You take a step back-

and then another.

With every step, you hear a windup leg cycle, as if someone's- as if Daemon is coming for you.


They're going to-


You shake your head violently, eyes narrowing.


Not the time. Not the fucking time.
They're not here.
This thing-


Its head twists as it peers at you, a breathy laugh escaping its drooling mouth.


is NOT Daemon.
And I'm going to win.

It takes a step forward- windup leg cycling, no, it's a large, raggedy plush paw, get real-  and you can see Cross' tail lash.

The beast's eyes follow you as you start moving towards your partner, quick on your feet.

Horror dawns in the dog's eyes.

The beast sets its sights on the black-patterned bear, lunging towards it.

His brow furrows as he dives to the side, visibly straining at the sudden motion.

He narrowly manages to avoid its razor-sharp teeth, but slams against the tent wall in the process.
It turns to nab him once more, only to yell in pain as Tim's sword slices across one of its legs.

The dog narrowly manages to avoid getting stepped on thanks to his effort.

She makes a frustrated beep.

Thinking quickly, you sprint to the fireplace.
One of the beast's paws happens to be standing in it.

You can't help but grin as you maneuver your arm around to flip the switch underneath, the LED inside turning on in an instant.
The beast's leg fizzles before it stumbles back with an angry yowl.

Your moment of gloating is cut short as the beast nearly stomps you in the process of turning around.

It walks towards the campfire, only to prop itself over it.
You barely catch a glance of tar spreading before the campfire goes out for good.

Tim manages to sink his blade deep into the thing's leg, only for his sword to get stuck.

He loses his grip on it,
but runs to stay behind the beast and out of view as it turns around.


Curly...


He holds back a growl, repeating reassurances to himself over and over.


It's not real.
It's like-
It's like last night!


Something's sticky against his paw as it brushes against his chest- tar.


From the fucking stab-

Curly, you haven't been a good gi-

Even with the sensation of things starting to touch his neck, cheek, chest-

Tim holds fast, ready to move.

The next time it takes a step, he waits for its back paw to stop moving and lunges.

He nabs his sword, loosing it with a mighty pull.
The dog takes a quick moment to swipe it to the side at nothing, getting most of the tar off it in the process.

The beast kicks with its back leg, smacking him against the tent wall.

Good girls behave.

He's shaking as he gets back to his feet, rage in his eyes.

There's a hand gripping around his neck.

Squeezing tighter and tighter.

You haven't learned your lesson yet.

The beast ROARS.

It's FAR louder than you were expecting.
You instinctively wince and cover your ears.

The beast charges Cross in the moment you're all distracted.
She still manages to try and move.
One of the tent's 'rooms' is in the way of her path, though, and she ends up stuck as the beast headbutts her against the tent wall.

Tim slices its leg.
Once, and again, allowing Cross to pull away.

You're too occupied to even express your relief.

The beast screams in pain and frustration, stomping about in a tantrum,
inadvertently stepping on one of Roulette's legs in the process.

The bear snarls and grabs something off of the ground- Cross' book, by the look of it-


-and hurls it at the beast's face, the paperback bouncing off harmlessly-

Devotion.

-but definitely getting the monster's attention, floodlights focused on him.

You sprint to Roulette.

The beast leans its head towards the bear,
only for a packet of jerky to nail it in the eye, thrown by Cross.

Your arms loop under Roulette's shoulders, hoisting it up by the shoulders as much as you're able.
It's lighter than you expected, but still heavy enough that you can't lift it entirely by yourself.


Drop it and run.
The exit's ripped open, you can get away if you leave it.
It's dangerous. You know that.

You don't seem to register that you're speaking aloud, the words spilling out of you.

You heave, beginning to drag it along.
The task immediately feels almost impossible: The tar is slick and sticky.

It's difficult to pull Roulette through it, and you're getting plenty on You in the process.


That's a good mindset to have in most cases.
But, it tried to kill you, Polka.
It's only waiting for its moment. You know that.

And this time it could be you again,

or someone else.

Cross takes a swipe to the leg.
She gets back up, but you can't tell how bad it is.
You can't do anything to help.

You pull for a second, as hard as you can. And have to stop.
Pull. Stop.
Pull. Stop.
Starting to get a rhythm.

Roulette's head - dull and lifeless, looking more like scrap than ever -
dangles limply against your wing, shaking in time with your motions.


They'll die.

Cross, too.
If you bring Roulette back.

And risking yourself for a Murderer means they could die. Right here.
Any second now.

Drop it and run.


Your leg slips, nearly loosing your grip.


I need him, anyway.
A second voice chimes in.
Don't worry, I'll take good care of him.
I'd never hurt him.
He's too sweet.

You manage to regain your footing, letting out pained squeaks of exertion.

With a final pull,
you manage to get Roulette behind the only tent 'room' that's still somewhat-standing.

Your mind races, looking around for anything you can use.

The sleeping bag nearby is relatively untouched by tar, somehow.
You pull down the blanket partition, using it to wipe what you can off of Roulette before stuffing it into the sleeping bag.

You have no idea if it breathes or not, but you leave its face open to the air just in case, the rest fully zipped up.
With that, you push it to the corner and hope for the best.

You all race towards the entrance.

You don't get more than a few steps before watching it get incased in tar.
The beast had stepped over, soaking it with the tar pouring from its exposed ribcage.

As if it knew you were headed that way.

It steps back in, its grin never feeling more menacing than now.


You always run your mouth Curly
Cmon Devotion don't you wanna give me a
Polly you know it's me
You're always breaking your buttons

He pulls his knife back, letting out a strangled scream as he plunges the blade into the side of the tent.

The bear nods, his shoulders heaving as he refocuses his efforts.

He pulls as hard as he can.
He's making progress, but it's tearing so slowly.

The beast rears it head up and SCREAMS, piercing the air,
before barreling towards the bear full-force,
its maw wide open.

You're too far away to do anything yet.
Cross lunges to try and trip its leg, but can't snag it in time.
Tim is knocked back as he tries to swipe at it.
The bear can't get out of the way in time.




The bite lands.




The black-marked bear is coated in tar as he's pulled off his feet by the shoulder.



He lets out a scream, only for the sound to be choked out by the beast's teeth digging deeper.

