They say when a person is over-exposed to extended periods of solitude they've received a one way ticket to madness. Silence without another living soul to compensate for conversation and companionship drive a person to talk to nothing in order to talk to something. The longer a person endures time alone the further they get dragged into insanity. Mumbling, muttering, cursing things that only they can see; fighting off demons that lurk in their shadows, slowly crumbling in on themselves just as surely as the days begin to all seem the same. Repeats. Endlessly looping head over heels until they cannot tell up from down, when left has suddenly become right, and the reflection is no longer simply mimicking them. When paranoia begins to take over dreams then even sleep is untrustworthy, and time no longer has meaning.

But what doctors call dementia, I call survival.

In a literal Game of Horrors rules that apply to normal life fail to function the way they should, instead turning on the player and stabbing them in the back. Or the brain, heart, lungs- any vital point really. So long as you die then the Game's occupants don't care how they get the job done. And when you've been here long enough that your internal clock can't distinguish night from day you learn to play the game their way.

Me? Heh, I've been here too long. How long, I honestly don't know. Long enough to have the habit of sleeping with one eye open and a knife in my hand. To always question the shadows no matter where I am, even if it's a safe haven. To not put my faith in another person's ability to survive. And if there's no time for thinking, then I act. A person has a lot to lose when they think this way, and you won't see me prancing around like some naїve idiot thinking I'm an exception. Exceptions are for wishful thinkers' dreams, reality is a yellow brick road you have to pave for yourself.

When I was contacted to be a beta tester for a new game created by Future Gaming Co., though, you could say that I fell into the wishful thinkers category. Could you really blame me? My dad was a horror movie junkie, which in turn led to me being one as well. We always watched and criticized the hero's actions, their idiotic choices like calling "Who's there?" in a dark room, or simply not keeping their guard up when it was blindingly obvious where the demon would strike from. In so many ways I thought that I could have handled that situation better if given the chance. It was irresponsibility on my part.

I should have taken a hint from that contract that not everything would have been as it seemed and hauled ass far away from that industry, but I didn't. I had thought nothing of it as I sealed my fate with a black Bic pen. From that moment on lesson after grueling lesson was learned that I wasn't something special enough to be an exception from the fundamentals of fear; all by paying steep, irrevocable prices that leave me alone each and every time. Just like in the movies.

Every person I've ever met while playing this game has either been a creation of the game, or dead. No player has ever lasted more than a few levels. No player that was too optimistic or prepared to kill or be killed, no one person that thought they could outsmart the system, not even the people that had figured out how to silence their fears. Ha, just thinking about them makes me regret my wishful way of thinking even more.

Fear is a constant in this game, in life, and everyone feels it. To ignore fear is like saying the only thing to fear is Fear itself. I beg to differ when it comes to that saying. When you come within an inch of death more than a few times you learn that there's plenty more things to fear than an intangible emotion. But to be able to wield that fear in the heat of battle- that is a key to this game, and how I've survived more than just a few levels. Even mice will bite when cornered, you know.

And this mouse bites, hard. And the closer to the glimmering horizon of safety I get the nastier my bite. There is no such thing as hesitation in my dictionary anymore. Not now when I'm so close to clearing this hell hole. To being free.

But in the end my big heart always, always throws me off by the arrival of a new player. As much as I only care to look out for my own hide I can't just stand by and let someone deceived into playing this game get slaughtered without trying to give them a chance. It's just not who I am, and unfortunately I think the game knows this.

It knows this and has turned my own integrity into a double edged sword. For every person I try to help only winds up dead, whether by the will of the game, or by the deed of my own hands. And even as I spy on the latest victim, I can't stop the overwhelming grief in my heart for what will only become a bad ending.

Crouching in the nook of the wall, just before it reaches the ceiling, I watched a young man rifle through a set of crates. From this distance only his backside could be made out; broad shoulders, covered by a thick grey windbreaker, attach to a thickening neck, neatly trimmed blonde hair contrasting starkly against the gloom of the large square room. Though the demon, or perhaps for the sake of using correct terminology since this is a game, the Boss of this level has yet to appear, the man will still eventually fall asleep. And when he does…

It would just be better for him if I killed him instead, wouldn't it?

