━━━━༻ ♦ ༺━━━━ You choose to find Reese ━━━━༻ ♦ ༺━━━━

It's obvious what I'd do. The idea of even considering another path is absurd.

She was going to go and find Reese. She always would and always have, even if it meant that choice could make things go horribly wrong for her.

Without wasting another second, (Y/n) ran into the gaping space between the two halves of the magnificent painting. The stairs were firm under her feet, unyielding and stubborn like her will. The sounds of the boys' voices waned into a hush, before vanishing into nothingness entirely. The silence that fell around her was like a curtain, a veil pulled before her eyes. It was the kind of silence that appeared right before a poor fellow got knifed from the back. It was not the comforting type.

The stairs were a perfect arrow that stretched downwards in the distance. The light faded into dim darkness before rising up again, forcing the shadowy army into a retreat. After what felt like an eternity of half-running and half-tripping down the stairs, she was finally able to break free of the staircase's darkness and step into the light.

The basement was the same as she'd remembered. This time, she'd arrived from the other end of the red and black hallway instead of where the elevator was. From where she was, the elevator looked perfectly normal but she knew better, knew of the rubble within it contained.

Her eyes skimmed over the doors lining the walls until they landed on the one she was sure had to be Reese's. Second door down from the end of the hallway, she repeated in her head. The gate should be unlocked. All I need to do is use the key on the wooden door. All the doors looked the same, wood with golden door knobs, but only one was the one she was looking for.

"Reese?" She ran over to the door without hesitating. She pulled the slender key out of her pocket, fumbling with it a little as she tried to insert it into the lock. The whole time she was doing this she was looking over her shoulder, half-expecting one of the boys to come down here and catch her red-handed in the act. That wasn't something she wanted to deal with right now.

The key slid into the keyhole and turned easily with a soft click. Relief flowed out of her as she swung open the door, opening her mouth to greet the red-haired male inside with one of her smarta** replies, only to stop short.

It was his room and the gate was, in fact, unlocked. Everything was the way she remembered from the first time Tristan took her down here to see him—from the opened magazines lying facedown on the floor to the rumpled blankets on the bed. Reese had been able to turn his cell into a disastrous clutter and a fire hazard in the time he's stayed here, yet he himself was not there.

"Reese?" She called again, daring to step into the room. "Are you there?"

No response. All she heard was the faint echo of cluttering that had followed her down the staircase from some unseen phantom that shadowed her. (Y/n) stepped fully into the room and kicked a stool over to the door to make sure it didn't close on its own when she least expected it. And then she began her search for the red-haired male, the search leading her to the adjoined bathroom.

She didn't find him, but she did find many bottles of shampoo, empty and filled ones, littering the floor. Shampoo leaked out of the bottles and merged into a small pool in the middle of the bathroom. The pinkish color gave her chills—the sight reminded her too much of blood.

Flashbacks of her friends' bodies—Nicholas' horrified expression when he was killed, Wei Wei's bullet-ridden corpse, Nova's mangled body slumped against the door, Carmen's broken one against the grass, and Lucinda's gentle smile as her throat was slit—rose up all at once like a horde of relentless demons that clawed and bit at her legs, doing their utmost best to drag her down with them.

But she had some optimism. Maybe he'd escaped. Maybe his need for new anime and manga got so great that he Hulk smashed through the wall and left. Maybe he transformed into his true form, a tomato, and rolled his way out of there. As unlikely as all those scenarios sounded, they were all better than the one that was lurking at the darkest corners of her mind. What if Tristan made true on his promise?

What if he was...dead?

(Y/n)'s already went through her best friend's "death" once before, and she hated every second of it. She didn't want a repeat of it. She didn't want a repeat of anything that happened in her past. Except for that one time she got free pillows at the largest shopping malls in her area.

Staying here isn't going to do anything, she told herself as she forced her nerves to calm down. I should search the basement if I have time. If not, I need to get out of here.

But before she could make true on either option, a soft sound nearly sent her leaping out of her skin. It was quiet, almost unnoticeable, but it had come when she least expected.

She spun around towards the source of the sound, only to come face-to-face with a pair of unamused blue eyes.

Blue eyes she bloody despised at this point.