You think you're hot shit-

Tim leaps from someone's rather overstuffed backpack.
His sword plunges through the beast's neck.

There's a loud scream- not from the beast, or anyone of your party-

-like someone being mauled, cussing slurs you've never even heard of-

The dog yanks his sword back out as the bear drops to the ground.

He chokes and winces, curling into a ball amidst the tar.

Tim's voice is shaky, reaching out to touch the bear's shoulder-

Before he rises to his feet as quickly as he can, giving the dog a look you can't make out in the lighting-

And returning to his knife, yanking on it with just as much fervor as before.

You're headed towards the others, you want to help,
but it's only now you realize just how much tar you're soaked in.
Your movements are slow, and you can't seem to wipe much off as you move.

With renewed aggression, the beast shakes it off and moves for the bear.

Tim reacts quickly, swinging for its face.

But it swerves at the last moment, pinning Tim to the ground with a heavy paw.
It leans forward, putting its weight down as he struggles.



A hatchet flies by, planting itself directly into one of the beast's giant, beaming eyes.
It reels back, allowing Tim to get back to his feet.

Tim's voice comes out hoarse, choking out the words.

The bear's knife finally tears its way down the tent wall, making a hole plenty big enough to get through.

He laughs, coming out almost maniacal from the sheer amount of stress he's under.

The bear climbs through, just as Cross reaches it.
Tim is a bit behind, clutching his chest as he coughs.
Cross quickly pulls him through.

You're having trouble running, the tar having pooled significantly enough that you're trudging your way over.
Only for the beast to move between you and the newly-created exit, blocking it off.

Its one good eye glares down at you as its other spotlight flickers, illuminating Cross's hatchet intermittently.

Her voice is distorted, glitching, agonized.

You back up.




It's all you can do.



The beast pushes its head forward.

Either it's tired,
or it's taking its time with you.






Your foot bumps something and you stumble, falling onto your back.





The beast's head slowly lowers.




The windup key turns.

Over and over again.




You're just going to slow me down.



It opens its jaws wide.



The cocking of a pistol.



Your eyes are wide, tears streaming down your face.



You consider saying you're sorry. You never got to before.



Your wings searches in the muck for something.
Anything.



You find what you'd tripped over.


You can feel it.


It's Roulette's sickle.



You always pick the wrong horse to bet on, Polly.
You think you can make it right?
Be friends with that thing?
It's a heap of scrap you should have thrown out ages ago-


You're shaking, your fear replaced with a fury-filled resolve.

You shove the scythe up, causing a splash.

You aim for its other eye.

The beast reels back, but a little too late.
The sickle grazes straight across it.

It isn't enough to take it out, but it screeches in pain all the same.



You rise from the muck.

Armed with a friend's sickle.
You mimic the way it carried it, you'd seen it fight.

You swipe in the same way.
It's more difficult than you thought.

It's plenty.



The sickle swings through its face like a knife through butter, cutting a deep gash.

It stumbles away from you, giving you an opening.



You run.


You trip.







Cross catches you and pulls you through, into quick hug, splattering herself with tar in the process.
In the moment, it doesn't matter.

You manage a weak smile, Tim starting to look around as best as he could while hunched over.

The bear laughs, a hateful, bitter sound that startles all of you. His knife is clenched tight in his shaking hand, eyes wide with rage.

Right on cue, it crashes through the tent wall with a thundering roar.

It rushes at you all.
You raise the sickle and swing



only for it to move much, MUCH faster than you were anticipating,
completing its arc so hard it knocks you off-balance.

You slam into Tim and the two of you fall over.

You both scramble to get back up.

Cross gets in front of you and swings her fist upward.
She catches the bottom of the beast's head and flicks it towards the sky.
The hit stops it in its tracks.

It's knocked off-balance.

Disoriented, shambling back and shaking its head to try and snap out of it.

Curlypolly you're a good girl why don't you come with me we'll get to one hundred we'll win win win we'll be together forever we'll make it big we'll be married forever and ever and ev

Tim can't get up, digging his fists into the snowy, tar splattered ground. He's crying- and so are you.

You're so cute you're so cute you don't have to ever grow up or leave we can stay here forever you're so much better this way

The two of you look into each others' eyes.

You're so scared.

The bear bends over with a loud noise of pain, trying to haul both of you up in one arm each.

Cross closes the gap just before the beast recomposes itself.

Her fists hammer away at its face.

Dodging teeth.
Dodging claw swipes.

She's starting to leave dents.

A stray bite manages to nick her arm.
Her plastic outer shell finds a few holes in it from the bite.

Tar leaks in.


It's so cold.


It's Cross' own voice.


It's so cold.
I could do it.
I could press reset.

The bear is struggling hard, panting and wheezing.

Tim says it so quietly that only you can hear him, the bear caught up in yelling at Cross.

He smiles with his eyes, tear embroidery drenching his cheeks.

He tugs on the bear's sleeve before you can respond, the shadowy-accented toy snapping his head down.

He's been crying just as much.

The bear stands there, dumbfounded, as Tim blacks out, sliding out of his grip.

He stays like that, staring at the dog on the ground.

You squeeze your eyes shut, tapping him on the side.

With a deep noise of exertion, he gets you up.

You're still having trouble standing, but you're starting to shake it off.

The bear hurries to back up Cross, and you follow as best as you're able.



Just as the beast reaches to snatch Cross's arm into its maw,
she raises both fists high over her head.

She leans back.

The bite just barely grazes her screen.

Her fists slam downward, the beast yelping in pain as her hands leave an imprint in the dead center of its face,
starting to rip its hide.

Tar coats her arms.
Her own voice rings louder, but she ignores it.



Her good hand reels back as far as it can, her other wiping tar from her screen.

She shoves it forward.

Against her own axe.

It digs deep into what little was left of that flickering eye,
the hatchet nearly disappearing entirely.



Her fist gets stuck.

Tar is weighing her other hand down.
Too much has sunk in.

She topples.

It feels like the millionth time you've screamed one of your friends' names in horror.

You just barely step out of the way as the bear rushes past you-

Tim's sword in one hand, and his knife in the other.

Both blades find their way into its head,
anywhere and everywhere he can find.

Leaks spring as new holes are formed,
the beast's loosing gurgling screeches as its own tar floods across its face.

