Chapter Text
༺Chapter 3༻
The saloon made for a harsh initiation for newcomers. A harshly bright, parched, and oppressively hot unwelcoming atmosphere. For Dwight, the transition into this place always felt abrupt, especially when compared to that of the dark arrival in the fog that enshrouded the camp and casted a cold veil of uncertainty before each trial. As the fog dissipated, Dwight found himself within the killer's shack.
Alone.
Pushing down his nerves, his eyes searched the new environment, and a shiver raced down his spine as his gaze briefly fixated on the ominous basement entrance. Just the act of looking in that direction etched a line of fear into the depths of his psyche, like the chittering of some otherworldly parasite burrowing into his mind, threatening to paralyze him. Swallowing hard, he tore his eyes away from the sinister stairs and approached a weathered wooden chest, his movements as silent as a whisper, as he knelt to twist at the rusted lock.
With a toolbox firmly in his grasp, he cautiously advanced toward the open doorway ahead, a slow building flutter in his chest serving as a constant reminder of the lurking danger. Squinting against the swirling dust and the blinding sunlight, he raised an arm to shield his face while traversing into the open air. His eyes soon caught the familiar silhouette of a dead light tower perched atop of a generator. His steps were quick and light as he homed in on the machine standing sentinel across the desolate path. He cast wary glances down the dusty road that stretched back to the saloon, carefully scanning doors, windows, and the ominous lurking shadows that clung to the walls and shrubbery.
The ceaseless vigilance continued as he set to work, his palms clammy, and his gaze darting in nearly every direction. He advanced toward the generator, moving to a more concealed side and clutching the toolbox tightly in one hand. With fingers that no longer trembled as much as they once did, Dwight removed the lid of the toolbox, revealing an assortment of tools, some parts brand new and some rusted and barely useful. He selected a spring clamp, a faithful companion in countless trials, a constant in his life since his earliest memories of the fog, and he quickly got to work on the damaged components.
Sparks flew as he tightened bolts and connected wires, each well-practiced motion deliberate. While the atmosphere remained mostly silent, the palpable tension hung thick in the air, amplifying every sound as the generator's rumble grew more pronounced. Dwight couldn't resist the urge to repeatedly glance over his shoulder, his eyes scanning the surroundings for any hint of movement. Seconds stretched into long, agonizing moments, and each furtive glance over his shoulder seemed to stretch them into an eternity as he meticulously surveyed his environment for any sign of movement.
It was eerily quiet. The kind of silence that ignited his nerves, unleashing a torrent of anxious thoughts racing through his mind.
Why hadn't the screams started yet? The generator was nearly halfway repaired, and, to his surprise, no one had been injured thus far. Did Claudette find herself with the newcomer or was she alone? Were the others diligently working on generators as well? Or perhaps one of them were being chased? Even worse, could the killer already be lurking nearby, concealed in the underbrush, on the brink of...
"Psst.”
Dwight jumped at the sudden sound behind him, his startled reaction causing the wires he had been carefully setting aside to cross. The generator immediately shorted out, and he instinctively shielded himself with his arms as a small, deafening explosion erupted, shrouding him in a cloud of smoke.
“Sorry! Sorry…” Claudette's softly spoken words cut through his racing pulse, providing some relief. He closed his eyes and steadied himself, swallowing the racing heartbeat that had leaped into his throat. She quickly knelt beside him to repair the progress that had been lost, her face expressing sympathy as she spoke in a hushed tone. “I was trying to give you a warning before I suddenly popped up.”
Shaking off the scare, he nodded in understanding and swiftly returned to his task, determined to complete the generator swiftly in case the noise had attracted unwanted attention. “It’s fine,” he replied in a hushed voice. “It’s my fault really for getting spooked. Killers don’t give warnings before… well, killing.”
A faint yet bleak chuckle was given in response to this, and a knowing glance from Claudette followed it. "Unless you're bing bong," she pointed out.
It was Dwight's turn to scoff at the nickname she’d coined for the invisible Killer that haunted their trials. A little habit she was fond of, and one that he admittedly found charming despite their terrible circumstances that usually didn’t lend well to levity.
Not many people in the fog kept their chipper hearts.
The generator's rhythmic hum reached its crescendo and electricity surged through it, bringing it to life with a satisfying chime, and the two survivors sprang into action and in perfect unison. They rose and jogged away from the generator, hugging the edge of the arid hellish landscape and skirting past an exit gate before pivoting toward the center. With Dwight taking the lead, Claudette followed closely behind. Both were keenly aware of their next objective, though it regrettably lay closer to the heart of the arena, more exposed than their previous location.
