Song for this chapter: Love you to Death by Type O Negative (As scared as I am of Peter Steele, I must admit, he had some pretty good vocal skills)
You laid under your bed, hand over your mouth, trying to stifle the sounds of your breathing. You had heard a loud "Hey!" from just outside your door, but you didn't know if it was Shayne or the intruder. You were relieved when the door opened, and you saw Shayne's shoes in the soft moonlight.
"Y/N? Where are you?" He asked. You could hear the sleep in his voice. "I either killed him or knocked him out, and I don't want to find out by myself."
"I'm here," you squeaked, pushing yourself out from underneath the bed. You walked over to him and wrapped your arms around him. "Thank you."
"You are welcome," he said. "And you are shaking."
"Can you blame me?"
"No," he sighed. "No, I cannot. Come on, let's go check out the crime scene."
You released each other and followed Shayne out into the hallway, ready to see some kind of terrifying creature. Freddy Krueger, the Babadook, a biblically accurate angel with malintent-- something like that. But, to your surprise, it was a regular-ish guy.
He had his hair parted down the middle, dark sunglasses lying askew on his face. He wore a black shirt with a wolf in front of a moon and khaki shorts. The weirdest thing about his outfit-- set aside the fact that he wore sunglasses at night (a true Corey Hart fan, if I may)-- was that he appeared to have some kind of blade at his hip. It was in a holster, but it wasn't a gun. No gun would be that long unless it was an early, portable prototype of a tank.
"Do you know him?" Shayne asked, crouching down to get a better look at the intruder.
"Shayne, I don't know anyone here outside of the people from work-- and I don't even know all of them yet."
Then, the man on the floor began to stir. He gave a quiet groan, turning his head towards Shayne ever so slightly.
"Who-- who are you?" He whispered.
"Who are you?" Shayne asked. "You don't get to ask questions."
"Yes, I do. I'm looking for Y/N, and you look nothing like her. In fact, you're rather ugly." The intruder looked forward again, at you. "She's not."
"I'll give you a choice: you either give us your name, or we call the police." Shayne kept his eyes trained on the man on the floor. "And, trust me, the LAPD is not a force to be reckoned with."
A/N: I don't know if that's true or not-- I've never been to L.A. I've made it up for dramatic affect.
The man sighed, moving to sit up before his hand flew to his abdomen. "I'll tell you my name under one condition: I get an ice pack. It seems as if I've been assaulted."
Shayne looked to you, and you shrugged. What harm would it do? It wasn't like he was asking for your wallet.
"Fine," Shayne sighed. "But name first."
"I am The Chosen."
A sense silence filled the room. The Chosen? Really? He couldn't even come up with a real name?
"Okay, no ice pack for you. Get up and get out. Go find someone else to stalk." Shayne grabbed the man's bicep and hauled him to his feet. But he insisted.
"It's true," he replied. "That's my name. 'Chosen' is my name. I swear to it." He then groaned, hand moving to his abdomen once again. "I promise."
Shayne looked at you, and you stepped forward.
"Okay, Chosen. How do you know who I am?" Clearly, you weren't going to get a name, but you could get a story.
"I'm a colleague of Courtney Freaking Miller. I heard about how you were fairly unscathed in your attack yesterday, and I wanted to learn more about the woman who bested Courtney."
You furrowed your brow. "How did you find me?"
"Public records," Chosen said. "All your information is out there, you know."
"Okay, thanks for the heads up, I guess..."
Silence.
"Could you please let me go? You might be rather unsightly, but you've got the grip of a hawk." Chosen looked to Shayne, who looked to you.
"I guess."
Shayne dropped him on the floor.
"I don't look that bad, right?" He muttered to you.
"You like fine."
"Cool."
You looked back towards Chosen, who was adjusting his sunglasses.
"What did you want to know?" You asked.
"What does Courtney have against you? How does she know you? How did you not get hurt? I think those are the big three."
"I don't know, I don't know, and I don't know. Now I get to ask three questions." You opened your mouth to continue, but Shayne interrupted.
"Wait, hang on. You said you work with Courtney Freaking Miller?"
"Yes."
"What's her plan? How did she not die? How come we should trust you?"
"Shall we move to a better light? This may take a while."
Shayne looked to you. You shrugged.
------------------
Shayne, Chosen, and you all sat on your couch, playing interrogation-- Courtney Freakin' Miller's favorite game, coincidentally. Chosen got his ice pack, and you brewed coffee for Shayne and yourself. Chosen refused a drink.
"First, she never died. She was put in Alcatraz but broke out somehow. She never really elaborated on it, and Dumpy didn't see most of it."
"Wait, who's Dumpy?" You asked.
"Well, his full name is Dumpster Wizard, but we all just call him Dumpy. No one really knows his story. Anyway, she broke out, and she plans on overthrowing SMOSH again and keeping it that way. Truth be told, I think she's planning a massacre. And you should trust me because I was dumb enough to break into Y/N's house. Who's to say I'm dumb enough to lie?"
"Who's to say you aren't?" Shayne retorted.
"Who says that you're not lying?"
"About what?"
"... I don't know. Anyways, there's all your questions."
"So, let me get this straight: Courtney Freaking Miller broke out of Alcatraz, threw me into a wall to try and kill me, is planning on killing everyone at SMOSH, and you're telling us because you're dumb?" You raised your eyebrows at him. "I don't know if I believe that. I mean, you're literally called 'The Chosen'. I think that implies that you know everything."
"I do know everything. I'm just dumb. Like how Shayne went to college for ten years, but still acts like a two-year-old."
"Can we stop insulting me, please?" Shayne asked. "I could rip you to shreds right now, remember that."
"True. Anyways, that's all I have to say. Oh, actually, there's one more thing. I don't want her to kill off SMOSH."
You looked to Shayne, who was looking at Chosen. "Why not?" Shayne asked. "I mean, you work with... That thing... So why do you want us to keep going?"
"I'm above murder."
"So, what do we do?" You asked. You didn't particularly want to be murdered and didn't want anyone else to be either.
"Well, here's this: I could join your side. Fight against Courtney. Take her down. And, no, we can't just call the police. She broke out of Alcatraz; the next most secure place would be Hell, and I'm pretty sure she can't die."
Shayne looked to you, expecting a shrug. You surprised him, however, with a nod.
"Come with us to work today. Tell everyone what you know, and we'll go from there."
"Excellent. What time are we leaving?"
Shayne looked at his watch. "Well, it's four right now. Work starts at eight, so I'd assume Y/N is leaving at 7:30."
"Great. See you then." With that, Chosen went limp. After a moment, soft snoring could be heard.
"That was... Something," Shayne said. "And he just... Conks out like that?"
"It's almost--"
"Impressive."
This chapter had a lot of dialogue, sorry. This whole book is kind of conversation-based, so get used to it, ig.