WARNINGS:
Blood
Death of character
*.*.*.*
"You know, I'm jealous of you," Danny said bitterly. "You were born with two eyes, and I was relentlessly bullied for only having one." He said, pushing the gun further into your forehead. It forced your head back, and you had no choice but to let yourself be stuck between the locked door and the insane doctor with your weapon.
"My mother was always talking about my one eye, argued with my father about it, and judged by others for having such a being as myself. Months and months of the same treatment from the people around her, and she started to lose herself." Danny explained, straight-faced, cold and unwelcoming.
"It was all my fault. Because of this eye," he brought his hand up to cover his prosthetic eye. "I hated people with two eyes." He glared at you, practically blaming you for his traumatic past.
"I studied the eyes that I could never have, and I quickly realized how different eyes are, especially in expressions."
"Like you, for example." Danny stared menacingly into your eyes. "I can tell just from your eyes that you're terrified." Your knees wobbled, and a terrorizing shiver ran up and down your spine.
There was no way out of this.
"But, out of all the different expressions, I found only one to be appealing to me. Emptiness, reflecting nothing. Cold, dead eyes that I could effortlessly fall in love with. My mother portrayed those empty eyes perfectly, and I wanted to tell her that." You could feel the gun slowly being pulled away from you.
Maybe you weren't completely hopeless.
"But before I ever could, I walked into her room to see her hanging loosely. She had died before I ever got to tell her anything." Danny said. Despite the horrible thing his mother committed, Danny didn't seem fazed in the slightest. If anything, he seemed sickening sweet. "But alas-" Danny tilted his head back, smiling-"her eyes looked even better in death." He giggled. "I wanted to see more."
"I had to see more!" His head shot forward, and was a mere few inches away from you, smiling insanely.
"That's why I became a counselor. All children and adults alike would flock to me with dead eyes, looking for someone to listen to them." This man was sick. He was insane! Mad!
The gun left your forehead. Danny hadn't noticed, but you did.
Swiftly, your arm plunged up and grasped the barrel of the gun, your elbow twisting over and slamming down on his forearm. Danny grunted, the gun forcefully leaving his hands. While he was still recovering from the shock, you kicked the back of his knees, forcing him to the floor.
But he was able to grab a hold of your ankle before you were able to pin him to the floor. He pulled at your ankle and you lost balance, falling backward. Your head hit the tile floor, and a sickening crack resounded through the operating room. Your vision blurred, and the world seemed to be spinning a thousand miles per hour. You couldn't concentrate, and black dots started clouding your vision. You couldn't let yourself blackout! If you blacked out, surely you wouldn't be waking up ever again.
"I expect nothing less from a detective such as yourself," you heard Danny say. You could see his form looming over you. He was blurry, you couldn't see his face, just the color of his clothing and hair.
"It was a smart move you pulled, but you forgot I'm not some weak doctor." You heard his hand fall to the side of your face, and you saw his blurry figure loom closer down towards you. "I make the rules. I decide when you die. I decide everything." He started giggling. "You know, you're starting to look like my patients. You know that you're going to die here, don't you, detective?"
You didn't respond to him, you couldn't. Your ears were starting to ring, and it felt so tempting to give in to those relentless chants of sleep. Your eyes started to droop close, your eyelids felt as heavy as plunging boulders. But they didn't close, not fully, because Danny had advanced his hand down on your face and forcibly pried your eyes open. "Don't pass out on me," he demanded.
Your brows furrowed, and you sloppily tried to feel for your gun, which you had dropped upon impact. Where was it? You winced, still trying to reach for it, though you knew nothing of its whereabouts. It was useless, but you didn't stop trying.
Danny started laughing.
"Such determination, even on the brink of death! Your eyes are screaming for me to kill you, so why are you still trying?" His hand grabbed both sides of your face, squishing it. He forced your head off the ground, closer to him.
"It's eyes that are like yours that make me question if dead eyes truly are the prettiest." He mumbled, letting go of your face, letting it fall back to the floor, banging against the tile once more. You wondered if the floors were clean anymore, or if they were spattered with your blood. It felt like your head was oozing blood, but you couldn't determine fully if that was the case. He took his hands off you and brought them up to his face, leaning back in ecstasy. "I feel so blessed!"
"Rachael's dead eyes, and your hopeless ones, no man could ask for any better!" He belched, staring up at the ceiling in utter bliss.
Why did he still spout things like that about a dead girl?
The insolent ringing in your ears stopped, and a new noise entered your range of hearing. The sound of metal against flesh, and the splurging sounds of Danny.
Why was it only until now that your vision started fixing itself?
