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Grim Wolf
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Alone. Ugly, inside and out. A story he was trying to make even his fellow players believe, little monster that he was. Crowe had been right: all he'd done was kill one scared little girl, because he was afraid himself. Christ, what a fucking coward he was! All those words about fitness and honor, because no one else knew the truth. No one else knew...

Not alone.

The cans were clanging and rattling. Someone was coming.

Alex had wandered for hours, tracing the halls of this place, leaving his cans and strings in his wake. When he could not find cans, he made do with whatever clanging pieces of metal he could jury rig together. He knew someone was coming. Getting closer, before they stopped tripping any alarms. He had come from that way himself. He knew what halls they could possibly take, and where they led.

He stood at a slight angle, his head tilted so it seemed like he wasn't looking at the door, like he was unaware of whoever was coming. But with the way he'd left his flashlight, he had a clear reflection leading back down that hall. He watched that reflection for any movement, for any sign of a gun, for any sign of danger. There was a doorway in the opposite direction: if it looked too dangerous, he'd bolt.

And then he saw the figure. He recognized him, too. All the wear and tear of the past few days hadn't made him any less recognizable. Crowe.

His grip tightened on his machete, but otherwise he gave no visible sign of what he'd seen. Dangerous. Very dangerous. But a good story. Perhaps a chance at the glory he was losing. A chance to sell his name and...

And a chance to kill again, you fucking monster.

Yes, well. After all he'd said and all he'd done, he didn't have the luxury of looking back. Not if he wanted to survive. Not if he wanted to be remembered.

He considered his options. He muttered to himself, nonsense phrases--"peas and carrots, rhubarb"--as he looked around the room. Let Crowe get just a little closer. Let him strike, and think nothing was wrong.

Alex's heart was beating fast, and his fingers and toes were tingling with electric adrenaline. He could taste ash on his tongue. He could die, right here. But after so long alone, he had to admit: there was a part of him that wanted to fight. A part of him that wanted to kill.

Just let him get a little closer.
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V6 Players

Tara Behzad: "They don't get to decide how I die."

Lizzie Luz: "I don't want to go."

Alex Tarquin: "No more masks."

V5 Players

V4 Players
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