A/N: Born of a stupid idea, and the way I tend to play the game, welcome to me stupid little story.
The darkness and quiet were always oppressive, here beneath the thick twisted old trees of this mining complex, in the shadow of the ancient ironworks itself. Dwight Fairfield was a hard worker, or so he told himself He like to believe it. He knew he wasn't the bravest soul, or the toughest, or the most clever. But when people let him, he knew he could lead. Even if the rest of those qualifications meant many people didn't treat him well. Wrist deep in a generator the actions were familiar to him now. Countless hours spent quietly working on the endless recombination of pieces and parts. The fog hung heavy, swirling and drafting flowing this way and that, with and against the gentle breeze that carried the sharp smell of hot metal and wet earth. He tried to keep his eyes and wits about him. It was easy to get into the rhythm of the work and tune out the outside world, but that would be a potentially painful and deadly mistake. He didn't like to remember how many times he'd died with those cold, chitinous spike-legs jammed through important parts of his anatomy. The mere thought made his hands shake so badly for a moment that he pulled them back from the generator not trusting himself to not make a potentially dangerous mistake.
After looking down at his hands to make them stop shaking he looked up to the generator and found something strange. A picture, like an old polaroid, resting beneath a small stone on top of the generator. He slowly looked around. A picture appearing from nowhere was not the strangest thing he'd seen out here in the fog. But it was different. And different was rarely good. He gently took the picture and lifted the rock to pick it up and turn it over. What he found made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.
It was a picture of himself. The image was a glossy of someone who was definitely him, with his head shaven and a fairly nice beard wrapped around his jaw. He was gently wrapping gauze around a woman's arm, the gentleness of the image spoke to him, even though he couldn't see the woman's face. He took the picture in both hands. He could read his own face, the surety, the readiness, and poise.
This was a picture of him like he wanted to be. He absently raised a hand to run it through his wild shock of black hair that stood up at wild angles from his head then down over his smooth shaven chin. He took the photo and slipped it back to slide it into the back pocket of his pants turning back toward the generator. He felt the fingers slip into his back pocket taking the picture, jumped up, starting to run even as the gentle sound of leather rubbing against leather echoed in his ears and something grabbed a fistfull of his shirt jerking him backward and clear off his feet. Sprawled in the dirt he looked up and screamed at the black clad nightmare, his eerie white face framed against the blackness around them, the flickering of the generator lights seemed to gather on the smooth material. However as Dwight squeezed his eyes shut and held up his hands to try vainly to stop whatever weapon this demon had to swing at him, there was a moment of shocked silence before he opened his eye to look up. As soon as he did he was blinded by an incredibly bright flash and the sound of some kind of mechanism. A… camera?
The ghost faced… monster, shrouded in darkness gently waved a polaroid the camera held gently but firmly in his off hand as he gently shook out the picture in the air, casual as anything, Dwight's heart was pounding in his ear, he couldn't hear anything beside. The figure let out a very soft, but quite cruelly mocking chuckle as he held out the picture. Dwight reached up with trembling hands to take the photograph, turning it over to look at it from his place in the dirt he saw how pathetic he looked cringing in the dirt. It was so ridiculous he almost laughed himself. The demon stepped up and plucked the photo from his hand with an exaggerated motion and tucked it into a pocket… somewhere in his getup.
Then Dwight's eyes landed on the long sheathed knife on the demon's hip. This wasn't a survivor… no this was a killer like so many others. Quiet as the grave, the ghostface's hand slid down to the knife on his thigh and drew a few inches of mirror-like steel out, showing how the keen edge caught the light. Dwight pulled back slowly as the knife drew until there was only a tip remaining to be revealed. Then slid it right back away with an almost mocking quickness and a wiggle of the fingers, flicking one finger against the handle of the knife with cartoonish flourish. Then the hand shot out toward him and he screamed again recoiling until he saw the hand in offering and another chuckle.
Taking the killer's wet, somewhat sticky hand he stood up, discreetly rubbing his hand on his pants. The killer turned and started walking away, glancing back at the generator he was almost tempted to just go back to work until he saw the way the killer paused one finger touching the handle of his knife, flicking it consideringly. Dwight, wisely perhaps, decided to follow the taller man at a discrete distance of "just out of stabbing range". As they walked Dwight followed quietly, though he continuously looked over his shoulder expecting the sound of a generator starting somewhere in the dark, but after several minutes he had to assume it wasn't ever going to. So he just followed as they wound their way through the iron works traveling past the door that Dwight knew would lead to the basement. Taking him upstairs and upstairs to the control culpa, then pulled down a ladder. A ladder Dwight couldn't remember ever having been there before. He'd gotten pretty good at hiding despite being a bit of a beanpole.
"It's not always here." the voice made Dwight jump and made a small sound of shock.
"Huh?" he said having been so startled he didn't even hear what was said. The killer paused, turning his mask, Dwight could feel a certain threatening energy emanating as the voice returned slowly, drawing out each word and syllable.
