Take Hold
It's been a long day.
Or so you would say if anyone could actually tell the time in this godforsaken hellhole.
You actually don't quite remember when you first appeared in the Entity's realm. It had been long after the first to arrive, and long before the last to enter.
The memories of your old life had long since faded. Or perhaps you never had one, to begin with. The Entity had ways to play with the mind; with memory and thoughts. Well, as far as you were concerned, the realm was all you knew. Would there be anything waiting for you, if you were to go back to the old world? Family? Friends? A partner? Children, or a pet perhaps?
Perhaps those kinds of things were best left forgotten. The grief of losing precious loved ones was enough to drive someone mad, without the outlying threat having to face a trial and failing, and being punished.
But you were one of the lucky ones.
Or that's what you'd like to think.
Being the only individual in the Entity's realm to exist without having to participate in the trial in any shape or form could be a blessing or a curse. Surely, not having to deal with the survivor's pain of being hunted, maimed, and hooked (or worse) wouldn't be so bad. But you were an outcast who could have considered you their peer.
Many of the survivors disliked the fact that you didn't have to undergo the trials.
On the other hand, being a Killer wasn't as easy as the slashers made it seem. Infuriating taunts on the survivors' behalves, skull-splitting head slams from those rickety old palettes, and who knows were kind of brutal punishments they faced after failing to kill any survivors during a routine trial?
But even then, many of the Killers turned you away. You definitely weren't one of them, they knew that for a fact. You didn't have the build to be a killer, or the drive to chase survivors down until their dying breath. They scoffed at the sheer idea of acknowledging a regular human that they couldn't beat down and hook up. And you hardly ever got the chance to speak for them very long, before the fog rolled in and dumped them into another tedious trial.
Needless to say, your friends were few and far between.
However, you were optimistic. You hadn't met everyone that was pressed under the Entity's thumb yet.
So how does a social pariah such as yourself spend their time, all on their lonesome?
Well...
While you didn't take part in trials, the Entity was very accomodating in gifts. You would find items while exploring different realms, while their inhabitants were away or otherwise busy.
You would find blank drawing books in the charred ruins of Springwoods' Badham Preschool that you would sketch in for hours. The Nightmare was gone, more often than not, but you would hear him tinkering away in that old workshop of his, far below the surface of the concrete streets on the rare occasion. Sometimes you would lose the book you would be doodling in, but they had ways of finding you.
At first you thought it was the Entity itself, returning the drawings you had so recklessly forgotten. But there had been times you had found just the slightest cuts in the edges of the spine and pages that indicated that some kind of claw had taken hold of the object.
Then you would find old sewing tools in the Red Forest. No matter if it was in the Priestess's Temple of Purgation, or the Huntress' Mother's Dwelling; you had a way of collecting needles and pins and fabrics that allowed you to practice your skill in sewing and design. You had recently become more adept in creating stuffed toys, yet it was growing more difficult to find the appropriate material to stuff them with. That isn't to say you didn't know how to make clothes- quite the contrary. Unlike the old drawing book, however, sometimes these clothes had a way of finding Survivors and Killers, and you would be delighted at how well it suited them.
And though you had yet to run into either the quiet Huntress or the graceful Priestess, you had a feeling they knew of your presence in their realm. Nonetheless, you made sure to return your tools right back where you found them. They weren't completely your's to take, after all.
The Grave of Glendale was a nice change of scenery. The Gunslinger was typically off toying with another one of his gadgets when you would sit yourself in the bar of the Dead Dawg Saloon, right at the piano to fiddle with the keys. Just like any of these past hobbies, you didn't start off well. Your drawings had looked like a child's attempt at art, many pieces of fabric had been tossed aside when you pricked yourself with a needle one too many times, and the keys of the old piano more resembled the sound of a screeching animal than anything else.
But you learn.
You would travel to the saloon more while the Gunslinger was busy with trials. After scavenging through many of the books in Silent Hill's Midwich Elementary School, you had found basic notes and books in teaching oneself how to read music. It difficult to pick up, like many skills were when you first picked them up. But the longer you went at it, the better it sounded. Now, when you played, it sounded like an actual tune. More recently, you've found the Gunslinger in the corner of your eye, leaning against a doorframe to listen in on your playing.
You have been lucky thus far that you had only traveled to the more passive of the Killers' realms in search of entertainment.
Ahem, that is to say, the Nightmare is by no means passive, he just didn't really give a shit what people did.
But, ah, yes, back to the matter at hand.
It's been a long day.
Or so you would say if you could tell time.
But fuck that, it felt like a long day.
As recently stated, you had been lucky enough to not traverse through any of the territorial Killers' territories yet. You know who liked their privacy, their little worlds, all to themselves, and who just didn't like trespassers.
For example, The Trapper had his MacMillian Estate and the Wraith had it's Autohaven Wreckers. The difference being that the Wraith was mostly passive, and his realm didn't offer much more than mechanical tools and practice in automechanics. The Trapper, meanwhile, was aggressive and typically kept unwanted visitors out with blockades of crates and creaking iron. Not that his realm had much else to offer, either.
Everytime a new realm emerged, you made sure to give it a once over, checking it out and seeing what you could use for your entertainment. At this point, you had explored most of the worlds the Killers retreated to after they were done with their trials. With few exceptions suchs as Haddonfield, the Backwater Swamp, the Gideon Meat Plant, Mount Ormond, and...
The Hawkins National Laboratory.
Well.
That last one was officially off the list.