It swings its head wildly side-to-side in an attempt to shake him off.

The bear plunges the sword deep, using it as leverage as he stabs wildly with his knife,
unable to even see what he's stabbing now; all of it is coated in thick tar.



The beast leashes its head backwards with a half-whimper, half-scream.

The bear is flung off, tumbling across the snow, streaking it with black.




He doesn't get back up.

There's no one left.

Just you.

The beast rises.

It looms over you.
It's limping.

Its face is a crater of tar with a mouth.
But somehow you know:
It can still see you.

It clacks its mouth at you.
Its teeth are jagged and broken, but still sharp as ever.



You're barely on your feet.
Your legs are shaking.


Without me-
You wouldn't be so lucky.

i
came all this way
made friends
struggled
struggled so much
i dont even know if im doing it right
or if this is going to be it
but i cant just


You spit tar on the ground, a small splatter amidst a horrible outpouring of pitch black hate. 

Your voice raises higher than you've ever screamed.

The beast roars back at you, breaking into a stumbling charge.

You grip Roulette's sickle with both hands.
Readying yourself.



Just as it would reach you,
you sidestep and swing with everything you have.


The top fourth of its head slips off.
It lets out a scream unlike anything you've ever heard.

You fall onto your back,
still clutching the scythe.

You can't swing it.
You can't even get up.
Your eyes are trying to close.

It's quiet.



Only for the ground to shake.

You turn your head in the snow.
Just in time to watch it drag itself up to its feet.

It hobbles over to you.
Clearly in pain.
Clearly half-dead.
Making the effort.

Just to kill You.



Dripping tar trails along the snow,
until it's dripping onto you.

You look up.

It's there.
A flickering spotlight illuminates through the top layer of tar on its face.

You can't move.
You can't move.
You can't move.

Its jaw opens.

And lowers down towards you.

You squeeze your eyes shut, waiting for the end.





...It doesn't play out.



A crashing impact, snow in the air.



You open your eyes just in time to see the toy monster blasted across the ground, leaving a trail of dirt and tar behind.



You try to follow it with your eyes, seeing it-


-the dark starts setting in-



-cleaved in half, across its midsection, tar spilling into a pitch black pool around it.




The dust settles, the combat barrier dissipating with it.




All you can see make out in the black is a figure around your height, dragging along a impossibly massive weapon behind.



W...who-







-and then it's all gone.

Lights twinkle in the distance.


Numerous light-up playsets dot the landscape,
along a sprawl of incomparably-massive shelves.

It's dark, save for the twinkling of night.




A camouflage-patterned robot sits near the edge of one of the shelves,
legs crossed.

Its head rests atop its claws,
which rest atop its scythe,
gazing at the patterned lights of the horizon.









A flashlight clicks on just nearby.

A plastic claw touches the bot's shoulder.

The bubble timer toy, tilts its head down towards the bot.
It looks up at them.

They carefully sit down next to the bot, the colored liquid within their clear plastic shifting.

Faysal sighs, its aperture closing as one of its claws taps the scythe.

Denny raises their head, adjusting their neck.

They shake their head.

There's a long pause.

The robot glances over at the plastic toy.

Faysal raises its head as if to speak again,
but says nothing, watching ahead once more.

The two of them sit in silence.

Idle whirring and other quiet noise plays in the air,
the colors in focus.

The distant lights



seem to grow brighter.







And brighter

and brighter




and brighter



and-








Faysal's lens clenches.
It turns its head away from the light.




The cot creaks.
The overhead lights are too bright.

There's a strange smell.

Burning wood, like your campfire...

Fabric- no, fur, faux fur- with the scent of mud....

Spices, maybe. But none you've seen or tasted at Laurie's...

Something's pushed against your beak, a voice speaking gruffly.

Before you can react or even wake up properly, something pries your beak open and shoves hot, pungently strong liquid down your throat-

You startle so bad that your entire body convulses, coughing and squeaking and wheezing. Your painted eyes snap open and you realize you're looking down at a gnarled, dark floor, made of weathered plastic designed to look like hardwood. It's covered in dirt and...you're not sure what else, but it's clear that wherever you are, it's not as clean as Laurie's.

You blearily look up, your head spinning-

In front of you is-



...a....rubber...duck....





....wolf?


The toy in front of you is molded rubber, his beak...muzzle...thing? contorted into a permanent smile and a lolling tongue that completely conflicts with the tone of his voice, his furrowed brow, and the fierceness in his beady eyes.

When he opens his mouth to speak, you see sharp, sharp teeth.

The wolfduck squeezes his painted eyes shut.

He reaches forward and claps your beak shut with both wings.

Another voice rings out, coming from the corner of the room.

The toy standing there- and now that you're coming to better, you can tell that you're in some kind of...cabin, or lodge or something- looks like a wolf plush, but when she emotes, you can see animatronic plastic.

The wolfduck snarls, his mouth still curved into a perma-grin.

Both toys freeze, looking at you with wide eyes.

The animatronic plush presses her face into her paws, her mouth growing equally toothy as she groans.

You realize that you have walked into something far more complicated than you're ready to deal with.

With the two wolf toys screaming at each other, you decide to get a feel for your surroundings.

Mange is sitting in an armchair and wearing a worn down flannel, plaid and looking more ratty than anything you've seen at Laurie's, and equally beat up jeans. Outdoorsy boots with a shape familiar to your own, as well...confirmation he's a rubber duck, I guess. His rubber "fur" is a bright brown, and you notice specks of dirt and stains spread all over it.

You start to sweat when you notice a plastic shotgun by his leg.

oh god

Snicker is dressed similarly, but with a thick black turtleneck instead of a flannel shirt. There's still snow on her boots, and a large battleaxe propped against the wall next to her. She's built short and thick, and judging by the animatronic parts on her face- you doubt that getting hit by her would be a gentle plush thump. Her facial expression changes wildly as she speaks, oscillating between a terrifying snarl and a deadpan tired stare within seconds.

theyre armed to the fucking teeth

The room itself is...surprisingly cozy. Some kind of lodge playset for sure, with a large stone fireplace, fur and fabric rugs and wall hangings on almost every surface, and a slew of armchairs and floor pillows. You realize you're in one yourself, and that despite it all, you're more comfortable than you'd have expected.

