I've seen it all. Nothing really surprises me anymore. Then again, if you spend as much time in this place as I do, that sentiment strikes as overtly obvious. A guy who's going on thirty and is still shocked at the sight of the sun or moon hasn't exactly adjusted to living on planet Earth. In the same way, those who get pulled into this realm by the Entity, having shown some unique and admirable quality that could prove useful, and don't adapt, die. Those who do, like me, are still here. It's that simple.
Despite the overall sameness, each trial in specific was something new, and I couldn't help but to wonder what lie in store this time around. My very first run at this was against the demented serial killer known as Leatherface. As luck would have it, I then had to escape his even deadlier older cousin, Max Thompson Junior, in the very next trial. Both of them wielded chainsaws like it was going out of style and I couldn't be more grateful for not having encountered either of them since.
After that came my first brush with the Legion in the form of their vandal, Sally. I don't know what it is about the four of them, but they seem to have a penchant for knives. All different types and sizes. Their methods of approach varied as well. Sally carried a switchblade and focused her efforts on damaging and guarding the generators, whilst the carjacker, Joey, the next member of their creepy family to try and kill me, appeared more concerned with protecting his hooks and totems from sabotage. His was a run-of-the-mill jackknife, and like Sally, all it took was one successful strike to turn him into a bloodthirsty animal.
Julie was by far the worst. As the mugger, she had the bright idea to keep a watchful eye on the treasure chests. All of them. Anytime a wounded survivor that managed to flee her immediate wrath went near one in search of medical supplies, their fate was sealed. Her blade of choice was a rose handled dagger that she used to devastating effect. Only two of us made it out, and not unscathed. I'm yet to encounter their leader, Frank. The squatter. But to be honest, I'm not too keen on the idea. I'll cross that bridge when I get there.
Breaking from my reverie, I opened and reached into the locker that stood before me. I pulled out a toolbox, some protective gloves, and an old photograph before closing it shut again. It always helps to burn an offering for the Entity at the start of a trial, and I figured the photo I found at Mound Ormond Resort might increase our chances of being sent back there. Which was ironic in and of itself. My desire to avoid the Legion was directly contradicted by me wanting to go to the place I first encountered one of them, and both were for the same reason: familiarity. I knew what to expect from Frank based on my experience with the others, and that he would fight harder and run faster than they did. But if the trial ended up taking place on Mount Ormond, I was in luck. I knew the resort grounds like the back of my hand.
A hazy, yellowish-orange light burned brightly in the distance. Leaving the locker there in the middle of nowhere, I began to move through the thick and swirling fog towards the light. Eventually, I entered a clearing, where a lone black man in jeans, a white tee, and an open brown jacket sat on a log in front of a campfire. Opposite to my own flattop, his hair was trimmed short, and while not gaunt, his face was beginning to show his years. Deep creases in the forehead and at the corners of both eyes akin to the cracks in an old leather glove were offset by a youthful grin that never seemed to dissolve. A broken key twirled over and over in his long, nimble fingers that danced about like a spider's legs. His eyes unglued themselves from the flames and welcomed me as I approached.
"Professor," David Tapp noted.
"Detective," I replied before sitting down on the same log.
Two more survivors would arrive before the trial started. In the meantime, I flicked the old photograph into the fire and watched it fold in on itself as it melted, burned, and turned ash.