However, being chased down by the Demogorgon had not been the experience you were banking on happening today.
You had simply wandered in, lost in the dark fog between worlds when you ended up in the ashy halls of the lab. Why not check it out, you thought to yourself, what are the chances of the Demogorgon actually being here?
Big fucking chance, you dumb fucking idiot.
You had been looking through old hazmat suits when you heard the ear-piercing cry of the pale, fleshy denizen that ruled over the Hawkins Laboratory. Despite the fact that it shouldn't be able to harm you outside of a trial, you didn't want to give it the chance to prove that it could so otherwise.
So you bolted before it could get its hands on you.
It found you, obviously, by what means you had no fucking clue. It didn't have a nose, or ears, or anything really but a mouth. Maybe it scented the air with its tongue, like a snake.
But this wasn't a lesson on physiology.
This was you getting chased down over the span of five, six or so realms.
It was pissed.
Eventually, you had lost the damn thing in Silent Hill. Gods, if that was what the Survivors went through in every waking moment, you didn't envy them yourself. Hell, you were sure any of the Killers would have been terrified for their lives, given they were in the same situation.
Now.
Where were you?
Your breath was white, even if you didn't really need to breathe in this place. The ground beneath you was white, soft, and crunchy at the same time. Small grey and white flurries danced around you as they would in Silent Hill or the Hawkins Lab, but they were different. They made you feel colder. Lonelier. The air around you seemed so loud, but quiet at the same time.
Had you ever felt so isolated, simply by the weather around you?
You couldn't remember.
You're almost in awe, reaching a hand up to let the flurries kiss your fingertips.
They were cold, too.
There were so many realms, so many worlds of nature and concrete, but none quite wore at you like this. Sure, the Red Woods had its rain, but you hardly registered the wet feeling on your skin. Maybe it was because you were overheated from outrunning a literal monster, or perhaps it was because you had never felt so sentimentally moved by the god damn weather.
"Never seen snow before?"
A small startled noise comes from you as you lower your eyes from the grey-white skies, finding a female figure standing a little ways from you, hands tucked into the larger pocket on the front of her hooded jacket.
One of the...Legion, right?
That means you must be in Ormond.
Your hand lowers to your side as the two of you stare at each other. Rather, you stare back at her mask- You weren't really sure where her eyes were.
She tilts her head to the side.
"...Who're you? Never seen you in a trial before!"
"Oh, I'm not...I'm not a survivor."
You were confused by her question. How had she not heard of you? Sure, new Killers were bound to not know everything right away, but the Legion was by no means new to the Entity's dimension. Surely, she had to of heard of you. Or maybe there was something that simply caused others to forget who you were.
She makes a noise and takes her hands out of her pocket, one of them reaching up to play with the end of her pink hair.
There was a way to remember which Legion member was which, right? Gah, but you never bothered to wire your brain to recall information like that. The Survivors themselves often could tell just by the grunts and frustrated noises each of the members made.
"No, that can't be right. You're definitely not a Killer, you're not...big enough."
"You're not that much bigger than I am?"
She makes a gleeful little sound, akin to a giggle, but more clipped than what should have come naturally.
"Hey, we're way stronger than we look."
You don't miss the way she emphasizes we there.
Maybe it was a union thing- strength in numbers.
Though you had your doubts.
There were whispers by the campfire, from Survivors who had come fresh from a trial with the Legion. Talking about how Legion knew the weaknesses of individual Survivors, even if they had never been pitted against them before. That the Legion may not look so monstrous like other Killers but on a mental, emotional level? It was like they all thought alike, spoke alike, acted and moved alike.
Like they were all the same, single mind when they were in trials.
But you wouldn't know that personally.
"Uh huh..."
"But anyway! You didn't really answer the question. Who are you? What're you doing here?"
For someone who spoke so cheerfully and careless, she was more observant than she looked.
"I'm (F/n) and I...the Demogorgon was after me and I shook the creep off my tail and ended up here without, uh, without realizing. Where I was."
Oh god, you were putting your foot in your mouth.
Most likely because the Legion despised having people trespass.
Any of the Legion.
Especially their "Leader".
A long silence passes between you before you move your foot back in uncertainty.
"I can...I can just go-"
"No. Give it a minute."
You swallow, tearing your eyes away to peer at the ground instead. Her response put you on edge. Give what a minute? Was she thinking about killing you? Could she kill you? Oh God. Oh Entity. Whatever higher-being is listening-
"If you're not a survivor...Or a Killer...That means you don't have to follow the rules, right?"
"Uhm, rules...?"
"Yeah! Killers aren't allowed by the Survivor's campfire, Survivors aren't allowed to have weapons outside of a trial, neither can hurt each other outside of a trial- that kind of stuff!"
That wasn't really something you thought about before, but that sounded like it made sense. You think?
"I don't...I don't know? I've never really tried to arm myself but I've hung out by the fire before..."
"Great! Then you should be able to take this!"
Before you can blink, she's covered the short distance between the two of you, so close you could smell a distinct smell coming off of her- minty, ashy and something old. Dust maybe? Books? Blood?
She presses her knife in your hand, and she's absolutely delighted by how it doesn't singe your hand when you wrap your fingers around the hilt. You stare at her mask in uncertainty before she grabs back the blade and takes you by the wrist. And then, she's dragging you forward.
Through the dancing, tiny bodies of snow, you can see the looming body of old Mount Ormond.
"We need to show you to the rest of Legion!"