There's also surreal heads mounted onto the wall, plaques underneath.

god i hope those are monsters

You snap back to attention, realizing it's back to you.

Mange snaps his wing-tips in front of your face, your beak scrunching up.

You manage a strained nod.

You look away.

Mange grumbles, leaning onto one wing.

He grumbles again, looking more and more annoyed.

The animatronic chuckles, looking away.

Something twinges you in a bad place about the way he says it.

You feel rage boil up inside your chest.

He gives you an unamused look.

Snicker lets out a low hiss, Mange's expression freezing into one you can't discern- but it's not happy.

He leans in, his beady eyes boring a hole into your head.

Your anger's still there, but something about the tone of his voice-

You start feeling very, very scared.

He almost spits it out.

You're stunned, glancing over and seeing Snicker staring right at you.

As soon as you make eye contact, she looks away, her face twisted into a pained grimace.

You look back at Mange, his face grave.

The wolfduck says nothing.

His voice comes out hushed.

Neither of you look away, the tension killing you.

i-
it's not-

it's not right

You're not even able to process a further response before another toy enters the room, coming out of a door on the wall behind you.

You can only hear them approaching from your current position, their footsteps soft.

Mange gives you a look.

The toy in question comes into view, a startlingly flat person- a blanket? yeah, those are quilted patches- wearing a warm shawl not unlike the one you had back at Laurie's. There's a plush head on top, looking like a cutesy lion- and little paws on the corners of the blanket to match, both for hands and feet.

Mange squeezes his eyes shut.

Snicker can't help but let out an amused snort, Mange's brow furrowing further.

He sits there for a moment.

They step forward, extending a little blanket paw.

You nervously look at Snicker, who shrugs.

They point to your choker.

You can't help but give a tired smile at that.

You're immediately out of the chair, wincing at how suddenly you moved.

Body's still sore...

The two of you pause, turning to face him.

You feel a bit sick.

Guthrie starts leading you down a hall, the lodge's wooden walls feeling far less cozy and far more oppressive now.

The optimism in their voice wavers for a moment.

You nod, too many emotions to process all at once.

The blanket plush stops, pausing to open a door-

-and gesture for you to go inside.



You're met with your party- well, almost all of it- snapping up to look at you.

All three of them are in ill-fitting hospital gowns.

Devo's- no, the- yellow tinted one. Scout- but he Guthrie said his name was Devo?- eyes widen, Tim crying out and eating shit the second he tries to run in for a hug.

It's clear your girlfriend is barely holding herself back from getting up, the wires hooked up to her back-

an image that reminds you far too much of your dream

-keeping her from doing the same as Tim.

You rush in and pull him into a tight hug, ignoring the fact that your body is screaming. Tim's clearly doing the same, having a hard time keeping tears back.

You squeeze each other so tight that it's hard to think through the pain, eventually releasing the hug after what feels like an eternity.

Tim wipes his eyes.

You don't have to be told twice, scrambling to your feet-

-only to approach her a lot more carefully, hyperaware of the wires.

Her voice warbles, distorting and glitching. She sighs at the distressed look on your face.

You give her a gentle squeeze, rubbing your face against her neck.

You take the time to breathe in the scent of plastic, something you don't think you can live without at this point.

You peek over, the yellow-tinted bear giving you a coy look.

You return a look back, telling him not to push his luck.

He's clearly holding back laughter, you rolling your eyes as you go over to give him a hug- making sure to pat his back for emphasis.

Your voice turns serious, quiet.

A whisper, now.

Scout makes a soft, pleased noise.

You don't pull away, not wanting Guthrie to hear.

Scout doesn't respond for a moment, his voice suddenly just as serious as yours.

You nod, letting go of the hug.

You look at the ground, knowing you what you need to do next.

Guthrie smiles when you turn to them.

They gesture for you to follow them, heading for a curtain at the far end of the room.

There's a cheap looking window next to it, letting people look in from the outside without needing to go in. You can't help but peek-

You can barely see Roulette.

What you can see isn't at all encouraging.

Its head is turned to the side away from you, a single arm visible; the rest of it under a blanket in the hospital bed.

The side of its head almost looks like it has lacerations in it, though you guess it's a combination of the ice damage letting too much tar in, warping the metal.

Its arm is similarly cut up at spots, looking as if someone had gone after it with a saw-toothed blade.

Some parts of the metal look like it's been melted; stripping the camouflage paint and warping it, especially along the rusty portions of Roulette's arms, which seem to have sustained the most damage.

All in all: It looks terrible.

You let out a soft, strained noise.

They can't meet your eyes, at first.

A glance, now.

You look back at the rest of your party-

...alive.
Able to move.
Talking.
If they can be okay, if this magic works, then maybe Roulette-

Guthrie leads you inside.






Roulette doesn't move an inch as the door opens.

For a moment, you almost think it's asleep,
until you move to its bedside and see that its aperture is somewhat open.

Its fans are whisper-quiet, save for the occasional crunching sounds, which cause the bot to flinch slowly, straining.

It seems to be waiting for what it likely assumes is the doctor to speak.

Their voice is soft and gentle.

Its head tilts a few degrees, seemingly unable to move much more.

It doesn't speak.

They pull over a rolling chair, setting it next to Roulette's bed.

You take a cautious seat by the bot, Guthrie quietly leaving.






You happen to look over at it, noticing it's looking at you now.

It takes a while to process that.

The bot's fan hitches, stopping entirely with a loud scraping sound.

It resumes.

You hold back your immediate frustration with the situation.

Its lens closes a little more as its head tilts back to the pillow again; the robot seeming to nearly pass out.

Its voice cuts off entirely, coming out as quiet, garbled static for a few seconds.

You can feel tear-paint starting to well up.

You nod, your face scrunching into a grimace.

Scout pounds a fist into his other paw, eyes widening.

Everyone turns to look at him.

Scout shakes his head.

He squeezes his eyes shut, visibly trying to remember.

Scout tries to count out loud.

She looks more than a little nervous about that phrasing.

You can't make eye contact with any of them.

Everyone looks like they're going to have a wide range of panic attacks.

Scout and Tim immediately go pale.

The bear reaches out and gives Tim's shoulder a pat, the dog's expression looking pained.

