Chapter Text
He couldn’t even remember his own name anymore. He supposed there wasn’t really a reason to know his name, but the fact he couldn’t remember still bothered him. He’d had a name before, he was pretty sure… He had to. Surely before , people had talked to him, surely before , his parents had called him something . But that didn’t matter, because whatever name it had been was gone.
Gone, like everything else, the second he’d stepped onto that elevator.
Gone, like his life.
The Newbie was still attacking the door, his nails making terrible noises against the metal, like nails to a chalkboard. He really needed to stop , the doors weren’t going to open again, no matter how hard he tried. All he was going to get from trying was pain. Judging from the faint smears of blood on the door, the Newbie had already ripped out a couple of fingernails.
This is your fault. The words cut through his mind like a knife, causing him to suck in a pained breath, dropping his head back against the elevator wall with a dull thud. A stab of physical pain shot through the back of his skull, but that was ok, it matched how he felt on the inside. It was his fault. His fault that he’d ruined their one shot to make it out of this hell elevator.
The Newbie was still frantically attacking the door, screaming, crying, all of his emotions coming out in a blur of pounding fists, a whirlwind of curses and threats that had no purpose, because the people they were aimed at were gone, gone, and they’d never come back. Who would, honestly? He couldn’t blame them for leaving. It was almost a miracle that they’d come back the second time.
He stared up at the familiar ceiling, not really seeing it as he breathed slowly. In through his nose, out through his mouth. It was in these moments especially that he wished he had a cigarette - and was simultaneously sort of glad he didn’t. The only thing a cigarette would do was piss off the Newbie even more. And facing the Newbie’s wrath was one of the last things he wanted to do.
Judging by the heavy, angry breathing coming from the doors, though, it was pretty clear that he was probably going to have to face that wrath whether he wanted to or not, and soon. It seemed the Newbie had finally got the hint that he couldn’t get the other to come back no matter how loud he cursed. It was only a matter of time before that cursing, that rage, was directed at him. Only a matter of time before he was treated like that damn elevator door - beaten at, screamed at, the works.
At least the Newbie didn’t have the scissors anymore.
One small silver lining in a situation full of shit.
At least he wouldn’t be stabbed again, over and over, the damn scissors being slammed through his eyes, his throat, his chest, over and over, rivers of his blood flowing through the elevator, splattering on the walls, and oh god, that was his blood, and the pain growing with every time the scissors were plunged into his flesh and the feeling of darkness creeping in his vision, in his mind, until all the pain faded and he slipped away into the dark void of death, but it couldn’t just end at that, no, then he’d come back, and he just wanted the darkness to come for him, to take him, to swallow him whole, to protect him from having to face that again, because oh god every time he came back was just a fucking countdown until he had to die again, until he had to feel himself wither away and– needless to say, being stabbed wasn’t a very pleasant experience.
“They left. They fucking left .” The Newbie’s voice was ragged. “They said– They said they’d take our places! And they FUCKING LEFT US !” He’d stopped attacking the door, finally, but the sudden silence in the elevator made his voice sound ten times louder.
Honestly, though, what had the Newbie expected? That two presumably sane people would trade their freedom, their life, their sanity , for a pair of scissors? Nobody in their right mind would do that. Nobody in their right mind would take scissors as some shitty consolation prize as they sat in a broken elevator, dying over and over, for the rest of their lives. They weren’t coming back. They weren’t ever coming back. They had what they needed.
The Newbie ran his hand down the elevator door, turning towards his companion. The look on his face sent a jolt of fear through his entire being, because oh god, did he know that look… That rage… the strange glint in his eyes… That was the expression that only ever came with pain.
You deserve it. You deserve whatever he does.
That expression. That damn expression. It usually meant he was about to die.
You fucking deserve it, you fucking deserve it and you know it.
His hands were shaking. His hands shouldn’t be shaking. He clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white.
It’s a shame you can’t die forever, he’d be better off without you.
His breath was stuck in his throat, like something was blocking it. Yes, something was blocking it. He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t breathe.
Maybe if it weren’t for you, someone would be leaving this elevator.