My eyes, sharpened to combat against the dim lighting, swept over the room in search for a direct path. The grey walls were smooth surfaces without any angling to them to slow my descent, but the metal rafters criss-crossing along the ceiling were within easy jumping reach. From the rafters hung individual clusters of chains with pointed tenterhooks dangling from the ends. Not very far from where the man stood was my way down.

Soundlessly I lept from the hole, body unfurling gracefully like a cat, fingers wrapping around rusty metal tight enough to cause me to swing like a pendulum until I could hoist myself up. With light footsteps I flitted from beam to beam until I stood directly behind him on a higher level. At my feet was a coil of chains, which were gathered as quietly as possible into a coil in my hand. Only one moment was spared for me to steel my nerves with a deep breath before I took the plunge.

Like a wraith I descended from the ceiling. The wind ripped through me, forcing chopped ends of coarse hair to flatten against my skull. Metal jingles against metal and quietly echoes throughout the room. The man straightens, looking to his right just as the line goes taut and pitches me towards him. Reflexively I let go of the chain and let momentum do the rest for me. Mystery Man turned around mere seconds before I landed on him.

We crash to the ground, the man grunting in pain as a harsh crack resonates underneath him. Before he has time to react his arms become pinned between my legs and his sides, my left hand whipping out a hunting knife from a holster on my hip and pressing the jagged edge of the metal against his adam's apple. He swallowed hard, the apple bobbing up in an almost mesmerizing way. Before I could get caught up by the simple action I forced my eyes to meet with his own.

Never in my life had I ever seen such fiercely controlled intensity in eyes as crystalline blue as this man's. A shiver, lighter than fine mist, trickled down my spine like billions of spiders and caused me to straighten my back.

This man was, by his own rights, dangerous.

He shifted in response to my movements, but he didn't speak. For what very well could have passed as an eternity we stared at each other, neither deigning to give in and speak. Briefly it occurred to me that, in our moment of mutual study, he could have easily overpowered me- or at the very least he could have overthrown me. Instead he seemed focused on analyzing every physical aspect about myself, eyes squinting to fight against the lack of light in the room. It also appeared that he was expecting me to speak first.

A deep sigh causes my flat chest to swell. My voice, hoarse from disuse, barely reached beyond a whisper. "Why?"

The mystery guy didn't answer. I watched as his neutral expression morphed, lines creasing across his forehead as his mildly thick brows knit themselves together, a frown tugging at the corners of his lips.

I tried again, this time clearing my throat in hopes that it would make my voice louder. The only thing it succeeded in was making it scratchier.

"Why did you accept the offer to play this game? Why did you sentence yourself to hell? Why did you have to reset mine?!"

It was unreasonable of me to expect him to have known the answer to any of this, a new person never found out the whole story until it was too late, but it still made a shameful heat climb my throat. It burned holes in my chest, forcing me to reign an undisciplined temper in. A light tremble accosted my next sigh.

"I came here to find someone."

His deep voice startled me, causing my head to snap back slightly. As his words slowly sunk in, my heart became increasingly weighted. Whoever he was looking for was undoubtedly dead and he was risking his life for nothing.

"Search all you want, buddy, but I'm the only living human being in this godforsaken building. Survival rate has reached an all time low of .01 percent, and that's probably how it'll stay until…," My voice died down and I averted my gaze. Even if I did have my skillset on my side there was no way for me to be optimistic enough of surviving to the end. Luck was as rigged as flipping a double tails-sided coin when you were shooting for heads in this game. No survivors left was how it was designed.

The man's body went limp underneath me and his head tilted back slightly. The rise and fall of his broad chest unnerved me. I haven't been this close to another living being since… Since the last one died. Carefully I retracted the blade away from his throat and slid off of him, settling into a tired slouch next to him instead. There's no way I can kill him right now.