He rubs the side of his face.

Scout sounds like he's about to snap.

Tim hides his face in his paws.

He sighs.

The yellow-tinted bear shakes his head.

He winces.

Tim places his head in his hands again, making a distressed canine whine.

Scout blinks.

He pulls his hands away, a bit of tear-embroidery on his face.

He tries to wipe his face.

He buries his head in a pillow, Scout looking more than a little amused.

You all fall quiet.

Tim nods, sighing.

You turn to look at him.

He gestures at the intensive care curtain.

His voice is firm.

Scout leans in.

She lets out an excited beep.

Scout taps his chin.

Everyone winces.

There's a knock at the door, everyone going quiet before it swings open.

A chunky, durable looking walkie talkie stands there, looking your bunch over with a tired-looking screen face. He's dressed in a thick hunter's vest, heavy combat boots, cargo pants, and-

His hands are distinctly tipped with long, razor sharp claws.

You try not to visibly gulp.

His screen face looks irritated.

He nods.

The rain is pounding down on the woods, the trees providing cover just enough to keep from getting bombarded. The hunters' voices are frantic, flashlight beams cutting through the dark.

There's rattling at random intervals, and if the hunters are lucky, one of them might just see a brief glance of something moving. It's to your benefit more than anything, the psychological damage on those down below makes up for the risk.

Gotta just build tension, let them get stressed so they mess up even more.

With a good arm and a little luck, a large chunk of tree bark is sent flying, lodged into the ground a little too close to one of them for comfort.

A second warning shot, a sharp beam trail blasted by an unseen force.

The hunter lets out an awful howl, baying for your blood.

Don't gotta hurt them, just gotta scare them off. Lunge directly at them, knock them to the ground, and springboard off of them back into the trees above.

The hunters cast aside, falling into the mud and sputtering.

Mange cusses and screams, but it fades with distance.

Successful getaway.

In your head you can hear the music, the triumphant score as you make it free into the night. No matter how much heat you get, it's not hard to find your way out.

And for now- your shelter awaits.



You drag the sword behind you into the tent, getting yourself sorted and comfortable quickly. Pile of pillows, dried meats, sword kept comfy in the corner.

The rainfall gets harder, the noise creating a nice atmosphere for your evening. Sometimes you hear the thunderclouds rumble, but nothing you're unused to. Fall weather for these parts.


You feel yourself a little heavier now that the adrenaline has mellowed out, the sound of drops hitting the ground from inside your safe little spot being your favorite to end the day on.

It's peaceful.








The thunder rumbles on-







A flash of lightning illuminates the outside-





There's a toy in your tent's entryway.

The walkie talkie, a hunting rifle pointed at your head.

The eyes on his screen are wide, his mouth pulled back into a horrified grimace as he takes in your body, your face, everything about you.

You yawn.

His eyes glance around your tent, seeing your possessions, your spoils. All of the things you've gathered.

He's completely frozen but his gun is still ready to shoot you right between the eyes.

He's fuming, unsure what to do.

He shakes his head, lining up the shot with a huff.

The walkie talkie screws his eyes shut and cusses under his breath before turning away, pointing his gun down and staring at the mud.

Your rabbit-y ears flop down, sad and soggy.

The walkie talkie turns before you can respond, stomping away with a moody electronic crackle.


As soon as you're in the clear you curl up fully.




What was that all about anyway?

You're not sure what to make of his story, but...


You swear you can see fear in his cartoony expressions, uncertainty.


As if he didn't know what to make of it himself.

Comms stares blankly at the wall, sighing.

He sighs again at the look of panic on your party's faces.

It's clear that this doesn't assure any of you, your party exchanging glances and sweating. Comms looks you all over, his eyes trailing from one person to the next.

You make an awful face, remembering the taste.

Comms shrugs.

You stare at the walkie talkie, dumbfounded.

You look at your party, everyone equally disturbed.

While you're apprehensive...everyone does look pretty hungry.

Tim hops out of bed, shaky on his feet.

It takes Tim a little bit to locate his clothes and get dressed, Comms turning away while he does. It's...

You're not sure how to feel about it. Anxious, maybe-

-the fact that this is so different from Laurie's sits weirdly with you.

He's got his snowpants on, along with his trademark striped sweater you've seen him wear a million times, kept covered up by his jacket this whole time.

And with that, you're off.




The lodge is still unfamiliar to you, and despite the warmth inside, it's just as unnerving as the thoughts you had earlier.

You go to whisper to Tim about it-

-only to see him already ducking down a different hallway without a word.


S-shit-!
I don't know what he's-

The walkie talkie chuckles.

He glances away.

Tim doesn't slow down his steps until he knows he's out of earshot- or at least, assumes so.


Thank god for soft plush feet...


He startles as soon as he gets a better look at the walls of the hallway he's in- covered in more hunting trophies, all of things he'd prefer to only see in a nightmare.


Nnngh...
...
At....least Scout will enjoy seeing these, later, probably...

...time to get a look around


He speeds right back up, trying to get away from the beasts' glass eyes and taxidermied grins.

The doors he passes seem nondescript- other rooms, perhaps? It's growing strikingly similar to Laurie's the more he sees, something he puzzles over as he turns corner after corner. When he passes by people, they don't look up from what they're doing, too locked into conversation to notice a bean plush sneaking around at whatever the hell time it is. It was dark outside the windows when he woke up, it was dark now, and that's all he had to go off of...

But...


They're just...talking. Laughing.
They're not screaming hate or anything-
How...
....am I supposed to know who's safe?


As if answering his thoughts, someone raises their voice in an open room, the dog panicking and opening the closest door, jumping through it and slamming it behind him.


He stumbles-


-falling into snow.

He finally gets a view at the sky, though it's barely visible through the treeline. Pitch black, with glittery stars- the same as what he saw before going unconscious.

...he doesn't like thinking about that again.


Best to keep moving...


With a grunt of pain, he gets up, trying not to think about his still-healing injuries.


Guthrie...probably won't kill me. Probably. Seemed too nice...


Using the light of the lodge's windows, he's able to get a look around.


He's struck by sound - music, and commotion - that doesn't seem to be coming from where he just exited.

It takes him a moment to realize it's coming from above him.
What looks to be the lodge's third floor, comparatively tiny. All the noise is coming from the windows up there.

