11. Compromise
[ Encounter 103-3; Mount Ormond Resort. ]
When he saw the presence of another survivor on his property, the Trapper (feeling more deserving of the brutal title than ever) tensed up, fingers itching for his cleaver. Meg had been the only one to ever wander here outside of the trials, so the arrival of the woodsy boy with the green jacket was unnerving to say the least.
It was difficult to suppress the instinct to protect himself - to hurt the other. Hands clenched into fists to keep from shaking and he emerged from the large factory building, stopping a few yards short of the boy and staring at him, hoping that he was threatening enough.
And judging by the tension in the boy's body and the wariness of his gaze, the threat was loud and clear. But still he didn't leave, nor did he move another muscle; it was clear he wanted to talk, and the Trapper for the life of him couldn't imagine why.
Until he realized… Meg.
Could it be that Meg wasn't the only one starting to remember what happened in the trials? Could it be that the Entity was tired of the dynamic it had created, and was seeking to create a new kind of entertainment…? One where the survivors and the killers knew each other well, used each other's weaknesses and strengths; a way to… level the playing field.
If that was the case, this was going to be a much more dangerous game.
"Zarina remembers what you did," the boy, whose name he thought might've been Jake, finally said.
The Trapper said nothing, waiting for him to continue. "We all do, actually," Jake murmured, frowning. "We're all beginning to… remember. Everything. Every trial. And Zarina told me that you… you saved Meg. Is that right?"
Everything about the boy's posture was still wary, as if he expected pain at any moment, but there was a strange curiosity in his dark eyes. The Trapper clenched and unclenched his jaw, trying to find words; after being so long here, it had become much more difficult. As if the longer the Fog held him, the less remained of his human faculties.
Which was odd in itself. Many of the other killers, such as that annoying idiot in the black cloak, seemed to retain their human functions perfectly; while others… like the Wraith, or the Nurse… didn't even seem human at all anymore. The Trapper was stuck somewhere in the middle; not a man, but not fully beast, either.
"Why… are you…"
"... telling you?" Jake smiled bitterly. "I guess because you're the only killer that's ever crossed the line like that. Two things: first, I want to know why. What's your attachment to Meg? Do you like her or something? Second - I… may need your help."
The killer's brows furrowed more and more with each word, lip curling into a scowl. This puny runt had the nerve to ask him for help? Not only that, but he drilled him with questions that he frankly didn't know how to answer. "... Yes," he said dumbly.
Jake arched a brow. "Yes what?"
He grunted in frustration. Finally: "Meg is… important."
"Ah, I thought so," the boy replied, heaving a sigh and running a hand through his hair. He looked tired - though the Trapper supposed they all were. "That's… disgusting."
The killer stiffened. He wasn't sure why the words affected him so, considering it was the logical reaction to such a situation; he was a killer, and she was a survivor. It was disgusting to think that he cared for her, or she for him. But still the Trapper found himself tensing up, anger blooming in his chest, the urge to beat the woodland boy senseless increasing tenfold. He hadn't realized he'd let out a low, threatening growl until he saw Jake's eyes narrow on him, the survivor taking a few cautious steps back. "Listen - whatever. I don't care why you did it, but if you really do care about her, then help me. Meg… disappeared last night. Or… I don't know when; time is all screwed up here. She went for a jog, and we thought nothing of it because that's just normal for her."
The Trapper nodded slightly, calming his rage. Hearing the prospect of Meg being in danger instantly had him focused on the boy for any information. Though she probably hated him for what he'd done, and though he didn't feel he had any right to even look at her, though the guilt gnawed at him incessantly, he still knew that he wanted to protect her. He needed to - to somehow try and make up for the pain he'd caused. For the lives he'd taken - here… and back in the real world.
Perhaps his attachment to Meg was nothing more than his former self's desire for penance.
As soon as he thought of her lovely red hair and those bold blue-gray eyes, he knew that wasn't true.
Jake let out a heavy breath. "I figured she'd come back like she always does, but just as we started thinking she'd been gone a little too long, we all started getting our memories back, and… got distracted." He flinched at the low growl he heard in response. Continuing on, voice shaking a little, he said, "I-I don't know where she's gone, but several people have gone through trials in the meantime. So I know that wherever she is, it isn't good. It's not that she hasn't chosen to come back to the campfire - she can't."
"So… we look," the Trapper rumbled. Holding up a hand briefly to tell him to wait, the killer went back into the factory briefly and emerged once more, holding his cleaver. He could see Jake freeze at the sight of it. "For… danger," the killer said, brandishing the blade.
"Yeah…. Forgive me for being suspicious," the boy muttered sarcastically, and the two went on their way - the most unlikely allies in such a dark place.
"G-Guys… this really isn't necessary…" Susie stammered; she was the only one of the four to completely hang back, refusing to take her turn on Meg. Even the quiet male, whose name turned out to be Joey, Meg learned amidst the torture, stepped up to bat after receiving pressure from Frank.
