Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“The audience has chosen…for you.. to die.”

Blinding white pain, then nothing.

-

Ranboo woke up. He was in a cabin. The cabin. With a raging headache.

The same cabin they’d been in just a few hours earlier.

No. That’s impossible right? People don’t just die and come back like that. Ranboo fought to keep a semblance of a stable train of thought over the pressure in his head. Maybe they hallucinated. 

Or they’d just woken up from a dream.

A really, really bad dream.

Where they’d died.

Hm. He’d had worse dreams, all things considered.

This is a lie. 

Anyway, now time to find out how and why they were in a weird-ass cabin. That he’d just dreamed about. Pfft, those two things were completely unrelated. Sweet thoughts guide him to the bookcase. When did they get there? They shrug it off and search for the keys. The odd gaps in their memory of something just did, paired with the crystal clear recollection of what will happen next is completely unrelated.

Right?

“BOO, BITCH!”

Ok, so that had also happened in the dream. That’s…not great. The key here is to not start panicking.

The demon starts ranting about vaping and free Girl Scout cookies.

Ranboo was now feeling distinctly ridiculed by some asshole god or something. Did the divine just steal the plot of their dream? ‘Oh that would make a funny story, let’s do that.’ They’re probably overreacting away. He can’t even remember most of the dream anymore, as it often is with dreams.

This is a lie. 

They should just take the door to leave. 

“-CHRISTIAN HELL?”

They shut the door, do not think about Bart the Vore’er and sigh. Yep, that would be the God fucking with him. They ignore the rampant deja vu this Slimecicle guy is giving them.

“Uhh, sure. You just have Christian Hell out there. Why not.”

Slimecicle grins and continues loudly talking in an accent he doesnt recognise. Was it Boston maybe? Beetlejuice if he was a raging New Yorker? Ranboo definitely isn’t distracting themselves from how similar this is to their very vivid lucid dream. 

“Aha! First you must cook me something slimy .”

Ranboo deadpans at him.

“A cooking challenge.”

Slimecicle points accusingly at him while bits of his suit ooze into the floor.

“Yeah, and what of it huh? Stop talkin’ back at me. You are just tall, dry and pathetic. Like a tree. You’re a sad dry tree.”

Ranboo backs up into the kitchen.

“What- ok?”

“That's what I like to hear, Dry Boy. And it better be slimy.”

Slimecicle drags out the last vowel of ‘slimy’ while leaning exponentially closer to his face, wearing the most cursed expression Ranboo has ever seen. Deja vu cooking show it is. 

Temporarily satisfied, the demon retreats back to the living room while ruining every object he comes into contact with. A ghoul shoves a bowl into their hands and limps after Slimecicle. The two share a high five that then accidentally sticks their hands together.

Ignoring the awkward commotion of the two trying to free themselves in the other room, they open the fridge and are only half surprised to find it empty. What a great start. 

-

About an hour and several magic fridge items later, the deja vu was getting distinctly worse. This is not a good sign. 

Slimecicle had thankfully not killed him for his disgusting microwaved concoction, but that did not mean this was any less weird. Ranboo takes a moment to breathe in, out, and try to completely forget the weird hallucination/dream/deja vu incident. It doesn’t work, but they pretend it does. Something in his mind urges them to continue exploring. 

He thought it couldn’t hurt to check the basement, just in case. 

Ah, Sneeg. Sneeg and Frank. Who definitely don’t have something going on between them. Mhm. So everything had currently, uh, completely followed the events of the dream. This is concerning for many reasons. But people don’t just come back from the dead like this. So it’s not real. 

Sweet nothings invade their mind, and suddenly Sneeg’s been killed by a godless sharpicklester abomination, and Slimecicle is a towel. When did they do all that?

It doesn’t matter, the fuzz whispers.

This is a lie.

A needle stabs the back of their neck, and Ranboo doesn’t have enough time to think about how familiar it is.