By happenstance, he spots the edge of a stairway around the other side of the lodge.


...well....
Maybe...it'll be fine.
Only one real way to go...


With trepidation sinking in, he goes for the stairs.

He feels the soreness in his legs, his back, his everything as he makes his way up.
By the time it feels like a mistake, it's faster to just finish making it up the rest of the way instead of going back down.

Grumbling to himself, he manages it- having to keep from doubling over and heaving as he finally reaches the top.

The commotion is louder now, but not deafeningly so.
A single step inside shows him what all the fuss is about.

It's a bar, that much is immediately clear- but far rowdier than Laurie's, by a long shot. He's about to take a look around before the sound of someone cheering catches his attention-

-only for his entire face to go pale.

At a large table, a toy with scratches and scuffs all over any visible plastic they had extends an arm, a smug grin on their face.

At the other end is a massive toy- semi-translucent purple rubber, covered in warts and greebles, and more long than it was tall- a proper centaur, crossed with a serpent-like dragon. Its mouth stayed in a completely neutral, jagged expression, eyes bulging and tired looking.

It rests a spindly, fragile looking arm on the table, hand raised.

The rubber beast rolls its eyes, the bulging features too prominent to have any subtlety whatsoever.

It focuses its attention on the toy across the table.

The plastic toy grabs onto Vortex's hand in a death grip-



-only to have his arm slammed down in a motion so quick you barely register it happening.

The crowd cheers, Vortex's opponent pulling away with a pained hiss.

The bar is pretty dimly lit, a lot of candles mixed in with the dim yellow light bulbs, but a cheap-looking plastic chandelier hanging above the tables lights them up plenty.
Shadows cast long and wide across the room, only making the dragon loom further.

Vortex watches as the toy grumbles, walking away and trying to ignore the jeers and ribbing of the crowd.



It simply looks forward, expecting more.



All the regulars shy away from the other seat, bickering and teasing one another to sit down, despite knowing it's pointless

In contrast to the dragon, another figure practically swims through the long shadows, completely hiding within them to the point that Tim doesn't notice them

until they've sat down in the chair across from the champion.



A wooden snake toy in a poncho and hat, with what looks to be an odd, decorative scepter strapped along their back.
They look over at the dragon with an inscrutable expression, saying nothing.

They don't respond,
pulling the scepter from their back.
Tim notes the ball at the end of it has a very nice look to it, likely having an internal light to put colored patterns across it-


And Tim suddenly finds the handle thrust into his paws.

Spoken not all that much like a question.
They don't look over at him, still watching the dragon.

He grips the scepter without hesitation.

It feels


beyond strange in his paws, making his fabric stand on end here and there.
The dog is transfixed by the scepter's colored ball.

He snaps back to reality what feels like ten minutes later; likely only a few seconds.

They tip their hat up, smiling at the dragon.

It places its arm down on the table.

The snake's movements are slow, deliberate.
Elbow on the table.
Claw against the dragon's.

It narrows its eyes.

The dragon shoves its claws against theirs as hard as it can, straining.



Only for the snake's claw to go nowhere.
Dead-steady.

It says nothing, baring its teeth just slightly.

The dragon finds its palm lowering
slowly
slowly
towards the table.

Struggling with all its might, its entire arm shaking.
The snake's limb moves as smoothly as ever, as if it were lowering against air.

The crowd is howling at this point, Tim just barely able to make out the wrestlers' conversation.

Again, Vortex says nothing, visibly struggling to keep its cool.

The snake looks

distracted, all of a sudden.
Their progress stops, as if they were holding the dragon's claw where it was.

They glance at the crowd.

Tim feels thunder boom against his chest.
The crowd shuts up.

Refocused,
they return to their efforts,
the dragon's claw hovering just above the table.

Nothing-

-but then-



-an appreciative smile.


Its hand touches the table.

The match over.

The stranger nods,
stands,
and reaches their other hand across the table for a handshake.

Vortex takes it, giving them a healthy shake.

They smile back as they return the shake.

When they finish, they glance at the crowd.

The stranger parts the crowd, moving past them to reach a barstool - one they'd likely gotten up from before the contest.

They sit back down as if nothing had happened...



...apparently forgetting the scepter still in Tim's paws.



The crowd resumes talking, soon ending up noisy once again.

Tim looks between the scepter- trying not to get distracted by the ball on top once again- and the rest of the bar, dumbfounded.

Vortex remains at its seat, looking significantly more comfortable without the crowd jeering at it and its opponents. Even so, it simply stares distantly, lost in thought.

The stranger is still sitting at the bar, now with drink in hand, idly chatting with the bartender.

The crowd disperses a little, seemingly no other challengers looking for a try.
The bar feels a lot more open now, the dog noticing the pretty, but worn green carpeting, as well as a separate room with darts and pool.

Though, the crystal scepter within his paws feels pressing.

...regardless of what he plans to do with it.

The mess hall is full of empty tables, chairs strewn around haphazardly. A large chandelier made of wood and...antlers? hangs above the space, along with the usual trophies you've come to expect.

There's a black-furred plush cat cleaning a table, wearing a big bow collar and a warm-looking dress. Comms makes a crackle of acknowledgment, the cat startling and assuming a salute- only to startle even more when she sees you.

Another voice comes from behind a window not unlike the one you've worked with back at Laurie's, a toy scrambling out of what you assume is a kitchen area.


You nearly yelp as you see it-

A translucent plastic toy with wide, manic-looking eyes-



-full of sparkly pink intestines, looking far too soft to be plastic themselves.


I-is that?!

Before you can object, both toys are rushing over to peer at you up close, Comms looking properly annoyed.

The gore-filled toy pulls back, hand on its chin. You realize now that it's wearing a stained apron and nothing else, glimpses of the rest of its body revealing that yes, it is absolutely stuffed with intestines.

It pouts, its little drawn-on mouth looking extremely put out.

Despite this guy's scary look...

...it feels like it'd fit right in at Laurie's.

The plush interrupts that train of thought, wringing her paws.

Her voice is soft, gentle- reminding you a bit of Cross when you first met, actually.

Tim weighs the scepter in his hands, having to tear his eyes away from its shimmering colors...