"It. Is. Not. Always. Here." and Dwight realizes that it is not threatening energy he is feeling, but from the tone, it is condescending, smug bemusement. Dwight swallows audibly and hides his embarrassment as the ghost faced killer climbs the rusted looking ladder with deceptive nimbleness. The man pauses at the top as Dwight takes it a little slower he can feel the metal buckle with each step and it unsettles him.
By the time he reaches the top the killer's foot is tapping quietly. He stands up to his slouchy height and after a moment the ghost face walks them to a small building seemingly built onto the roof just above the height of the trees the fog lingers in the air however, curling and sliding across the corrugated metal. Actually on second thought, this would be a terrible place to hide, every step makes a terrible racket. The little shack opens up with a jerk of the killer's arm and a tiny grunt of effort, he steps inside and with a glance over his shoulder pulls the door closed. Dwight walks around on the gentle slope of the roof a little looking down into the trees but what really catches his eye is the space above. The sky is so clear, so absolutely deep with stars, hundreds of thousands, the galaxy sweeping out before his eyes as it twinkles with unlimited depth.
However he doesn't see any familiar constellations. He's not sure why he expected to, this definitely isn't earth after all. Earth has limits, people die when they're killed on earth. Here they just wake up again and again. Still, the stars were so beautiful. The colors and shapes in the fathomless void above. He took the glasses off his face and carefully sought a clean spot on his shirt to wipe them off, eventually finding just enough to remove the worst of the smudges. He sat down on the roof then to the gentle sound of the killer rummaging around in his little hideaway. A minute or so later he pushes back open the door and pushes it closed.
Dwight springs to his feet, only to be surprised again when the killer sits down on the roof next to where he had been. Photo albums under his arm which he carefully laid down, then looked up at Dwight who after a moment's consideration also sat back down. This was simply too surreal to be a trap at this point. He was nervous though.
This man was a killer, that much he was certain about. He'd been killed by him before, though his mask had been red and horned it was the right shape. The killer delicately pulled open the album. Inside was people Dwight recognized. Meg silhouetted against moonlight standing on top of a hill. Claudette picking through bushes with a look of intense concentration. Ace sitting on the porch of a small cabin Dwight recalled occupied the scrapyard. So many… the album was stuffed, often with more pictures behind each picture that weren't being shown. Dwight leaned a little closer.
"Wow." he said in a bare whisper and it was the killer's turn to twitch just slightly, only a hesitation.
"Oh, you can talk." he said with a tone of mild disbelief. Dwight frowned but kept his tongue in check on this.
"These are really good." Dwight says softly. The killer scoffs quietly behind the mask.
"Of course I am. I'm a professional." He said succinctly. Each page was filled with different images, eventually it wasn't just survivor candid shots, some of it was action shots clearly taken in the middle of a chase. That he had stopped to take photos was very strange indeed but Dwight decided not to question it. It was interesting nonetheless. They fell into an easy rhythm looking through pictures, Dwight making occasional noises or comments at particularly stark or sharp images. While he seemed to favor taking candid pictures of people some of the shots were landscapes or composed pictures. An entire page was devoted to sacrificial hooks. Even in a picture Dwight felt his skin crawl, they drew something forward in his mind.
"Isn't…. It going to get… mad?" he asked delicately, the killer paused and tapped a thumb thoughtfully a few times.
"Yes. It's going to be… displeased. But I don't think I have to tell you a body can get used to anything if it happens enough times." The killer said with a barely restrained anger.
"Good to remind it, just because it's god doesn't mean it deserves worship. Afterall, I'm not a nice man." He finished and turned a page with a bit of force, one of the packed-behind photos slipped out. And for just a moment Dwight saw what looked terribly like someone's face covered in red with a familiar, ghostly white mask with a light aerosol of blood beside it. Like a man holding up a trophy fish. A black lined finger gently reached up and tucked the photo back without a word and Dwight swallowed the lump in his throat.
"Oh." Dwight couldn't think of anything much more cogent to say so he sat for many more minutes poring over photos in a companionable quiet. Once the last album was closed and set aside. They sat on the roof.
"So…" Dwight started and then stopped his heart rate picking up as it dawned upon him that the question he was about to ask might have a fairly ghoulish answer.
"Go finish the generators and get out of here. I'm taking this trial off." the man said laying back, arms behind his head and kicking one leg across the other.
Dwight nearly jumped to his feet and tried to quietly make his way out as the ghost faced killer chuckled quietly.
"Stay frosty Dwight, this was a one time thing… probably." the words wafting over as Dwight climbed out of sight and sprinted to the generator he had started with all eagerness, unaccountably finding a smile on his face, an expression that felt unfamiliar.
As the massive gate pulled open and the ground shook he walked out, pausing to look back only a moment to the shrouded forest maybe things were gonna be all-Dwight.
This time at least.
A/N: because after all I am Just Playing. I don't care about rank, or score, some people just wanna have fun. Endlessly looping cycles of violence and punishment get tiresome eventually. I know I'd take some occasional punishment for the chance to shake up my life. More chapters as I think of them and care to write them down. They won't all be killers being weird, survivors will have their opportunity.