-

Ok, so getting kidnapped and forced to dissect Charlie. This was not a good thing. Hoping Charlie was not on the other side of that door, and then opening it to that exact sight was not a good thing at all. It isn’t possible for them to know that.

This kept getting more and more oddly specific. The sweet fuzzy feeling was back, so they tried not to think about it. Niki is shot dead in the cubicle, and Ranboo catches himself thinking “The Puzzler couldn’t make that mistake twice.” They didn’t know that was going to happen. That thought was impossible. 

This is a lie.

The puzzles continue, and each time they allow themselves to recognise them more and more. He is thoroughly confused. 

As they notice the camera crew and walk out to the railing, a whisper of “what the fuck is this place?” stays in their throat. Because don’t they know already? 

The fuzzy feeling in his head reminds him that it was just a dream, coincidence. But it can’t be. Ranboo mentally tells the fuzziness to shove off. They know something is off, and no weird mind game is making them change their mind.

Dreams can’t predict reality. But past experiences might. 

This is the truth.

So Ranboo forms a hypothesis. Somehow, he’s gone through this before. And if he’s right about that, then around 45 minutes or so from now he will be murdered.

Shit.

Ranboo mentally sits down with themselves and tries to put together the equivalent of a jigsaw puzzle with the wrong pieces. Somehow, he’s repeating a day he just lived. After a small and existential brainstorm, unfortunately the only way they can come up with to test this out is what they dub as “Loop-de-Loop Theory.” To follow through with this loop and see if they wake up back in the Cabin again. This means they will most likely have to get crushed and crucified in a mini iron maiden again. 

This is not ideal. But nothing ever works in their favour, and Charlie is ambushed again. And Hetch is just as much of a bastard as he was before. 

As the box shuts, they hope to God that Loop-de-Loop Theory is correct.

Then Ranboo jolts awake on the sofa. Their head throbs with a death-induced migraine.

Definitely wasn’t a dream last time then. Loop-de-Loop Theory was right. They really are resetting. Shit. Shit. 

They force their breathing under a semblance of control. Think about this logically, Ranboo. They have a bit of time until Slimecicle, Charlie, kicks the door down again. Use that to make a plan. 

The most glaring questions on their mind are as follows:

-What the fuck.

- How the fuck.

-Is there a way to escape?

-Can he help others escape?

This is too many questions for the moment. They decide to answer the easier ones first.

Ranboo gets comfortable on the sofa and tackles them one at a time. Breathe in and out. They can get through this one.

1, What the fuck.

This question is pretty easy to explain with Loop-de-Loop Theory. Somehow , they’ve ended up in some form of time loop beginning when they wake up in the Cabin. Or at least, that’s what it looks like. There isn’t time to really dive into Question Two, “How the fuck”, any farther than the fact it only seems to loop when they die. It’s morbid, and Ranboo is pulling out every damn stop right now to not collapse into a panic attack over it. Is it only the box execution that loops them? What if they escape, die of old age, and wake up on the sofa again? 

Ok. Moving on to the next question before that spiral continues.

3, Is there a way to escape?

The logical escape would be getting out of the Showfall building successfully. But even then Ranboo wouldn’t properly be free from them would they? They’d be hiding their whole life, not being able to talk to anyone about it- ok. Let’s move on from that question too. He settles on the hypothesis that escaping the building will end the loop. If it doesn’t, then that’s a later problem. Don’t get stressed over it now. 

4, Can he help others escape?

Frankly, Ranboo would love to get as many people out as possible. However, that will require a lot of loops, and deaths , to perfect. And honestly, Ranboo cannot handle that right now. They know that they can wake Charlie near the end, so there is at least hope to bring him to freedom with them. That life saved looks the most doable, so Ranboo focuses on it as some good that could come out of this. They’re just about to continue slowly spiralling downwards when a loud bang sounds behind them.

“Boo, bitch!”

Time up.

Ranboo shelves the questions in favour of just getting through the god awful cooking show segment. Just do the tasks and wait until you have time to think. 