I gotta give this back...
...especially seeing how stern that toy was with the crowd. Something's up there, and I don't wanna be on their bad side...

He takes a moment to steel his nerves before slowly walking over, shimmying as inconspiciously as possible.

Once near the snake, he clears his throat.
They hold out their hand expectantly, and he passes it over immediately.

They take the scepter and set it down on the bar, tapping it to stop it from rolling.

They hold up the staff.

Tim peers over at the staff, eyes widening.

The snake peers over at him for the first time, toy tongue flicking.

They snort.

They take a swig of their drink,
then cock their head to the side.

Just enough to see Tim.

Tim glances away instinctively, before forcing himself to make eye contact.

The snake looks forward, taking a drink.
They crack their neck and roll their shoulders.

They look back over at Tim.

He pales.

They raise their glass slightly in affirmation.

His keeps his tone even, trying not to sound accusatory- or too excited.

He leans in, lowering his voice.

He shakes his head.

The snake squints.

The snake's claw raises towards him from their poncho,
ready to shake.

He extends his own paw, trying to keep his grip steady as he takes their hand and shakes.

His eyes light right up, tail wagging.

The snake smiles.

He fumbles with his hands, trying to gesture what he means and failing.

She smiles and laughs.

S-she said-!!!!!!!

His tail only wags harder, eyes bright and excited.

Shit! Okay, right, remember where we are-

He drops his voice down to a quiet whisper, cupping his muzzle and leaning in.

She turns fully towards Tim on the barstool.
The snake twirls her scepter in one claw before pointing to her chest with it.

She laughs.

Tim nods, a bit too eagerly.

...she's so cool...

The snake can't help but snicker, patting his shoulder.

You nod, unable to keep from smiling at its enthusiasm.

Vann gives the walkie talkie a quick, grateful bow before turning to you.

Comms starts walking out, the cat looking even more nervous.

Vann freezes, unsure what to say.

She gives what is very clearly a forced embroidered smile.

And then deflates, giving you a tired, defeated look.

You strike a pose, leaning your wing onto the table.

She drops her voice down, nice and quiet.

You startle at the pleading look in her glass eyes.

She pauses.

Her face lights up.

Her face is tinted with pink blush, the cat rubbing the back of her head and looking sheepish all of a sudden.

The anatomy model saunters back in with a piling heap of-

...gummy...sandwiches?

You look between the two toys-

Gutsy, with a beaming expression on its face-

And Vann, looking panicked with wide glass eyes and faux fur standing on end.

It holds out the jiggling stack.

You get your tower of gummy sandwiches and give the two of them a nod, wobbling your way back to the room.....

His shoulders slump a little bit.

The snake keeps her head forward as her eyes glance over.

He laughs, nervously.

Tim's tone softens, the dog looking down at his lap.

She's quiet a moment.

She sighs and shakes her head, eyes looking up in exacerbation.

Her wooden claws tap at the scepter.

He takes a deep breath,  squeezing his eyes shut for a moment.

And then exhale.

He stops for a moment, realizing how fast he was talking.

Another breath.

He blinks.

The snake arches her back, stretching.

He couldn't help but laugh softly, a lot less anxious this time.

She chuckles.

He trails off for a moment to gather his thoughts, eyes wandering to the snake's scepter.

Colors swirl in the crystal at the top of the scepter.
The dog finds himself transfixed

until Corsair picks it up off the table, holding it in her claw.

She switches it to her left claw, away from Tim.

She snickers, giving him a pat on the shoulder.

The snake stands up with a stretch.

The snake laughs; it comes out rickety, like wood clanking together.

She twirls her staff, heading for the door.

He hurries along, swerving around other bargoers and following close behind.

The crowd seems to part for her, almost supernaturally.

Soon enough, the pair reach the door; making their way out and down the steps.

The stairs feel especially precarious going back down, Tim trying not to get too caught up in the brief exposure to the cold air as the two of them walk back from the bar to the lodge.

Once they step back inside the main building, he lets out a soft sigh.

She rolls her arm, shaking off the cold.

He takes the lead now, gesturing for her to follow.

He can't say he'd missed the hunting trophies lining the walls, his tail tucked as nerves settle in. A brief attempt to speed up only makes him realize how sore his body is, forcing him to slow.

She props him up briefly with her arm.

He nods, taking it without protest.

She grins.

Tim snickers.

He freezes, the sound of footsteps approaching as he reaches a junction.

A familiar looking walkie talkie steps by, sipping a mug of something.

She tips the brim of her hat.

She nods, following Tim along.


Tim waits until they're out of earshot, approaching the infirmary door.

The wooden snake smiles.

Tim hesitates-

-and nods.

The door opens slowly, Tim peeking his head in.

The door opens fully, revealing the wooden snake cowboy.

Scout and Cross freeze- Polka still not back.

She gives a slight wave to Scout as she steps in.

The snake scans the room, idly spinning her scepter on occasion as she passes by everyone.

She gives Tim a confused look, the dog making an indiscernible hand gesture.

She spots the empty bed.

The snake looks to Tim, tongue flicking.

He shoots Cross a tired look.

The virtual pet sighs, a soft, droning beep.

As she steps to the end of the room, the snake's scepter suddenly pulls her arm in the direction of the window, pointing to Roulette's room.

She looks mildly surprised for an instant, but shakes it off quickly enough that Scout and Cross don't even seem to spot it.
The two only see her pointing the scepter at the window.

Tim tries not to let his nerves creep up.

She practically has to pry the scepter away from the curtain-covered window; once more only noticed by Tim.

The snake steps back over by Tim, leaning against the wall next to him.

Scout makes a noise of mock-shock.

He winks, the beanie dog blushing.

She pats his shoulder.

He can't help but laugh, albeit shyly . His eyes widen as Scout gets out of bed, walking with a significant wobble towards the snake.

The yellow tinted bear gets close enough to get a good look at Corsair, peering all around her- and at her scepter.

Corsair stares.

Then, cracks up laughing.

She tilts her head.

He freezes.





No one speaks.



She glances around.

You could have heard a pin drop.


She holds her scepter up.

The snake resumes her posture against the wall, as if nothing had happened.

Tim's voice comes out cold- a complete and utter tonal shift from earlier, one difficult to distinguish whether it was full of anger, fear, or both.