Panting, with blood and alcohol dripping from her chin, and other various cuts oozing along her body, Meg fixed the dark-skinned teen with a dirty look. "You're just gonna do what he says?" She demanded, voice weak. "Like a good little submissive dog? So eager to impress…"
Joey hissed angrily, a booted foot coming up to deliver a nasty kick to her stomach, earning a sharp cry of pain from her. Susie tried once more to speak up. "Guys! This isn't a-a trial! We don't have to…"
"Shut the fuck up, you quim," Frank growled. "Are you Legion or not?!"
"I-I am," she insisted, voice frail.
Julie offered her the bloodied knife they'd all been passing around. Meg's eyes wearily shifted between them, following the blade as it passed hands; this seemed to have been going on forever, and the rowdy teens showed no signs of stopping. Vaguely she realized, as she looked up at the ceiling, that this was her punishment. Punishment for becoming attached to a killer. For allowing that connection to be formed. Punishment for keeping that drawing.
Susie took the knife, albeit hesitantly, and the other three made a little room for her to invade Meg's personal space. "I-I'm sorry," the girl whimpered as she plunged the knife into the red-head's shoulder, earning a blood-curdling scream. It was the first stab wound of the night, sure to be the first of many. But Meg couldn't seem to think coherently - she could only focus on the agony slicing through her as the cold steel buried itself in her flesh, scraping bone.
They proceeded to take turns, and by the time she got a break, Meg was seeing fuzzy dots in the corners of her vision and her heart-rate was dangerously low. She was past the point of fear, past the point of wondering when or if she'd be saved from this hell. She could only feel pain. Pain and the sweet release of impending unconsciousness like a siren song in her head.
"Wait," Frank hissed as Joey took the knife. When the masked killer hovered over her anyways, Frank grabbed him by the shoulder. "I said hold the fuck up, retard."
"What the fuck is your problem?" Julie demanded.
"Don't you hear it?" Frank growled. "Am I the only one without cum in their fuckin' ears?"
Joey paused, knife clutched tightly in his fingers. "Footsteps," he murmured, turning his head to look at Frank. "Heavy ones."
Meg tried to hide the sudden surge of utter elation she felt. Could it be? Could it be that her pleas for help, the way she yelled his name… that she actually did summon him?
Suddenly someone burst into the lodge - but it wasn't Evan. No, it was Jake, and Meg's eyes widened as she locked eyes with the woodsy teen. "JAKE - get out of here!" she croaked angrily, not able to do much more than squirm in her seat. Each movement caused her vision to fade and she had to blink back the darkness threatening to press in.
Frank's face contorted into a psychotic grin. "Looks like the lone wolf isn't so lonely after all," the killer spat. "His pathetic ass came to try and rescue his little rabbit-face girlfriend. Keyword: try."
"Try and fail," Julie added, bringing a hunting knife out of its sheath at her belt and tossing it from hand to hand, much like Frank had a habit of doing. "He's cute. Let me have him."
Frank looked between Jake and Julie, eyes narrowing. Deciding not to argue with her, he turned his attention back to the other Legion members. "If it was just the fuckin' pipsqueak here, then why the fuck did those footsteps sound so heavy?"
"Maybe he was stomping or something," Joey suggested with a shrug.
Frank sneered. "And maybe you're a fucking retard." Turning to Susie, he brandished his own knife and pointed it at her threateningly. In all the commotion, Jake had run off and Julie had given chase after him. "Go help her," he commanded, all glee in his voice replaced with ice, and Susie visibly shivered before taking off, tripping over her own feet.
Both Frank and Joey turned back to Meg, who laid there covered in her own blood and unable to do much more than stare at them, but the duo had lost their mojo, disturbed by Jake's sudden presence. "Gotta say, these survivors are gettin' ballsy," Frank admitted, frowning. "Red - what's the deal with the doomsday prepper comin' here trying to save you? You shacking up around the campfire or something?"
Meg's eyes narrowed on him, but she could only cough up blood, the sanguine liquid trickling down her chin. "I… remember," she wheezed. "Everything. The trials."
The two killers stiffened slightly. That was unheard of in the Fog; the killers got to remember each sweet kill, each moment of torture, but the survivors' minds were wiped of specific details to keep the fear fresh and new. If they were suddenly remembering… then the Entity had changed something. It was unsatisfied with the way things were going, and so it stepped in.
To the survivors, the killers were to be feared; but to the killers… it was the Entity who held the true power.
Both of the Legion members looked more afraid than Meg had ever seen them, and it was funny enough for her to manage a wet laugh, more blood bubbling from her lips. Suddenly a figure moved into the lodge, footsteps surprisingly quiet for his massive size, and Meg's eyes widened as she fought to control her emotions. Not only had Jake come to help her…
… He had come, too.