Did it hate you?
Did it want you to see this horror scene happening right above you?
Of course it did.
"Y-You!?" Danny sputtered, coughing up his blood.
Your eyes widened, recognizing the man stationed behind Danny, scythe lodged deep in the doctor's chest. You recognized the hoodie covered in blood. You recognized the once spotless bandages, now dotted with Danny's blood.
Those heterochromia, aniscoria eyes, filled to the brim with malice.
Danny fell backward, and the monster from the previous floor stomped down on the doctor's chest, laughing at his turmoil. "Heya Danny! I couldn't help cutting you up, you just seemed so happy!" He turned his eyes down to you. "And hello there, looks like we meet again! I decided to follow you up here, just to walk in on the mess you got yourself into." He kicked past Danny, moving to your side and looming over your vulnerable frame. "Aren't you happy that I came to save you?" He asked with a giggle. You didn't respond to him, and his smile slightly faltered. "Hey, you're supposed to be grateful," he said bitterly.
"Whatever," he said with a sigh, standing straight and removing the scythe from Danny's lifeless body, moving the tip of the blade to below your chin. "Ya wanna live?" He asked.
Yes! Yes, you did. But you couldn't find yourself to say anything.
"I'd start running if you do."
You couldn't find yourself to move your body either. Not a single muscle on your body twitched to life. You were as still as a doll in a pristine, fake house.
"Run and hold onto hope! Then I'll cut you up!"
Was there a point in running if you were going to die anyway? You answered the monstrous man with silence.
". . . Huh?" The man let out, annoyed.
"What's with the silence, huh? You're about to die and you say nothing? Do you not want to live or what?" He provoked, moving the blade further down on your throat. A small trickle of blood ran down the side of your neck and started a small pool of blood on the floor.
"I don't find joy in cutting up lifeless dolls." The man said, his smile completely gone from his face, replaced with a disappointing frown.
"A sacrifice has appeared. A resident from floor B6 has attacked a resident from floor B5. This is a violation of the rules. As of this moment, the traitor joins Y/n L/n as a sacrifice." A woman's voice announced from the intercoms. It was the same mechanical voice that announced your arrival as a sacrifice.
So this man was now a sacrifice as well?
The blade left your throat, and silently, the man left the room.
Why was it that only when he left, you could move again?
Slowly, you forced your shaken body upward, leaning on the back of your forearms and conveying the horrific scene displayed for you to observe. Danny lay, motionless, dead, a few feet from you. The sight was gruesome, blood sprayed the walls and pooled under Danny. There were even a few specks of blood dotted at the ends of your pants.
Banging could be heard from outside, but you ignored it and focused on standing fully. Once back on your feet, you realized just how shaken up you were, because your legs buckled, and ultimately gave out. You were able to catch your hand on the operating table before you could completely collide with the floor. You closed your eyes and turned your head to the side, you couldn't bear looking at the doctor's body anymore.
Opening your eyes, it looked like a normal operating room, with clean tools on the counter, and disinfectant in the cabinets. But just to the side of you, was a scene out of a slasher film. You swallowed down thick saliva and tried standing once more. You kept a hold on the table just in case your legs decided to give out again.
You started looking around. You couldn't leave this room without your gun, it was your only means of survival. You quickly spotted it, waiting patiently for you at the corner of the room.
The room was starting the flood with the smell of metal. It was demandingly horrible, you felt sick staying in this room. You quickly retrieved your fallen gun and moved to exit the room. You made sure to go around Danny's body carefully, you didn't want to trip on his body or step in his blood.
Your foot ended up bumping into something though. Looking down, you saw a pair of keys attached to a bland-looking keychain. It was devoid of the horrible color of Danny's blood, so you decided to pick it up, thinking it might be useful later down the road. You trudged past the deceased doctor and took hold of the door handle, shoving the keys in your pocket.
What about the man outside? Your hand froze on the handle. You could hear him banging against something outside, not far away from where you were. Surely, he would kill you on sight.
But then again, he left you alone once that woman on the speakers stopped talking.
You were conflicted. You couldn't stay in this massacre of a scene, but you couldn't go out and face the man who caused the said massacre. You close your eyes in internal agony, what do you do?
The smell was only getting worse.
The banging was only getting louder.
Your head was ringing.
Your head was ringing.
Your head was ringing.
You brought your hands to your ears, you held your breath until you could see black dots cloud your vision.
It wouldn't go away.
It won't go away!
The smell was revolting, your stomach churned every time you gulped needed air.
You couldn't take it anymore. You cocked your gun and swung the door open, pointing the barrel towards the banging noise and slamming the door shut.