She looks under the brow of her hat, over at Tim.

The snake stretches her back; her voice entirely calm as she settles back in her spot.

Tim growls, a startlingly serious noise.

He can't meet Scout's eyes.

The bear turns to Corsair, hands on his hips.

She sighs a little.

The snake looks up at the ceiling, then moves her claw to point around the room.

She points out of the room.

The snake then points at the bear.

You point to the magical scepter, keeping your eyes off of the orb.

The colors are mesmerizing.

Swirling, drifting about in the scepter's crystal.



Until Corsair moves it around to the other side of herself, blocking it from view.

Tim trusts her. 
That'll be good for now.

Your attention's caught by hearing the dog in question in a conversation with Scout- a distressed one, from the sound of it.

You approach carefully-

Seeing that the two of them are staring at the space between their cots.

He refuses to look at either you or Scout.

It hits you that he's on the verge of tearing up, his voice strained.

She looks conflicted.

Cross lets out a shy beep, rubbing her elbow.

You walk over to sift through your pack, trying to find something-

-pulling out an admittedly wrecked-looking pom pom hat.

Cross does her characteristic pixel wiggle before taking your hat, holding it to her chest and settling down in bed.

You feel that warm glow in your chest, pleasantly familiar.

The bear looks over at Tim.

They turn to their gay endeavors, leaving you and Corsair again.

She steps over and flops into the empty bed next to Tim, only to wince.
The cowboy's scepter glows for a moment, and she grimaces, before dropping it onto the floor next to the wall.

With a sigh, she removes her poncho.

Tim shoots him a look, the bear snuggled up to him so thoroughly that they looked like two  heads sticking out of the shared blanket. 

Once her poncho is off, the snake sprawls out with a big stretch,
keeping her hat resting over her face to block the light.

His voice is a whisper.

He sighs before allowing himself to rest on Scout's shoulder, trying not to look embarrassed.

He can't help but laugh, not particularly happily.

Cross nods, avoiding looking at his face.

Corsair is glancing in Scout's direction from under the brim of her hat.

Though, only Tim notices.
He tries not to look obvious, maintaining his current expression.

He panics, ears flopping up as the bear leans on him dramatically.

The cowboy grins, but it's gone just as quickly as it appears.
Tim unclenches at that, allowing the bear this  moment of respite.

Theyre sweet....
.....

A flash of Lickety's rage-filled face in your mind, splattered with tar.

.....
I can't blame Cross for being worried for him.

Almost as if she could hear you, she reaches for your wing-

-the character on her face making a sleepy expression.

You smile, aware how exhausted it looks on your face, before tucking Cross in and laying back in your own bed.











....Corsair wasn't kidding. This bed is awful. 






Wow.








Ceiling is unfamiliar, too.
Have you even slept in a room that WASN'T yours or Cross' at Laurie's before this whole mess? Surely-





Toy store, sure, but-





It's





probably not a huge deal










people do sleepovers all the time

Cross looks up, uncorking a large nail polish remover bottle. The cap is the size of her entire  hand, the brush as big as her forearm. 

The liquid drips, a sense of trepidation filling your chest. You don't like it.

She lowers it to her arm, making a pained beep as it eats at the skull-shaped paint markings there.

You try to grab her arm, the plastic crumbling at the touch. You reel back, letting out a terrified squeak-

When you look up, a black liquid "crack" appears to have materialized on her screen, spreading slowly.

A pixel goes dead, and then another.

A horrible, dull beep can be heard in the back of your mind.

You wake up gripping your blanket so tight you almost rip it.

You blink, catching your breath.

Your girlfriend is standing there, wringing her plastic hands.

Intact, and skull-patterned hands.

She lets out a startled beep as you wrap her in a huge hug, squeezing her hard shell as much as you could- your body denting before hers ever would.

You immediately detach, Cross looking a mix of flustered, sad the hug was over, and nervous.

She nods, chirping.

The snake's tongue flicks.

She jumps.

You look over, Scout rummaging through his own bag and Tim taking inventory.

The virtual pet's keychain tail rattles.

The cowboy is already putting her poncho back on, stretching her neck.

You lean in to whisper to Cross.

You feel a slight twist in your belly, but-

The snake stands, snagging her scepter from the floor.
She nods towards Scout and Tim.

Tim finally looks up from his sorting.

The snake tilts her head to the side, tapping her scepter against her shoulder.

You may now pick which party members to control.
All routes will  be fully and equally revealed at some point in the future, but you will only be able to control One.

ROUTES:
Polka
Scout + Tim
Corsair + Cross

You are now in control of Crossbone.

You're doing a good job of looking upbeat, you think. Excited. Ready to get cursed! 


Yeah!









Your battery panel itches around the seams, something you try to shove out of your mind. 


Everything's packed to go, and thankfully, your supplies and belongings are way more intact than you thought. The only main loss was your food supplies and some bandages, but your hatchet is safe and looking good to go. 

....you'd rather not think about how the plastic has a permanent-looking black stain, though. It did sink into that thing's eye, but....



Focus.

Corsair seems to be carrying nothing in particular, other than that scepter of hers.

You look over your shoulder at the intensive care unit.

Her scepter suddenly pulls her arm that direction as well, but the cowboy yanks it back just as quickly.

You let out a soft, inquisitive beep.

You feel a slight sense of unease.

The ICU's door opens, getting you to snap to attention as Guthrie steps into view.

The blanket plush claps her flap-like paws together, no sound made at all.

Scout immediately perks up.

He looks down at the mess of supplies burying his lap.

You remember carrying Roulette's frozen, broken down body.



How terrified you felt.







The fear that it might not have woken up, that you've been suffocating for the sake of the others' worry-
















...and that you did not do enough.

Guthrie makes room for you, every step feeling heavy  as you make your way inside.

You find Roulette half-curled up in the small room, curtains still drawn by the window.

It still doesn't look good at all, but you do your best not to think about that
Its aperture is very slightly open, but it's sleeping, as far as you can tell; its chest rising and falling with simulated breath.













It's hard to look at in this state.







Something about it makes you feel sick.

It's hard to keep yourself in the room any longer.




I-
I should-
I should say something I should-

And you are immediately out of there.


Corsair meets you at the far end of the room once you gather your things to go.