"So Brawny," A dull sigh fell from my mouth like mystery sludge at the cafeteria hitting the plastic tray. The man beside me shifted so he was sitting up as well. "How did you even get an invite to play this game anyways?"

"My job holds certain benefits, such as gaining access to an email account for investigative reasons."

"You sound like a cop." Though he was doing his damndest to hedge around it.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw him shake his head with a little eye roll. Obviously he got this a lot. "Not exactly. I'm more like a private investigator without government attachments. Although usually I only deal with criminals."

"So… A bail bonds agent?" The thought made me cringe a little. A second glance revealed a slight head nod and the silence overtook conversation once again. I hesitated to even think about asking who it was he had come in here for. I knew everyone that had come in here, at least by first name. Some had been close friends, others had come close to being family, and a few had even managed to become enemies. But all met a horrible, unforgettable end. Recalling that end for whoever he was looking for was something I hoped to avoid.

Mind quickly turning to other matters, I attempted to nudge the conversation towards something of more value for myself. "What's the date?"

The last time I had found out it had been six months since I'd been trapped in this nightmare. Time moves differently in a place where you can't see the sun, even though I can feel the length like an old ache in my bones. One thing for certain is that it's been too long.

"Today is the fourteenth of December." My hands suddenly become the most interesting thing in the world. Eight months ago these extremities knew what it was like to be clean; what it was like to feel the comforts of warm water and soap, and soft fabrics that bore no holes. They had no blemishes on smooth caramel skin, and the nails were always neatly trimmed with no dirt and grime practically permanently stuck underneath them. Eight months ago these hands weren't stained with blood.

Something brushed against my shoulder and I jumped. Whirling around, I grabbed the newbie by the wrist and twisted it sharply to the right, just barely catching myself before snapping it. The man stared mutely at my hand around his wrist, becoming utterly still. Slowly he raised his eyes to meet mine. Like the sudden release of a lock my hand unclasps his wrist and he pulls his his arm back. Subtly, as if he thought I wouldn't notice it, he edged away from me.

I cleared my throat. "Don't touch me."

"Sorry," he mumbled.

Discomfort dictated my posture as we continued to allow the silence to persevere and it wasn't long until the man's loud breathing started to get on my nerves. Man, I had gotten so used to hearing nothing save for the screams of each level that now that there's something to fill the void, it's the most irritating thing ever.

I stood up and walked away, never fully turning my back to him. Though I didn't really see it I could feel his eyes following me. After becoming so sensitive to the feeling of being watched it irked me more than his ridiculously heavy breathing. If he was this bad then I could only imagine how he'd fare in battles where silence was key.

"How well do you know your horror stories?" I asked, shoving the knife I was holding into a makeshift holster. The muscles in my neck began to contract and stretch as I rolled it around in an effort to shake off the annoyance. Looking back at the guy though made me want to slam my face into the concrete wall. He actually had to think about this?!

The man stared intensely at the opposing wall for what felt like an even worse eternity than the eight months I've already spent in it. When his clear gaze shifted to me, though, I guess he saw something he didn't quite like, because he leaned back in shock.

I grit my teeth. "I know, I look like I came out of a horror story myself, but that doesn't answer the damn question Brawny."

Quickly he tried to cover up his mistake and act normal. "Sorry. I do know some horror stories- both modern and old legends. When I was a kid I used to make my brother read them to me whenever I was feeling brave enough to-"

"Right, okay," I cut him short, not in the mood to listen to any of his backstory. "Do you know anything about Freddy Krueger?"

If he was offended in the slightest by my interruption, it didn't show. He closed his eyes, brows knitting together in deep concentration. Another minute was wasted as he spent it trying to recall anything about this specific monster.

And then finally, "Isn't he that burned man that kills people in their sleep?"

I was far from relieved, but the sigh that escaped made me feel content that at least he knew about Krueger.