The man was facing away from you, kicking at a metal door, thinking it would open eventually if he kept going at it.
The man heard the door slam shut and he stopped banging at the metal door to freedom. He turned around to see your disheveled form, gun pointed right in between his eyes.
The man didn't seem fazed. If anything, he seemed more amused than surprised or scared or defensive.
"You do remember what happened last time you pointed that thing at me, right?" He asked cockily, lazily swinging his scythe over his shoulders and leaning against the door. "I wouldn't try it again if I were you." He challenged, glaring holes in your chest. You, by no means, brushed off his statements as a bluff. He'll kill you if he wants to. But that didn't mean you were going to back down. The gun was your only form of defense, you weren't going to give that up.
"What the hell do you want anyways?" He asked, his menacing glare never dissipating. You took a deep breath and prepared yourself for the few words you were about to utter.
". . . I want to make a deal with you."
It was silent for a few moments. The silence was almost unbearable. The man couldn't believe what you had said. Neither could you. Bargaining with a serial killer? Maybe you have lost your mind after all.
". . . A deal?" The man eventually uttered, grip tightening on his oversized weapon. His free hand lodged itself deep in his hoodie pocket, next to a dark stain you could only assume was an innocent person's blood.
"That's right," you confirmed, holding your ground. You were thankful that the man didn't catch onto your slightly shaking hands. He couldn't know of your nervous state. That's the last thing he needed to notice.
He started stalking forward, slowly, proving just how confident he was in this situation. It was obvious he was the one in control of this situation. But he didn't need to know that.
"You won't kill me, and I won't kill you." You said, your grip tightening on your firearm.
". . ."
". . ."
". . Hehe," the man let out, the sound slowly erupting into a fit of manic laughter. He stopped walking, looking over you while letting his scythe slip down his shoulders. He caught the weapon before it could clang to the ground, and lifting it effortlessly upward to the blade was the only thing separating you and him.
"Just what the hell is that bullshit supposed to mean." He demanded. His eyes were shadowed by his brown, blood-soaked hood.
You never thought the first time you'd see a person with such striking heterochromia eyes would be a psychotic serial killer.
You were scared. There was no point in lying. ". . . We work together." You eventually answered, staring right into the eyes of a monster.
The scythe slammed down beside you. You suppressed the urge to flinch at the loud bang.
"I'm not going to waste my time with bat-shit crazies like you." He said, aggravated beyond no end. He turned back around and walked to the door. "Unless you do something about this stupid door, get the hell away before I kill you out of boredom."
"Well, you're just in luck then." You said, remembering the keys you stole from Danny only a few minutes ago. You didn't know if the keys went to the door, and you didn't think this man was going to just laugh at the mistake you made.
But, this was Danny's floor, so the only pair of keys on him had to do something with opening the door. That's what you hoped anyway. You fished in your pocket and pulled out the set of keys. "These go to that door you're so desperately trying to open," you lied. Well, was it really a fabrication? No one but the doctor knew, and he couldn't say anything anymore.
"That lady on the speakers, she said you were now a sacrifice too. So, why don't we work together so we both get out of here, instead of dying a useless death." You were trying too hard to get him on your side. But if he wasn't on your side, he'd be your enemy. The last thing you want is to be enemies with a serial killer. especially this one.
"Alright, fine!" The man shouted. He straightened up, making himself seem taller, although he was already taller than you when not completely straightened. "I'm no idiot." He said lowly. "I'm not gonna be some puppet for you."
"That's not my intention." You said firmly, standing your ground. It was an uncomfortable staring contest that lasted what could've been hours, but realistically was only about a minute or so.
He reached his hand out, beckoning. "Don't do anything stupid." He demanded. For a moment, you were confused about what he wanted from you. But it clicked, and you wordlessly handed over the doctor's key, you watched as the key fell helplessly into the man's heavily bandaged hand. He turned around and walked towards the door.
You silently prayed that the key was the one to open the elevator.
Within an instant, the sound of heavy machinery moving as it was designed filled your ears, and the once-sealed metal door opened up to reveal the spacious elevator. Although the man was standing in front of you, you could still tell the elevator was the same as the one you rode up to this floor. But was the next destination going to be the same? Most definitely not.
"I don't think I told ya my name," the man mentioned, turning to look back at you, scythe back around his shoulders. "I'm Zack," he finally introduced himself.
Did you want to give him your name?
"I'm Y/n L/n." You said, taking a step toward the man - Zack. You passed him, entering the elevator. Zack wordlessly followed behind.
*.*.*.*