Tristan quirked an eyebrow at her blatant display of shock. "Done snooping around yet? Didn't I say I didn't appreciate you being in places I explicitly stated were off-limits to you?"

(Y/n) managed to recover and fire back a snarky retort. "Good thing I don't pay attention in class, then. Never learned how to follow instructions."

He didn't look mad. If anything, he only looked exasperated. The blue-haired male crossed his arms across his chest and shifted his weight to his leg, the one that wasn't broken, and leaned against the wall. The stance was uncustomary of him. So very...casual, that it had her taken aback. She found herself taking a retreating step back instinctively, her hackles rising as her guard slammed back into place.

A corner of his lips lifted at her defensiveness and he angled his head towards the side, a waterfall of cerulean-glass locks tumbling over his forehead and hanging in his eyes like a curtain. He watched her like a predator would its prey, trying to appear amiable and harmless but his eyes sold him out every time.

"Are you afraid?" He purred, the tone so unlike him and more of something Kieran would say. In his normal, condescending tone, it would've sounded like a threat or an invitation for her to try something foolish. But now, it was almost like he was laughing at her. For what?

"I-I'm not afraid of you," she lied, hating the way her voice cracked at the end. She cleared her throat and continued in a stronger, cleared voice. "Are you done being a creepy stalker?"

His grin widened. "Touché. But don't evade my question, my dear. Why are you here?" He didn't move a single muscle from his position. Only continued watching her. Even with his broken limb, she knew perfectly well after seeing him fight with Leon it wouldn't be easy outrunning him.

"Because I can," she decided to say boldly. "I thought you were enjoying, um, bonding time with Leon."

His nose wrinkled, the wicked spark in his eyes vanishing into disdain. "'Bonding' is not quite the word I'd use, and no, I do not enjoy having my glasses broken everyday. Replacing them becomes a pain when it becomes a regular occasion."

He wasn't wearing his glasses. People always said how someone would look like a totally different person after taking their glasses off, especially if their friends and close ones were used to seeing them with glasses on. Without his eyeglasses, Tristan had a softer air to him. His harsh, borderline arrogant edge was gone, but that did little to ease the sense of danger she felt.

Well, Reese always said the glasses characters in his mangas always had the evilest personalities.

"Speaking of occasions, I have a wonderful gift for you." He peeled himself off the wall and (Y/n) reflexively tensed up. He noticed and chuckled. "Don't be so alarmed, my dear. I won't do anything."

She heard that unsaid "yet." Regardless, she followed him warily at a safe distance as he led them out of the bathroom and back into the cell.

And what she saw stopped her in her tracks.

Lying in the middle of the room in a heap of his blood was the source of the sound she had heard right before Tristan showed up. He was lying face down with his limbs twisted at strange angles around him, blood matting his hair to his scalp, and the color already faded from his fingertips.

She didn't have to see his face to know who it was.

(Y/n) felt herself drop down to her knees as loud drumming filled her ears. Her blood roared and marched angrily through her head, hammering at her skull and poking daggers into the back of her eyeballs. Her mouth opened and closed but no sound came out.

If Tristan felt any sort of human sympathy or guilt witnessing her breakdown, he didn't show it. He probably didn't feel anything remotely empathic anyway—the man was always more machine than human, ironically.

He regarded the body coolly. "I dislike having rats roam freely around the place I sleep. It was a hassle tracking him down but, well, it's nothing I couldn't handle."

She could barely hear his words. The world began to dim into everlasting blackness around her until all she could see was Jasper's lifeless body in front of her. Close enough for her to see all the cuts and bruises on his fair skin perfectly, close enough for her to reach out and touch. Close enough for her to feel the dead stillness in her body that made her demons rise up and whisper in her ear—

Oh, he's dead.

Tristan approached her from behind and bent down from his waist towards her. A cruel smirk stretched over his lips as he placed his hands firmly on her shoulders as if finally establishing his claim.

"Would you like to know how I did it?" He said as if they were two normal people having a normal conversation on a normal day. "I allowed him to think he outplayed us, though I must admit, I never expected him to rig the elevator." A flash of doubt crossed his face. "At least, I assume it was him, though some things don't line up..."