Evan.
Even though the last look she'd given him was one of utter fear and repulsion. Still, he'd come, and she wasn't sure how to feel about it - other than relieved. Tears streamed from her eyes and she merely watched as he took the two villains by surprise, lifting them both up by their hoodies and slamming them together. The pair dropped with a groan, coming to their senses and brandishing their weapons. "Holy fuck," Frank growled, shaking his head in a daze. "I knew I'd heard -"
His revelation was cut off by the sinking of Evan's cleaver into his shoulder. "AGH!" The lithe killer moaned. "That just fucking healed!" Joey had meanwhile stood up and began attempting to jab at his massive enemy; though he'd gotten a few hits in, blood stains blooming on Evan's overalls, Evan himself seemed to have barely felt it. His jaw merely tightened under that grinning mask of his and he swung an arm so hard into the smaller killer that he went flying all the way out the window, landing in the snow with a thud.
He turned his attention on Frank, who was more dazed than Joey had been. He wavered on his feet, looking absolutely feral as he began swinging his knife. But the blow to Frank's head had been a severe one, apparently, because he was clumsy. Evan had him indisposed with a snap of his arm, the bone cracking audibly, and Frank was letting out agonized howls as he dropped like a fly.
Meg watched the entire scene with clouded eyes, trying her best not to let the darkness take her. She'd never been injured outside of a trial before, so fear settled in her gut as she questioned; if she died here, would she come back? Or would she just…
… become nothing?
Did the Entity decide that it was simply her time to go…?
As she began slipping, unconsciousness clawing at the corners of her mind, she vaguely saw a shadow of a figure coming over to her, gently hoisting her out of the chair and cradling her to a warm, broad chest. Instinctively Meg curled into that warmth, burying her face in heated skin that smelled like iron, blood, and pine, and allowed the figure to carry her out of the resort.
Somehow she found the strength to lift her head; just enough to see the face of the figure carrying her. Evan stared straight ahead, jaw clenched tightly under his mask, his footsteps steady and even. Focus and rage filled his milky white eyes, his breaths ragged with fury. Fury over what had been done to her…?
"Evan," she whispered.
He didn't stop walking, but his steps faltered. White eyes went down to her face as he continued his quick pace. "Quiet," he rumbled sternly, and Meg obeyed. Settling into him, she focused on the heat of his skin rather than the pain of her wounds; eventually, as he carried her to safety, she succumbed to the darkness.
The boy was adamant about taking Meg back to the campfire instead of the MacMillan estate. Logically the Trapper knew Meg was probably safest there, he knew he should allow the boy to take her from him to carry her back to her friends; but that animal part of him was loathe to allow her to leave his grasp. That animal part of him told him that was safest where he could protect her. On his grounds.
He'd give Jake one thing; despite his obvious fear, he stuck by the killer's side as they headed toward the MacMillan estate at a quick pace. Silence reigned for most of the trip; tense and awkward but much preferred to conversation.
Until Jake piped up. "Why?"
The Trapper glanced sideways and down at the boy who trotted alongside him warily. Dark eyes were looking at him, genuine confusion in their depths. Frankly the killer didn't have an answer; he never had, not from the beginning. So he grunted, staring forward.
Jake grunted back. "Yeah. That's how love usually is."
The Trapper jerked his head back in the boy's direction, alarm and severe annoyance contorting his features behind the mask. Jake's lips curled into a small smirk. "Whatever. Sorry for bothering. I usually keep to myself and don't pry. But this is… well, unheard of, you know?"
Milky white eyes slowly focused back on their destination as the pair encroached on the grounds of the MacMillan estate. Taking her toward one of the smaller houses near the factory, the Trapper ushered the unconscious girl inside and Jake followed, still stiff as a board and extremely wary. Love. He didn't like the way the boy had said that word. As if he - the Trapper - could love. He hadn't felt an emotion like that since his mother's passing, which seemed an eternity ago. He was a monster who enjoyed taking life.
No, he immediately corrected himself. He enjoyed making his father proud. The cruel beatings and wicked snarls had prepared him for the man he'd become, for the things he'd done. Each time he killed, heard his father in his ear: they are weak. Show them strength.
His father, he realized, had been oddly quiet lately.
"You… are wrong," he finally said aloud, alarming the boy. The Trapper set Meg deceptively gently on a shabby, haphazardly created bed in a corner of the wooden building, staring down at her.
"About?" Jake prompted.
"I do not… love her," the killer explained, voice rough with aggravation. His hands instinctively clenched into fists.
"Whatever," Jake muttered dismissively, settling down against the wall near Meg. Seeing the gesture, the Trapper focused annoyed white eyes on him. Sensing the unspoken question, Jake rolled his eyes. "I'm not going anywhere."
After a moment of silent warfare, the Trapper relented and sat down himself, close to Meg so that he could be there should she awaken.
And they waited.