A/N: I made this chapter a tad longer than usual to make up for the fact that there will be a hiatus after this. I'm sorry/your welcome, depending on how you feel about that. I hate finals.

He didn't bother knocking. He doubted it would matter. There was no reason he wouldn't be greeted to the same scene as nights before: a dead child with his back to the door, blackened eyes glued to an old television screen. In fact, he was sure it was always the same scene. Night after night, just playing that game over and over in a long and slow eternity.

He was mistaken.

Ben was gone. The glow of the television still illuminated the room blearily, but the game itself had been left on its pause screen. The controller, while still plugged in, had been carefully packed out of the way.

And positioned in front of the flickering screen were two wooden chairs, facing each other politely. The faint lighting of the television cast long shadows against them.

Toby walked forward, running his fingers along the length of one chair's cresting rail. He frowned. There was no way he was gone. It had to be a trap.

"Welcome back."

Toby whipped his head around. The young boy in green stood next to the only door, expression blank as always. He hadn't heard the door open or close, and doubted it had at all.

Toby stood his ground, determined to not be intimidated by the child. He didn't bother wasting time. "There's something I need to ask you," he said, leaning against the wooden chair.

The boy kept his blank gaze. "I know. I've been waiting." He started walking, his steps slow yet purposeful, to the chair opposite to him. "Sit."

Hearing the commanding tone, Toby shot him an icy look, but still obliged. No point in making enemies, especially with the undead.

The two sat across from each other, eye to eye. Ben's gaze remained perfectly neutral, as if he was not actually looking at Toby, but something slightly beyond. He seemed bored.

Toby exhaled, keeping steady eye contact. "I want to know what happened to the other Proxy. And I want to know what happened to Masky."

A nod, hardly a nod. On anyone else, it would be overlooked, but on Ben's statue-like form, every miniscule movement was meaningful.

His shining pupils bore brightly into him. "I am willing to cooperate. But I have my terms."

Toby ignored the pit in his stomach, trying to replicate the child's stony expression. "What's that?" he asked.

Ben said nothing for a while, though his face remained the same. Finally, he spoke, "That will be discussed later. But I do think my requests will be reasonable. Do we have a deal?"

Everything in Toby's mind was screaming 'No!' and 'Run now, you idiot!' and whatever else his conscious could use to get him out of the situation. Ben could not be trusted. Even other serial killers thought unfavourably of him. He could easily be signing his life away to the devil, or something worse.

But what other choice did he have? Secrets were being kept from him. Secrets surrounding the person who was meant to be his partner and mentor through thick and thin. His curiosity was insatiable without proper treatment. He knew he would be eaten alive by it otherwise.

Toby frowned. "It's a deal," he said begrudgingly.

He stuck his hand out between them for Ben to shake. The boy eyed it for a moment, the glow of his eye shifting towards it. But just as he expected him to sneer in disgust, he instead reached out and shook it. His skin felt tender yet cold. Not like ice, but like a person who just climbed out of cool water.

"I'm not a very trusting person," Ben warned, "I hope you realize that if anything leaves this room, I will make you suffer."

Toby nodded. Oddly, the threat did little to intimidate him. Like it never needed to be spoken at all. "Likewise."

Faster than a blink, Toby swore he saw Ben smile. But before he could do a double take, his face had returned to its neutral stare. "His name was Hoodie."

Toby raised a questioning brow. "You mean, like, as in the sweater?" What an odd name. But he supposed it was no more odd than some other names he had heard over the past few days. His childhood nickname hardly stung at all anymore.

Ben nodded. "Exactly. His real name was Brian Thomas. And Masky's name is Tim, if you're curious, but that's common knowledge," he said matter-of-factly. Toby tumbled the information around in his head. Masky's real name was Tim? For some reason, he was surprised. He had never really thought about who he was behind the mask, before he became a Proxy. Somehow, it made him seem more human.

While Toby pondered on this, Ben continued. "The two were close. Very close. The kind of friendship that shouldn't exist in real life. The kind where you wonder how they survived alone. I would say it was pathetic, their constant dependance. But many times, they were unstoppable. And I am not one to exaggerate."

And now he's gone, Toby thought grimly. Was that why Masky acted so... cold? Distant? Impassive? He didn't know how to describe the masked man yet, but he clearly was not a happy person. But if it was because he lost his other half, he could definitely relate to the feeling.

Ben stayed perfectly fixed in his seat, still as death. "The real story behind Hoodie's death is long. Most people around here don't bother to find the details." Once again Ben smiled, but this time he did not try to hide it, instead letting it linger just long enough to be noticed. He looked younger when he smiled, Toby noticed. Not a day over 13 for sure. Perhaps the very reason he never did it. "But it was Masky's fault."

It took Toby a moment to register the words. "What?" he said in disbelief.

Once again, Ben stared blankly, his red pupils reflecting on his own orange goggles. "Or just as much as Lyra's death was yours."

The air turned cold.

Toby's ears became infected by the heavy thump-a thump-a thump-a as his stomach twisted tightly around itself. Already he felt his hands shaking more than ever, rattling the wooden chair. Short, shallow breaths caught against his scarf as he forced himself to keep looking the boy in the eye, despite every instinct he had.

Ben's eyes flickered. "Don't bother. Ghosts learn useful skills over time. I know all." Whether he meant knowing all about being a ghost, or all about Toby, he chose not to guess.

Swallowing hard, Toby tried hard to keep his composure. But it suddenly became difficult when the thought of Lyra infected his thoughts. "She, um, how did he..." he trailed off uncomfortably.

As usual, Ben kept his deadpan stare. "I said it was long, not worth telling. It was Masky's fault, to a degree. That's all you need."