He shook his head and returned his full attention to the (h/c)-haired girl. Her eyes were trembling in her sockets as they remained locked on Jasper's body, anguish carved deeply into every inch of her skin. The sight sent a delicious shudder through him that made him quiver with delight.

"You're just like him in that regard. You think you have more power than you actually have. You know"—he leaned towards her, so close his lips were almost brushing against her ear—"I was aware of everything from the start. Oh yes, even your foolish attempt to save your little friend."

Tristan took her fisted hand in his hand and pried it open easily. He withdrew the key and dangled it in front of her face teasingly. "Entertaining your plots and letting you think you had a chance at freedom had been amusing, but I enjoy winning. I am the winner this time around, my dear, and you are my prize."

He clenched the key in his fist before letting it fall to the ground with a harsh clatter. Her eyes followed the fall but her ears barely registered the sound.

"Then...shall we get going?"

UNKNOWN:DIRECTORY ━━━━━༻ ❀ ༺━━━━━ σηє dαу ℓαtєя

The world was black serenity entwined with a poetry of stardust. It was a universe of everlasting darkness with faint glimmers of light that managed to break through, only to be quickly devoured. A single girl floated in that darkness, seeing nothing, feeling nothing, and knowing nothing.

The shadows were chased away and replaced by a bright light as someone gently pulled the blindfold off her eyes. She didn't react to the action. She barely even registered it happening. All she could do was sit there with hooded eyes as a figure appeared in her line of sight.

A pleased smile curved his lips as he knelt next to her on the bed and placed a hand on her cheek. "Truly wonderful, my dear," he breathed. "You look stunning this way."

She parted her lips but no sound came out. Realization snapped her back into reality like a whip lashing across her back, and her first instinct was to kick at him—anything to get him away.

But she...couldn't.

No matter what she tried, no sound would come out of her mouth and her body refused to listen to her. The only thing she could control was her eyes, which promptly filled with liquid panic and darted from side-to-side. Where am I?!

"Careful, don't panic now." He brushed her hair to the side and carefully arranged it around her face. "I worked so hard to make you perfect...I will not tolerate having my hard work ruined."

She looked down. She was dressed in a blue and white dress that stopped just above her knees. Both her wrists, though unresponsive, were ensnared with a thin metal bracelet attached to a long, slender chain. What the other end connected to, she didn't know.

Did he...undress me?! Even if she wanted to demand answers from him, she couldn't. Not a single sound came out of her mouth, as if someone had taken out her throat and tied it into a knot before putting it back in. That sick bastard!

Her eyes darted angrily to his grinning face. The sight at the twisted satisfaction in his face sickened her to the bone and she tore her eyes away, unable to look at him any longer.

After all, he killed Jasper.

"Remember the cake I asked you to make for me?" He suddenly asked as he rested his hand on his head, watching her with hawk eyes. "I never got to taste it, did I?" He chuckled at her expression. "Why are you so surprised? You made it for me. It was supposed to be mine, yet I never got it. That's rather unfair, don't you think?"

(Y/n) tried to scoff but couldn't. She settled for an eye roll and a glare instead. I wish I had poisoned the cake and shoved it down your throat. Happy Death Day, you a-hole.

"Although I can't read minds, I can see that you're insulting me in your head."

Aren't you a genius?

"But first, I think I deserve to have what's rightfully mine." He got to his feet and her eyes shot to him in alarm. She wanted to run away but couldn't—her body refused to listen to her. So all she could do was watch in helpless terror as he approached her and alighted a hand on the side of her face.

"You've surely tried a bite of it, haven't you? Let me have a taste..."

His hand drifted her to hip, settling there like a brand burning with ice-cold fire. His breathing quickened and so did hers, but her reason was the complete opposite of his. She wanted him away from her, as far as humanly possible.

He began nuzzling her neck with feathery kisses that even with her being unable to move her limbs, she could feel clearly. His breath was surprisingly warm and his lips soft as he trailed upwards. She trembled—in disgust? Fear? She wasn't sure—and screamed at her body to move and push him away. But it wouldn't listen to her.

The male tilted her head back to face him. His head was angled a small bit to the side and his eyes hooded by long, pale lashes. A wicked smile graced as lips as he brought his face to hers.

