Laughter fills the room when you open your eyes, the long-awaited shot being aimed at your leg. Pain shoots through you when the adrenaline starts to settle down, eyes looking up at an older man grinning at you. He’s about twice as old as the other man, a smile defining the deep wrinkles on his face.
"Did you really think we'd kill you?" he asks, another laugh mocking you further. "Killing you would be an act of mercy -- You can die of blood loss later, but right now, we need you living. Everyone's waiting for you to show up in your cute little onion suit!"
He places his shoe against your back, the sole making you identify it as the hiking boot used to stop one of the people held hostage until your arrival. You try to get a good look at his face with the possibility of him being one of the masked people, though he prevents that by doing the same as he had done with the bear, pushing you down until your cheek presses against the floor.
“Tie ‘em up,” he demands, directing his words at the younger man still recovering from your punch at his nose. “It’s almost time.”
Refusing to stay still, you attempt to break free from his power over you, the pressure he puts resulting as too much for your weakened state. You aim a kick with your healthy leg despite those drawbacks, the pain that stings your wound slowing you down enough for him to dodge and for another bullet to be shot right at you -- this time at your upper arm. A muffled scream is your only relief from the pain surmounting your body, against giving both men the satisfaction of hearing your scream out loud.
They both partake in keeping you still this time around, the red-haired woman responsible for poisoning you making her appearance from a corner of the room as she takes on the job of tying you up. A shudder reaches your spine when she wraps her arms around your bare shoulders, snickers, and blows out hot air into your ear. Slowly, she pulls you against her chest as she then lets go and grabs both of your wrists with one hand, using the other to begin wrapping a strong, thick line of rope around them.
“First a kiss and now this, huh?” the younger man’s voice speaks up, teasing remark made stronger by a soft, belly-deep chuckle. “Looks like you guys are taking it fast. Think there’s room for me?”
You feel sick to the stomach when he comments that, the idea of doing anything intimate with either one of the two sending ripples of nausea and disgust in all forms.
“Let’s hope (Y/N) survives this,” she replies, returning his laugh. “It wouldn’t be fun if they’re dead.”
Too distracted by their exchange and weakened by blood loss, you don’t notice when the woman’s done tying you down. You’re pulled off the floor after that, the oldest of the three present laughing when he sees you stumble and fall back to the ground, the same boot pressing down on you again.
“Put this (lass/fella) to sleep -- We can’t lose ‘em yet.”
Those are the last words you can distinguish as he waits for the other two to take action, the final thing you can feel being a needle pierced close to the wound on your arm, boot keeping you from grasping a look at the substance being injected into your veins.
★
With bloodied bandages wrapped tightly around your injuries, health long-past depleted, and cameras observing you from all directions, your only choice is to comply to the younger man’s primal instructions of following him towards the central room, forced obedience rewarding you with a pair of painkillers and a lukewarm glass of water.
You’re sitting on a small, worn out couch, not too far from where you gave resistance. The older man is busy putting items inside a first aid kit while the woman leans back against a wall, eyes closed as her arms cross firm over her chest. The younger man waits for you to finish the glass, looking impatient as he then hands you over a pair of glucose tablets.
“Can’t have you fainting on me,” the man states, injured nose now covered with the same bandages as yours, a visual that reminded you of your first attempt at resisting his demands. “You’re gonna have to pay for my surgery bill if it doesn’t heal by itself.”
“Assuming I’ll be alive after this?” you ask, gaze furrowing when you look up at him.
“He doesn’t want you dead yet.”
“Who’s ‘he’?”
Grinning, he turns straight to you, grabbing your face with his hand. He cocks his head to the side and raises an eyebrow, a glare following after that. “Asking that many questions even after you punched my nose and all, huh? Can’t say I don’t like the way you’re thinking.”
You frown when he lets go of your face, perplexed by his words. “Why do you say that?”
He stays silent for a while, gaze subtly trailing off towards the woman resting her eyes and the man putting away the medical equipment. A hint of nervousness can be seen on his body language, feet shifting and posture stiffening.
