was his voice. She blinks roughly, once, twice, three times but nothing is changing. She’s not waking up. “Well - it’s kind of like a dream, it’s my dream. And his dream. You and I’s, it’s a reeeeeally big dream, and now you’re stuck in it.”

Why aren’t I waking up? Quinn binds her hands into fists and determined to wake from this unsettling dream, pushes on her temples. It hurt, but pain was supposed to -

“Look at me.” The voice was no longer feet away, by the screen, but directly in front of her. It’s deep, no longer jovial tone makes her body freeze in place. The unfamiliar sensation of a hand pulling upwards on her chin brings her face to face with the black eyed man who’d went missing months ago.

If this was a dream -

Please, wake up.

It was Mark - or rather, a deeply terrifying version of him. A wide mouth grin, his most noticeable attribute, was lessened down to a single flat line; a malevolent smirk. Glasses remained positioned dutifully so, but the eyes behind the frame were black as the world around them, just as endless, just as suffocating. There was no differentiating his pupils from their surroundings, but otherwise pore for pore, flaw for flaw, his face and what else she could see from this unwillful position he had her in, was exact. She’d never dreamt in such detail before, and hoped she’d never again - but as the double reminded her, this was their dream. Their nightmare. They locked eyes for what seemed like a hellish eternity, before the corners of his smile picked up a bit, and he steps away, roughly unhanding her jaw, his deep voice making the chuckle that’d follow seem like something out of a horror film. From his new position, five or so feet away, she could make out his body, but namely his shirt. It was the only thing that stood out other than herself; it’s white, blindingly so in this noire landscape, with a black M in the dead center. Despite the situation at hand, the thought “He has a knack for theatrics” popped up briefly in the recesses of her mind.

“Y’ like it? The look? I was gonna for super evil and switch the M upside down, but then it’d be a W and that’s not too evil. W’s not an evil letter.”

“W-What?” Her voice is shakey, barely above a whisper.

“That seems to be the general consensus when I bring people down here.” He seems mildly disappointed, puts a hand to his chin, and looks up, which is very hard to tell when you lack any discernible way to make sure, and makes an audible “hmmm” sound. The sudden lack of animosity and imminent threat didn’t make her feel any safer; it just served to unsettle her more. A twitch in her mind springs her to flee, and so she does - she goes sprinting off in the opposite direction, warranting him to call out “Hey! We were in the middle of a conversation!”

In an instant she hits something and then, hits the ground. It takes a minute for thought and sight to return to her, and she finds the wall she hit was actually him. Since she’s on the ground, the already tall man crouches down and flashes a toothy grin. “Can’t run away from me, kiddo. You aren’t the first to try either. I can do the Freddy and Jason thing and appear right in front of you anyway, so it’s kinda stupid.”

“What do you want?!” Her voice is no longer tender and meek but a frightened shout, trembling in it’s own tone because who’s voice wouldn’t in this situation?

“Calm down.” He shrugs off her fear with another smile. “Nothing too horrible, your company, maybe a nice conversation or two.”

Dead silence follows when his smile fades, reminding her of an evil cheshire cat.

“Mostly your soul.”