Toby sighed audibly. He couldn't shake the feeling that, even now, he was being played, and withholding the information was a strategic move. It would eat at him, he knew, until he finally found out. But he knew he was lucky to get any information at all out of the boy, so he let it be. "Well, is there anything else you can tell me?" he said, still trying to be diplomatic enough despite the unease.

Ben drummed his pale fingers on the arms of his chair. "Do I tell?" he said silently, as if to himself, but clearly wanted the teen to hear. Everything he did was calculated, down to the tiniest of his movements.

Toby breathed in slowly, his heart finally calmed down after the mention of her. "We've already agreed, Ben. You have to tell me."

The air felt chilled. "No I don't. But I will," Ben said dully, always prepared to reclaim the upper hand of the conversation. The television made the side of his face flicker with dull light, which he paid no mind to. Likely used to it, after staring at it day after day.

The room was quiet for a moment. Toby bit his tongue, careful not to say anything wrong. Finally, Ben spoke. "Masky is a broken Proxy," he said bluntly.

Toby raised a brow. "What?" he repeated himself. Those words made little sense. Could he be implying... no, it couldn't be. The Operator would never keep anyone who was not perfect for the job. Otherwise, there would be more than two.

"He's been a Proxy for too long. It broke him," Ben clarified in a bored tone. "He's been a Proxy since he was a child. His mind built an immunity. Makes him unreliable." For the first time, Ben shifted in his seat subtly. Was he letting his guard down, or trying to get Toby to lower his?

Toby stayed as still as possible, hoping, somehow, it would reverse their roles and give him the upper hand. "So, what? Is he... dying, or something?" he stumbled over his words. He mentally cursed himself, but tried to play it off.

"Not physically," Ben explained. "His mind is constantly alternating between Proxy and human, Masky and Tim. And Tim has found ways to stay as Tim, through medicine and mental strength. A constant power struggle."

A second passed. Toby narrowed his eyes in thought, trying to make sense of this information. It seemed that Masky had much more happening inside his head than he ever thought before. Any bitterness he may have had towards the masked man was slowly being replaced by pity – and fear. For if it happened to Masky, it could just as well happen to a person as weak-willed as himself.

And to not be a Proxy, if only for a moment, was something to fear with passion.

"So what are you saying?" Toby trembled slightly, "He has a split personality?" He wondered if there were two voices in his head, constantly arguing with one another for control. He twitched.

"No," Ben said deadpan, "Or yes. From what I know, the two are the same in personality. Just different motivations. Think who you used to be."

"That's... confusing," Toby said, and instantly regretted. "But I get it," he added, as to not seem stupid. He always hated being thought of as unintelligent, but it was an impression he always seemed to live up to. Sometimes he could blame his Tourettes, but that often made him seem crazy instead. He could never really win in the end.

"Of course," Ben said, voice still level yet clearly unconvinced. "If you think of them as different people, it was Tim's fault Hoodie died," he clarified, but did not expound on. Toby didn't pressure him. "He is the Ark, whether he admits it or not."

His brain already filled with surprising information, Toby almost considered not asking, but knew he had to. "What's the Ark?" he asked.

"Symbolic," he said blankly, eyes steady and face still.

Toby sighed deeply. "You're not going to tell me, are you?" But he didn't need to ask, for he already knew the answer was no. The real question was why it was brought up in the first place. Toby could have pressed for more, but at that point he was done.

He'd already gotten more information than he expected. That was almost a good thing. But nothing had been free.

"So," he said, "Are you going to tell me what you'll do to me now?" he asked, trying to hide his slight dread. At no point did he forget the unknown cost to all he had received. He only hoped it wouldn't anger the Operator. If there was any line he would never cross, it was that.

Ben nodded. "Stay here," he commanded, not moving from his seat. And before Toby could say anything, he was gone.

He vanished quickly, the air around the room instantly changing. It felt as if a strange surge of unfamiliar energy subtly emerged, and quickly disappeared. And then Toby was alone, just him and an empty chair, the glow of the paused game his only comfort.

He rubbed his cold hands together, glancing around. Again, his mind tried to make him run, but he didn't. He knew he should. But where would he go? Where could he hide? Would the Operator protect him from the ghost child after knowing what he had done? Would Masky?

Had he doomed himself just by walking into the room?

Yes. Definitely. He only hoped that what he learned would be worth whatever punishment was in store. If only he could have let it go, just ignored his nagging curiosity.

And then Ben appeared again without lavish, as if he never left. He held out a small white piece of paper with crooked writing on it. Toby took it warily.

On the paper was an address. The town was unfamiliar to him, as was the exact location. The only thing he knew by looking at it was that it was somewhere in Alabama, a state he had never visited before in his life.

Toby looked up at the boy quizzically. "What's this?" he asked, tapping the card with his gloved finger.

"Things are getting dangerous, Toby," Ben explained, "Even for me. And I have a feeling worlds will be falling soon. I trust my intuition. What I need is insurance. A fail-safe. Something to keep me at ease." Somehow, Ben's voice seemed to hold more emotion than ever, though his tone still sounded steady and flat.

The young Proxy stared at the card, trying to wrack his brain for any significance to the location. "So what do you want me to do?"

Ben was as still as ever, like a marble statue. "If anything happens to me – and you'll know when – I want you to go there."

Toby glanced up at the ghost again, still recognizing nothing in the address. "And then what?" he asked, feeling the tight know in his stomach. Whatever he was to do, it couldn't be good.

Ben smiled. "Play the song of time."

And then he vanished for good.

Lyra is from the Creepypasta Ticci Toby

If you have any problems finding a certain character's original story, feel free to let me know so I can help you find it :)