Dwight, swiping at a bead of sweat forming near his temple, began to ask, "Have you seen the other-?"
His question was abruptly cut short by the sound of another generator completing across the realm.
A second later, an agonized scream ripped through the air, a chilling sound that told Dwight precisely what had transpired, long before the horrorscape's atmosphere tingled with the lingering trace of the Entity's twisted satisfaction.
Jake Park had been hooked.
Without pause, the survivors stayed their path and quickly knelt beside the generator to begin their work. However, their gazes met briefly in a shared moment of mutual anxiety.
They understood the grim implication of a sudden hook with minimal violence. Stealth killers excelled in catching people off guard and snatching them from generators. Dwight was certain that was precisely what had occurred. The offering must have brought Jake and David together, only for Jake to be plucked from the generator just before its completion.
At the very least, he felt thankful – and somewhat surprised – that David had the presence of mind to finish it.
Their positions offered a better vantage point of their surroundings as the generator slowly churned to life. Dwight's wrench turned, and his eyes darted back and forth between the machine and the landscape. His gaze roved from the killer shack to the gallows and then to the imposing saloon itself. In the far corner of the main building, he spotted Jake hanging limp from a bloodied meat hook, a dark stain of red trailing down his faded green jacket. Dread trickled its way through his veins, making his body give an involuntary shudder at the memory of the pain, but he kept his focus sharp, determined to keep up their progress.
They were already halfway done, and that would mark three generators completed with only one person hooked so far. There was still time, enough to play it smart, to be strategic. Claudette knew it, even Jake no doubt knew it in some way too, who Dwight couldn’t help but to cringe empathetically for, seeing he seemed to be regaining consciousness as his body began to shift and squirm in pain under the hook. Vital seconds ticked away, and there couldn't have been more than twenty remaining on the generator.
Once it was complete, they would follow their usual procedure: Dwight would scout for the next generator while Claudette administered aid to Jake. Whether the killer would interrupt their progress was a coin toss, but they were prepared to respond accordingly, swapping roles if necessary. With any luck, David would be keeping the monster occupied for the time being. Regardless, their primary focus was to ensure that Jake wasn't the next one pursued and to concentrate on activating the gates.
At this pace, there was a chance they might all escape the trial together, maybe even the next one if they maintained their momentum. Plans didn't always unfold flawlessly, but as long as the system held true, there was always hope.
Fifteen seconds left… Ten…
The sudden wooden thunk of a pallet dropping somewhere behind Dwight caught his ear, making him glance back nervously over his shoulder. There, he saw David emerging from the entrance of the killer shack, his face twisted in discomfort and clearly struggling to maintain his pace as he cradled an injured arm close to his center. Without a moment's hesitation, the new survivor bravely charted a direct course for Jake's location, heedless of the nearly finished generator's position. There were plenty of other smarter routes to run, and enough pallets available to keep the chase in any other direction, but it was obvious David was only focused on the survivor currently dangling from his shoulder.
With two powerful kicks, the pallet shattered into pieces, and a shadowy, cloaked figure emerged, wispy leather straps trailing behind him. In the evening sun, his combat knife gleamed as he resumed the chase. That was, until the bone-white mask with its twisted mouth swiveled sharply toward the nearly completed generator. Without missing a beat, the killer made a swift and calculated decision, pivoting toward them without an ounce of hesitation in his stride.
“Crap,” Dwight muttered under his breath.
In the trials, three key rules prevailed. Prioritize generators early on, be stealthy and avoid loud actions and running unless necessary, and Rescue strategically.
While they were more like guidelines than strict rules, Dwight and Claudette always shared them with newcomers in the hopes of fostering effective teamwork. Of course, no one was really forced to follow them, and Dwight only fully trusted Claudette to honor them, given that they were the ones who had initially established these principles. Luckily most people found them reasonable enough, particularly when it came to their own survival.
David was already in the process of breaking all three.
Three seconds.
“Dwight move!”
Claudette might as well have been shouting at the sky. The deadly sound of a swiftly approaching rustling cloak reached his ears.
One second.
The knife glinted as it descended, and in that fleeting moment, the distinctive sound of the generator's successful repair echoed through the air, drowning out the surrounding chaos. Dwight's body recoiled as the sound hit, but he wasn't quick enough to evade the attack. The side of his shoulder ignited with searing, white-hot pain as the blade cut through his shirt and sliced into his skin, etching a crimson line down his upper arm.
“Go!” he shouted to Claudette, who was undoubtedly already gone to assist the others. Dwight scrambled backward, staggered to his feet, and didn't even look back to see how closely the Killer advanced. He clutched his upper arm, blood staining the white of his shirt, dripping steadily to form gruesome pools on the ground as he ran. He couldn't afford to halt and tend to the wound. Running was the top priority
It was a shit show from that moment on.