He felt some sort of pressure in the corners of his eyes, like he was about to cry. Fuck. No, he couldn’t cry. He didn’t like crying… The Newbie didn’t like when he cried either. Shit…
He’s probably relieved every time you die, because just for one second, you’re not there, fucking everything up.
He wasn’t crying. Yet. But the Newbie was still glaring at him, with that malice in his eyes, that terrifying but completely justified rage. And then, he took a step forward.
“I- I’m sorry-...” He choked out, his back pressed painfully against the wall of the elevator. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I-...” He tried to remind himself to breathe, taking a shaky breath in, but it was like there was a hand closed around his windpipe, he couldn’t get enough oxygen into his lungs, he couldn’t fucking breathe . “I-...”
“ Stop .” the Newbie hissed, looking positively murderous. He took another step closer. “Stop that.”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean… I didn’t mean to…” He was choking, he was suffocating, he couldn’t breathe, and there were tears falling down his face, and shit, the Newbie didn’t like it when he cried, he had to stop, he had to stop . “I-... F-fuck… I…”
“I said stop it !” the Newbie was right there now, right there, and his hand was gripping his collar, the shirt was choking him, and oh god he was so close, and he was going to kill him, he was going to kill him again and oh god he didn’t want to die he didn’t want to die not again.
“Sorry-” He choked out, feeling another warm tear fall from his eye and trace a path down his face. “Don’t kill me. Don’t kill me…”
For a split second, the Newbie’s expression seemed to soften ever so slightly. The malice and anger was replaced with… something else, a faint glimmer of something that he couldn’t quite place. In that second, he was able to breathe again. Just for that moment. In, and out.
The next second, though, the Newbie’s fist had connected with his nose, with a crunch of breaking bones that echoed sickeningly through the elevator.
“I thought I told you to fucking stop !”
…
The man let out a pitiful whimper as blood gushed from his now-crooked nose, tears filling his blue eyes again, as he reached up a shaking hand to his face, his breath shaky as he stared at his fingertips, now stained with his blood.
He fucking deserved it.
That’s what he got for ruining their one chance to escape with his stupid emotional outburst.
That’s what he got for whining like a pathetic child.
That’s what he got for putting faith in a monster. For begging a monster for mercy. For thinking that a monster would even be capable of showing him sympathy.
Yeah, the man definitely deserved it.
So why did the monster - as he’d begun to refer to himself as - feel so… bad? Monsters weren't supposed to feel sympathy, or pity.
“Don’t-... Don’t, please…” The man was begging now. His face was coated with blood from his broken nose, and there were tears flowing from his eyes.
The monster barely remembered a time when he’d been the one begging, the one with tears flowing from his own eyes.
Begging never got anyone anywhere. He knew that from experience.
“You’re fucking pathetic , you know that?” He spat, leaning down until he was centimeters from the man’s face. “Pathetic.”
“I know, I know that…” The man whimpered, “I’m sorry, I-”
He was sitting in his room, his head in his hands, his mother standing over him holding a drawing, and she was screaming, and she was angry and he had to apologize, he had to fix it-
“Stop fucking apologizing!” He screamed, slamming his knee as hard as he could into the man’s chest, just to get him to shut up, to stop being so pathetic .
The man let out a groan of pain, and a high pitched whimper, but he stopped talking. He stopped doing anything, lying helplessly on the elevator floor, blood dripping from his nose onto the ground, the panic in his eyes still visible, but masked behind a wall of… nothingness. Of numb acceptance of his fate.
That look was worse than the pleading.
People weren’t supposed to just lie down and accept their fate.
People were supposed to fight the monster.
He couldn’t fight back, he didn’t dare fight back, he just had to hold his breath and wait for it to be over, wait for it to be over, wait for her to stop –
“You pathetic fucking piece of shit!” He kicked the man, and when he didn’t respond other than a weak groan, he kicked him harder. “How weak do you have to be, if that took you down? How fucking weak and pathetic are you?”
“How pathetic you must be, in the sight of God!” She screamed, “To give in to temptation so easily!” She was holding the pair of scissors that he’d used to cut his hair, her eyes were wild, she was like a raging beast, and he had no other choice but to hide, because how could he fight back, how could he–
“Come on, you coward, FIGHT BACK!” He screamed, flecks of spit flying from his mouth, hitting the man in the face, as he grabbed his collar, shaking him slightly. The man whimpered again, weakly muttering something, but making no move to fight back.
