Mal is the quick thinker who unplugs the fog machine from its power source.
"We should take this with us," she mutters, grabbing the generator. "We can use it for something."
"Some of the office lamps," Regina suggests, blankly. "We can keep the office lit for awhile. We won't be able to be surprised."
It seems like a good plan.
And then they are silently trudging back to that dark stairwell, heading back to the office. It's at least a place they know. A place they spend 8 hours a day every weekday.
It's sort of like having home court advantage.
When they reach the bottom of the stairs, they hear it.
Noises are coming from the fourth floor's communal kitchen. Loud footsteps, at first, some banging of drawers. Then a glass crashes.
"Bloody hell!" says someone who is either Killian or doing a hell of an impression. And he sounds more annoyed than anything else. And that's, well, disturbing and suspect.
Jefferson puts his hand over his lips and motions towards the door. He draws back his frying pan and stalks towards the entrance to the kitchen as if preparing for battle. Graham follows close behind him, holding his scissors like a blade.
"Oh come on. Do we really think he's our killer?" Mallory whispers. " Killian?"
"The notes say there are 13 of us they want to kill," Mary Margaret says dumbly. "So it's none of us, it's someone who wants to kill all of us."
"Unless the killer is just saying that so we won't suspect one another," Graham whispers, "Either way, we have to be prepared for what we see behind that door. Everyone… be careful."
Graham and Jefferson kick down the door dramatically while Robin, and Mal shine the light inside.
Two flashlights flashlights focus on an absolutely shocked Killian. He has a mickey of rum in his hand, and there's a glass on the counter he appears to be pouring it in.
"Hello mates," Killian says cheerfully, ignoring the raised makeshift weapons that Graham and Jefferson are holding in the air, "you scared me. How's the team building exercises then? Is Gold pissed I skipped out on it?"
"There is no team building you idiot," Regina seethes. "Where the fuck have you been?"
"When the power went out I took the opportunity to get away for a bit."
"I went to visit your little hideout," Regina says, "it was totally abandoned."
"What hideout?"
"The one on the fifth floor," Regina drawls. "The one I always see you sneaking off to during work hours."
"Ah," Killian laughs. "That's only because of the television. I was in that attorney — Chuck Bentley's office on the eighth floor. Did you guys see that man's balcony? And liquor collection? I can't take a lot but I skim a bit off the top…"
"Yes well while you've been enjoying the stars did you by any chance see Zelena falling out from the roof to her death?" Regina snaps.
Killian's eyes go wide. "What? Was it an accident or a suicide?"
"Bentley's office is on the other side of the the building," Jefferson pipes up. "If he truly was there he wouldn't have seen it."
But Killian seems too genuinely concerned to be insulted with the implication that he may not be telling the truth. "Did you guys call the police?" Killian asks, "I mean, if she truly died…"
"For fucks sake mate," Robin gripes. "She was murdered . Or...if she wasn't, a killer had a significant role in her death. And the death of many others. There's no cell phone service; someone is blocking reception. And the exits are all locked and booby trapped."
Killians expression goes contemplative instead of fearful. And then he lets out a laugh. "And you guys said there was no team building!"
"There is no team building," Robin sighs, "Killian, there's a mad killer on the loose picking us off one by one."
"I'll bet," Killian snarks, "and we all have to band together to stop him, huh? Come on you know Gold loves doing these humiliating things. He's probably recording us—"
"Gold's dead!" Graham shouts, "and so is David, and Belle, and fucking Emma!"
Killian frowns at that, at the mention of Emma. And Regina thinks they are getting through to him until he sighs and says, "I really thought Emma would have let me in on this game beforehand."
"It isn't a game," Robin says through clenched teeth. "People are dying gruesome deaths."
"Is that so? Killian asks, sipping his rum. "Did anyone inspect them, check for heart beats, and the like?"
"There was no need," Jefferson said. "The deaths were all gruesome enough that no one could have survived."
"It's hard to check the pulse of a decapitated head," Mary Margaret says grimly.
"I see. And where are these heads and bodies then? I'd like to see this for myself."
Regina lets out a slow breath of air.
"The killer keeps moving the bodies!" Mary Margaret exclaims, "we don't know how, but—"
"Because no one is really dead," Killian says bluntly. "This is some crappy team building event. Gold is an asshole for scaring you all, but what can you do? I'm not participating in this little murder mystery, myself. Now since we can't leave, if anyone wants to join me for a drink anywhere in the building… He holds his hands up, displaying a large set of keys. "I have the keys to most of the offices on the building. The security guards like me… perhaps a bit too much, but that's besides the point. They've given me free reign of the place."