He’d made a good effort, but no other generators sounded off by the time he was seized by the collar mid-vault through a window and roughly pulled back into the Killer's iron grip. Struggling rarely achieved much, but he always tried, writhing, kicking, and pounding his hands against the unnaturally strong force hauling him away.
Getting hooked never became less agonizing.
Every time, it was an earth-shattering, time-stopping ordeal, robbing him of clarity and focus and undermining every subsequent objective. Even as he grappled with the blindingly nauseating burst of pain and the excruciating torment of defying gravity while suspended just inches above the ground, Dwight somehow managed to discern the sound of David going down somewhere across the map. He sensed the palpable wave of despair in the air, festering like a sickness in his shoulder, intensifying when a second survivor was hooked.
Then followed by Jake, yet again.
Claudette screamed out just before this, perhaps in an attempt to prevent it or simply due to not being fast enough to escape the killers radius. By the time Claudette came running to help, her breaths ragged and her side bearing an oozing stab wound, Dwight was already locked in a fierce struggle against the spider-like limbs of the Entity, which ceaselessly sought to break him down, whispering and beckoning for surrender that he still somehow managed to resist.
"This is bad," Claudette spoke through gritted teeth as they found refuge in a corner of the arena, nestled between two walls with a pallet conveniently positioned to their right.
Just in case.
Dwight clenched his teeth, his body tense and jaw locked as she did her best to staunch the bleeding, expertly packing and tightly wrapping his wound. He hadn't been in the right state of mind to question their tactics when she rushed to help, but as the anti-hemorrhaging agent began to take effect and his mind cleared, it dawned on him that the more composed of the two would have to address the urgent matter of two survivors on death's hook before it was too late.
"I know," Dwight replied in a pained whisper, cautiously peering around the corner of the wall at the saloon.
At this point, no one had met their demise yet, but they were taking too long to heal, and both Jake and David were trapped in the struggle phase of torment, a good twenty feet apart. The absence of the killer's presence did little to bolster Dwight's confidence. Nevertheless, their options had dwindled to a precious few. If he didn't take action now, both men would succumb to their suffering. Completing two generators with only himself and Claudette would be a nearly insurmountable task, contingent on who would be the next survivor to fall. And with his luck, that would surely be him. There was one small reassurance. The last available generators were spread far apart, and if the killer cared about keeping them inactive, he would most likely be patrolling at a far distance by now to check them.
Making now, unfortunately, the perfect time to act.
“Damn it... Okay then,” he muttered, bowing his head as he whispered this more to himself for self-soothing reassurance. Then, he raised his gaze to meet Claudette's anxious one as she began to rummage through her med-kit. "Heal up and get on a gen, the one up on the second floor would be the safest. I'll do my best to help them."
Her hands froze, and her shoulders lifted a fraction as she frowned, her brows knitting in disagreement.
“But Dwight, you’re–”
"I'm in better shape than you right now," he stated the facts plainly, even though the wince as he carefully rose and the trembling in his hands seemed to suggest otherwise as he peeked around the edge once more. Time was running out, and regardless of his fears, it was true. Claudette could mend her own wounds, and he could hopefully arrive just in time to save both Jake and David. That wouldn’t happen if he stayed to help her. "Make as much progress as you can. I'll try to circle back after, hopefully with help."
Dwight had barely managed to get to his feet when Claudette suddenly gripped his wrist and pulled him back down. He hissed in pain and winced as the abrupt tug forced him back into a crouch, reigniting the agony in his shoulder. Regret immediately crossed her features, mirroring his own expression almost exactly in sympathy, and she released his arm as she whispered apologetically.
“Sorry, I just–…” She sighed anxiously and shook her head before her gaze leveled with his. “Just don’t die, okay? ” she pleaded urgently, her desperate brown eyes shimmering with fear behind her glasses. “I don't want to do this alone again. You're the only friend I have right now.”
Dwight nodded, offering a feeble smile that surely wasn’t convincing in the slightest.
"Don't worry," he reassured her, attempting to make the lopsided smile genuine, despite the heaviness of exhaustion and fear. "Piece of cake, right?"
The look she gave was still uncertain but bleakly accepting. "Alright," she declared quietly, doubt still evident on her face. "But if he comes after you next, I'm taking a hit. You're faster on gens anyway. I'll face the hook if it means we all get out alive."
Dwight's expression evened, turning more serious as he spoke earnestly, "It won't come to that. We've got this."
Still slightly frowning, she nodded before pulling back. "Alright... Good luck."
With that assurance, Dwight surged to his feet and took off running.