"I don't think I can hold back anymore, my dear..."

His lips were gentle but firm, flushing her a heat that engulfed her entire body. They lingered, but not for long. His eyes never left hers as he pulled back, gauging her reaction.

Pure, unadulterated anger. He swallowed a laugh at the sight. She's always been stubborn. Action first, questions later. That was how she rolled. Even when he gave her a chance, even considered maybe allowing her to visit her foster father, as long as she followed his rules, she was too stubborn to do so. Perhaps that was his fault for leaving that detail out—it would've given her motivation to listen to him more often—but oh well...

It was better this way anyway. She couldn't fight him anymore. She was but a doll, and just for him. The control he now had over her made him more excited than he's ever been his entire life. It was like someone had injected him with a shot of pure bliss.

No...it wasn't absolute control yet.

"Seems like it's taking a while for the drug to kick in," the male murmured wistfully. He reached for something on the table. It was another blindfold. "You're still so willful even though you can't even control your own body. As cute as that is, I don't like not being in charge. So"—her eyes widened and she silently pleaded for him to stop as he approached her with the black cloth—"You won't be needing those eyes anytime soon. You only need me from now on. No one else."

Wait, stop—!

Like a chain reaction, as soon as the fabric touched her skin, her head began to swim. A strange mist began crawling over her mind, lulling her to sleep, even as she fought desperately to stay awake. Her heart raced so hard she was afraid it would leap right out of her chest even as the rest of her remained motionless.

Tristan purred in delight and wrapped his arms around her waist as he rested his head on her chest. "You're afraid," he sighed blissfully. "That's good. I want you to only feel those things towards me from now on—no one else is needed in your life. Hate me, fear me, love me...I want all of that. You won't fight me anymore, will you? You only need me, my dear. Depend on me."

His words sounded like a lulling wave rippling over the surface of a vast ocean with horizons of midnight blues and blacks. The last bit of her consciousness struggled feebly to grab on but was quickly torn away.

Why is this happening to me?

Tristan slid an arm under her knees and another protectively around her torso as he lifted her up effortlessly. Her head lolled to the side unresponsively and her sharp, panic-filled breaths had slowed into a tranquil slumber. He took her into another room and set her gently onto the bed. The previous one wasn't suited for her, he had decided. It was too austere, too big. It wasn't worthy of her.

The new room was painted in soft shades of pastel blue shrouded in darkness. The pale curtains fluttered gently in the breeze from the barred window like butterfly wings. Tristan never thought he'd return here to his childhood home, but with his father now out of the picture, everything belonged to him now.

Forging a will was child's play to him, after all.

He sat down next to her while keeping his hand tightly wound around hers. He didn't want to let go, even though he knew it was a silly thought. Even if she tried to fly away or vanished into dust before his eyes, he'd find and capture her all over again. He'd even enjoy the hunt along with it.

"Somehow this isn't enough," he murmured out loud, even though he knew full well she couldn't hear him. Not asleep, anyway. "I want more than this, (Y/n). Perhaps I am being greedy...but that's how I've always been. Insatiable, always hungry."

He laid his head down on the bed beside her, his gaze never leaving her slumbering face. "I want to carve myself into your skin so deep you'd never be able to get me out, not even when one of us dies." He played with her fingers idly, his eyes lowering to her hands that seemed so small and weak in his.

"Was I too hasty...?" He shook his doubts away. "It doesn't matter anymore. You're mine now. That's all that matters. Fujikawa, Matthews, Kim—I'll find a way to deal with them. And that friend of yours? Perhaps I'd let him live. You won't remember him in the future anyway."

He watched as the (h/c)-haired girl shifted in her sleep. Panic stitched a wrinkle between her brows that he quickly smoothed over with his hand.

"Don't fight it. It'll hurt more if you do."

The tension drained from her face at those words, along with the rest of her emotions. Fear, hatred, and frustration. He's always been in awe of her ability to have so many emotions that were written so blatantly on her face. No matter how hard she tried to hide them, he could always see past her mask. Even when they first met—he'd seen the irritation on her face towards him that disappeared as quickly as it came.

Once a fighter, always a fighter. And fighters were more fun to break than runners.

"You made all the wrong moves, my dear, and you've lost the game."