"Which guard?" Robin asks, "Edward?"
"Nah, the other one gave me this set," he says, spinning his keys around. "Adam or something."
"I can see why they like you so much. You certainly care about them," Mallory groans.
Killian shrugs. "I'm charming."
"Well they both hate me," Robin mutters. "Adam has actually tried to lock me out of the office twice."
"Yeah Adam heard you laughing at his screenplay idea," Killian laughs, "the soap opera script with the love triangle he was going on about? He wasn't thrilled about that."
"Christ that was shit," Mallory whispers.
Taking a moment to laugh at the security guard is.. the perfect break from the talk of death and murder.
"Lets all go back to the office and get a light hooked up to this generator," Graham says at last. "We will wait things out til morning there."
Killian brings the rum, grumbling about how gullible everyone is, but not fighting the crowd.
.::.
The generator helps. Floor lamps light the office, and fuck, Regina almost feels safe again.
Killian is still in denial, spouting off about everything being fake, but well, that's to be expected.
"Look this doesn't sound funny at all," Killian says, pointing to Mary Margaret, who is still sniffling over David. "In fact it's downright cruel. Gold, if you are out there, we give up! We are horrible employees! We will listen to your strategies for success! Just come out and end this."
Everything is silent for a bit, as even Regina wonders (hopes) this is all an elaborate bad prank. Maybe Emma's head was just an elaborate prop made of silicone, maybe it just looked real because the lighting was poor, maybe everyone had been faking their death… maybe…
She thinks of Rumple's death, of his guts splattered out, that bone jabbed through his heart. No. it couldn't be done. They were really dead.
"It's not a stunt," Jefferson says, his voice almost tired. "This is real. There are lots of things I can't explain, but not everything is… explainable."
"I know how to get Gold to give it up," Killian says, rounding the corner, heading towards their boss's office. He's out of eyesight now, but not out of earshot. "I'm going to go trash his office. You hear that, Gold? I'm going to rip apart all your important papers, smash all your decorative teacups…"
"Killian—" Mallory starts.
"Oh let him go," Mary Margaret mutters, "if I could believe this was all a prank I'd be much happier."
They hear him throwing his temper tantrum, hear the shattering of delicate decorative items, tearing of paper, the bangs of louder objects he's thrown on the floor. He shouts for them to join him, but no one is in the mood to leave the safety of the office.
And then the noises just… stop.
"Sounds like he found Gold's whiskey stash," Graham jokes.
"Man you know about that? I thought I was the only one!" Jefferson exclaims.
"Everyone knew, everyone but Killian, that is. Regina and I have watered down the bourbon twice." Malloy says, wiggling her brows.
Regina giggles and shakes her head. "true, we have. Not sure if Gold noticed."
Robin is sitting next to her. His hand finds its way to her back, and he starts rubbing these little soothing patterns over it. It's a lot, for public. And normally she'd be shaking him off, but well, circumstances are what they are, and she can't be bothered to protest. No one else says a thing about the less-than-platonic touching, and she's grateful for that.
They may still be trapped in a horror movie, but for now the lights are on, no killer is in sight, and nearly all her coworkers are around her and safe.
It's too easy to ignore the threats of the moment and talk about something average for a bit.
But ten minutes later, they still haven't heard from Killian.
Graham finally caves. "Killian?" he asks. "Come on man, you win. You scared us. Come back."
Time goes by. He doesn't answer.
"We really need to check on him," Robin sighs. "Together, as a group? He's right down the corner."
They begrudgingly agree and make their way to Gold's office.
When it comes in sight, Regina cannot help but let out a frustrated groan.
There, pressed up against the glass panel that frames Golds door is Killian's bare ass.
It appears he wanted to lighten the mood with a prank of his own. So he's mooning them.
"Very funny, asshole," Graham mutters, walking briskly into the office door. "People are scared, you can—. Oh, fuck! Son of a bitch!"
She's not sure why she bothers to follow Graham into the office.
But she does.
Killian's body may be busy mooning them, propped up perfectly over a chair, but his head is sitting on the desk, leaking blood onto expense reports. His mouth is stuffed with some cloth, something that must have kept him from screaming and alerting them that he was really in danger.
Shit. Shitshitshitshit.
There's a note taped to the back of Killian's head.
ENJOY THE LAST MOON YOU WILL EVER SEE.
7 DOWN, 6 TO GO
Predictable screams and sobs follow, and god, if they survive this, Mary Margaret might not survive the PTSD this has inevitably caused her.
"Do you think… he's still in the office somewhere?" Mallory asks.
As if to answer her question, the lights go out yet again.
They never should have left that generator alone, even for a second.
Shit.