“‘m sorry… it’s my fault…” The man’s voice was shaky, broken, “It’s my fault they left… I-...”
Every night, he would pray, he would plead with God to fix him, to make him better. To make him the daughter his parents wanted. But God had abandoned him for his sins. So he tried to repent. He spent hours kneeling, pleading for forgiveness.
“SHUT UP!” His head was beginning to hurt, a throbbing pain that just served to make him more… monstrous, “SHUT THE HELL UP! YOU FUCKING PATHETIC COWARD!” He shoved the man’s head back, letting it slam against the metal wall with a sickening crack.
The man let out a quiet sob. “…” He seemed to be trying to say something, his face soaked with tears and blood, he was shaking like a leaf, but he still made no move to fight back. “Why…?”
He was hiding under his bed, trembling, tears streaming down his face as his mother stalked around his room, her footsteps loud and monstrous. Why? Why him? Why did it have to be him that God chose to hate? That his mother chose to hate? Surely there were worse sins, right? Or was he really that bad? Did he really deserve this?
“Stop it. Stop talking like that! I can’t stand it!” The monster growled, “You don’t get to fucking ask that. You don’t get to fucking ASK THAT, YOU LITTLE FUCKING-”
“-PIECE OF SHIT!” This was bad. This was really bad. She never swore, not unless she was really angry. Her face was red, knuckles white around the crumpled paper, her eyes held a sort of insanity in them. Oh God… Oh God, no…
He grabbed the man’s collar again, pulling him up so that once again, their faces were centimeters apart. “ Why me ?” he said in a mocking tone, “Get a fucking GRIP!” He shoved the man’s head back again, slamming the back of his head into the wall as hard as he could. Then he did it again. And again. The sounds of crying gradually faded, replaced with the occasional pained whimper. “FIGHT BACK! FIGHT BACK OR I’LL FUCKING KILL YOU, I’LL KILL YOU, I’LL-”
She was screaming again, so loud that he couldn’t understand what she was saying, all he knew was that it was bad, it was angry, and it was directed at him. He stood in front of her, legs barely supporting him, his breath coming in short gasps. God hated him. God hated him, and his mom hated him, and he hated himself. Hated himself for looking down at the ground, for apologizing, over and over again, for letting her walk all over him.
“I’LL KILL YOU, YOU FUCKING BASTARD!” He slammed the man’s head into the wall again, his poor victim’s eyes were becoming unfocused, his jaw had gone slack, his eyes were almost rolled back into his head - was he dead already? Again? That easily?
That pathetic shit.
He was like a fucking child, weak and pathetic.
He was just a child , how was he supposed to deal with this, how was he supposed to stop this, what else could he do? There was nothing to do, nothing he could do, so when his mother started screaming, he just closed his eyes and waited through it. When she hit him, he just braced for impact, and sat there, face stinging, as though nothing had happened. How was he supposed to defend himself?
“Fight… back…” He panted, standing over the man’s corpse, a bead of sweat dripping down his forehead, into his eye. He wiped it away, smearing blood across his cheek. The man was clearly dead now, the monster had checked for a pulse and found none. His entire face was masked with half-dried blood, his eyes were cold and empty, full of nothing. He hadn’t fought back.
Now that the man was dead again, some of the rage that defined the monster slipped away, replaced with something else, something he couldn’t quite place, as he stared at the corpse. At the mess he’d made.
A tear fell from the corner of his eye, tracing its way down his face, to the end of his chin. Stupid…
As he stared down, waiting for everything to reset, like it always did, he felt a cold numbness spread through his body, starting from his chest. His knuckles throbbed slightly, his fingers where he’d ripped out the nails trying to pry the door open burned with pain, but all that was forgotten as the cold swallowed him whole.
He didn’t feel remorse for killing this man. He deserved it. He deserved it for trying to plead with a monster.
Of course, there was some feeling stirring in his chest, some sick, terrible feeling, but that didn’t count.
The world would reset any second now. Any second. And everything would be back to normal. And the cold would fade.
It would just be a couple more seconds before-
beeeeeeeep