"Close enough. Krueger was a guy that killed kids with his signature metal claws, and then got burned to death by a bunch of angry parents. He then haunted the kids of those guys and killed them in their dreams." I sauntered over to the crates and took a seat, whipping out my knife again so I could clean it. "In this game, for this particular level, it basically works the same as it did in 'Nightmare on Elm Street'. When we fall asleep we'll be in his realm. But the problem is… we can't harm or kill him."

"Then how-"

I looked up with my eyes only. "I wasn't finished."

He pursed his lips before ducking his head in apology.

"As I was saying," My gaze traveled back to the knife. "Since the game and the story are basically the same when it comes to how he kills then it's also the same for how he can be killed. All that's gotta be done is dragging him out onto our turf."

Problem with that, however, was that it would work best if one of us were to remain awake while the other went to sleep and got him. I would be the one to stay and finish him off, since Brawny would have to play this level out, unlike me who's already completed this one too many times. But then I wouldn't really be able to do jack-shit for him once he fell asleep. Whereas if I were to go in and bring Krueger out myself there's no telling how well he'd be able to handle him that way either. In the end he's still an unknown liability.

A low groan rattled in my chest and I hung my head. This was going to have to be done the hard way; i.e- we're both going in.

I hopped off the crate and jerked my head for him to follow. Warily, he obeyed and stood up, placing one big foot in front of the other. As soon as I was certain he was following then I maneuvered around crates in search of a particular spot I knew of that would be well hidden, but still open enough for a brawl.

"What are we going to do?" His question was called out loudly, as he was still far enough away that he thought talking at normal volume was merited, and it made me cringe. He could have continued talking in low tones and I would have heard it just fine.

"You and I, Princess, are gonna get some beauty sleep," I retorted. "Further instruction will be relayed in the dream realm, so please keep all your organs inside the body at all times, and avoid losing limbs as best as you can."

"My name isn't 'Princess', or 'Brawny' for that matter," he muttered. I cast him a sideways glance over my shoulder. He didn't really appear to be annoyed, but definitely a little miffed by my lack of courtesy. No doubt he was going to expect an exchange of names at some point.

"You'll get stuck with whatever nickname I give you, and vice versa for me," He had finally caught up with me and we rounded a corner at the same time. I looked up at him, taking note of the height difference now that we actually stood side by side. Compared to this guy I was just a mere hobbit standing next to a giant.

Brawny frowned and opened his mouth to argue. One look shot him down. An explanation later and I was certain he wouldn't question me about it anymore. "I don't bother exchanging names on the first level anymore since the probability of people surviving it is at an eternal low. And even then we have to get away from Jason long enough to rest. What good does it do for me to have another name to go with a face on my conscience?"

Even as I said that several faces came to mind and I averted my gaze, opting to stare straight ahead with a blank mask for a face. A lump formed in my throat and I swallowed hard. If I ever get out of this damn place then I just know that I'm going to have some wicked PTSD and Survivor's Guilt.

He never responded.

A large pile of crates loomed before us, lining not quite against the wall and was partially shielded by an equally gigantic tarp. I stopped and turned to Brawny. My arm arced widely before us like I were showing him something magnificent. Unfortunately for us there was nothing grand about our temporary choice of residence.

"Your room awaits, Your Highness," I say, voice oozing with unchecked sarcasm. Brawny gives me one final look before stepping forward to be swallowed by darkness. Seconds later, and I'm plunging in after him.

It's time for the mouse to fight again.

Yo, Seal here. Lemme just start off by saying dreams are awesome. I love dreams, sometimes dreams love me, it's a win-win deal ya know? Anyways, courtesy of a dream I've had this story to work with. Originally I started it about a year ago but now this is an UPDATED version from the original! (Thank goodness it's updated because the original version of this story makes me cringe. Badly.)

Anyways, I would thoroughly appreciate some serious ConCrit on this story! Feedback fuels my ego (not surprisingly) and also motivates me to get my ass in gear (also not surprisingly). Now y'all have a nice day/night!

Your friendly psychotic cat-lady,

-Seal