“You wouldn’t believe how much I hate doing this -- having to deal with all the stuff thrown at me. This sorta dirty work isn’t something I looked forward to when I was a beginner, but I eventually grew used to it,” he replies, a laugh breaking out of his lips. “So that doesn’t mean I don't know where you’re coming from with this, y’know? We’re both humans in the end, (Y/N). . . different perspectives and all. I didn’t expect for one second you would obey me or any of us three, so I was ready for you to jump at us. I’m just doing my job, and you’re doing yours -- Props to you for following up with what you believe in. You were given the opportunity to change your path in life, and it doesn’t look like you’re wasting it. Or at least, it didn’t.”
He doesn’t let you get a word in on his response when he’s done, almost immediately ordering you to stand up when you take the glucose tablets and chew them against your will, far from wanting to stay conscious for what you were about to face. Begrudgingly, you clench your jaw, breathe in, and follow him to the last corridor of the featureless building, finally arriving to what you assume is the central room he had told you about, an exit to nature presenting itself to your eyes. What stops you from admiring the bright morning sun and the birds flying past are the roars and cheers of people resonating from nearby.
“Time to face your judgement, (Y/N) (L/N).”
The odd words of the man fade away when he slides open the door, noise growing louder when he does so. Screams and unintelligible chants engulf your hearing, triggering a pounding headache that falls flat when the pain in your leg increases. You stare down at the few scraps you’re wearing, (one/two)-piece underwear being the only thing to keep your thin shred of decency intact. The man tugs harshly at you to follow him outside, nodding when you begin taking steps forward.
"Are you ready to see what happens when you're blinded by justice?" a voice asks, the strong, echoey note that's left behind with the words letting you know the person was using a microphone. "When you're stubborn enough not to care about losing your dignity? When you ditch your own kind's side and long-time spouse to join the other side?" The further the voice speaks, the more you're able to deduce them to be the mayor. "(Y/N) (L/N) thought it would be funny to deface and make me seem as a bad person, when I was only trying to help them. Surprisingly, (L/N) agreed to go through with their punishment, so let's hear it for them! Let your claps be heard as we welcome them to our stadium!"
"Get moving."
Speechless, you can only meet with the man's eyes as you stand frozen in place. You can't move regardless of the authority in his voice, mind completely clouded by the fact that you were meant to step out and face a crowd of people all while wearing an onion sack that exposed almost all of your body.
You want to call for help. . .
. . .But you can't.
Voice gone and leg far-too bruised for you to pull off another stunt, you're forced to take a step forward, head hurting more when the sound of clapping drowns out your hearing.
"Move!"
You try to stay determined. . .
Bittersweet memories over what you had and would still have were you to survive arrive in your mind, though the chants, whistles, and claps tune these out. You try again, reminders of how far you had gone in the past year flashing amongst all your panicked, dispersed thoughts. The clamour of an impatient audience increases, making the situation overtake your newfound pride over your achievements.
. . .But you can't.
As a camera zooms in on you, your mind can only think of waiting as you see the red light start flashing again. You wait in silence, eyes closing as you let your gaze stand tall.
The last thing you expect to hear is a loud crash and the crumbling of cement, the hellish sound of metal screeching being sufficient for the gunshot's noise to muffle itself to an extent. You can feel the bullet graze your shoulder, slicing part of your skin as fresh, warm blood trickles down your arm. The next thing you can process is being pushed down by someone heavy, an orchestra of bullets sounding from all directions as one of them ricochets and grazes the same spot on your shoulder.
When your body grows limp, you're not sure if it's due to tiredness or blood loss -- or perhaps both. Blurry vision scans the area around you to see what’s going on and who’s covering you from the duel, yet you’re only able to see dust and debris, a recognizable shape shining through it all.
Peering closer into it, you notice it’s the same, four-pointed star you had seen at Mettaton’s hotel. You try to gain the strength required for you to reach out for it, fingers grazing with the star. It shines brighter when you come in contact with it, warmth spreading throughout your hand.
It almost feels as if it’s trying to heal you -- to reach out for you.
A bullet passing right past your cheek urges you to make a decision, arm and hand put in danger, these the only parts of your body unguarded by the person holding you down.
*Would you like to save your progress?
You see the area surrounding the star glitch as two options show themselves before you, giving you the choice to either refuse or accept its offer.
★
Choice #4
What will you do next?
a.) Save.
b.) Don’t save.
c.) Attempt to grab the star.
d.) Pull your hand back.