He stirs something absolutely inedible and plans. They settle on using the one hour of time given by the Puzzler when they first wake up in an electric fucking chair. Use that to plan ideas. Don’t fall apart, just think. There’s still a way you can get out of here. With friends.

 This loop is then dubbed The Planning Loop. Figure out plans and ideas to test now, and use the next few loops to test them out. Definitely do not think about death. Think about the life you’ll have when you get the hell out. Think about the hot chocolate you’ll make. Something like that. 

Ranboo takes a breath. They can do this. It’s always better to plan things, especially when you know what might happen. Test out theories. Understand what the fuck is happening to you. Ok. He’s got this.

And so when time draws closer to his inevitable demise by the hands of Hetch, Ranboo at least feels confident that they will wake up again. 

And they do. The next few loops are henceforth dubbed “Information Loops”. Ranboo follows the plans they’d made, the things they had to test. 

Ranboo wakes with a splitting headache every single time. They sit down and time how long it takes for Charlie to kick the door (about 7 minutes), if it’s worth it to even free Sneeg from his cage in the basement (this one is still a bit unanswered due to the amount of guilt even posing the question gave him). They nearly call the loops “Speedrunning Loops” due to the amount of checks concerning how quickly they could manage to get through a section without something going majorly wrong. (The fastest they’d ever technically ”finished” the Warehouse was an around 45 minutes straight running method back and forth, ignoring everyones screaming. 0/5 stars, he does not recommend.) 

‘Hey ’ go his emotions, ‘are you ready to feel us yet? ’ 

Ranboo firmly shuts the mental door in his emotions’ faces. 

The current Worst Loop To Experience would have to go to the one Ranboo had promptly awarded the title of “The Shortest Loop.”  

Ranboo wakes up on the sofa. It’s time to test the most nerve wracking theory yet. Is the box the only thing that kills them?

He gets up from the sofa and, it sounds so morbid when he thinks about it, attempts to find the nearest object he can kill himself with.

Listen, it’s the easiest way to know. Ranboo doesn’t want to get mauled by Security for a hypothesis. At least if he does it himself then it might be more painless. And if it stops the loop then at least they’re free on their own terms.

Ranboo settles on kicking the door down Slimecicle style to retrieve a knife in the kitchen. Unfortunately, Charlie was standing right behind the door waiting for his entrance. He is promptly knocked to the floor and becomes the sticky middle of a door-floor sandwich, completely unable to move. Clearly stickier slime than he thought.

Ranboo attempts to not feel bad about it as they rummage through what they assume is the cutlery drawer.

They feel a little bad about doing it in front of Charlie, but this isn’t Charlie. He'll forget soon anyway.

As they watch their blood pool on the floorboards, they hear a faint “Was my cooking show idea that bad?” from Charlie before they black out. 

The Shortest Loop was around one minute thirty, give or take. At least they know now that it isn’t just the box that sends them back. They woke up from The Shortest Loop with stabbing phantom pain and the firm idea not to do that again. 

In the last few Information Loops, Ranboo gives themselves a moment to hide under the blankets of the bed in the Cabin and just takes a second. It was getting, to put it very lightly, frustrating. Nothing they were doing was working. The tactics they were testing would always end up with someone dying. They expected watching the deaths of their friends to get easier through the loops, but everything just hurt more and more as they continued to fail them over and over again.

They screamed into the pillow in an attempt to get rid of the uncomfortable feeling of growing self hatred and anger mixing around in their brain. Even if they couldn’t die permanently, they could absolutely suffer on every other plane of existence and they were feeling it today. It wasn’t fair.  

But as clean as clockwork, Charlie kicks the door down in the next room and the loop continues regardless of what Ranboo wants. They can’t get a damn break can they?

They collapse defeated, only held up by the wires binding them, as the box snaps shut again. 

For a few seconds there is only pain as spikes are shoved through their skull, and the promise of having to do it all again tomorrow.

Chapter Text

Ranboo jolted awake, knowing without looking around that they were back in the Cabin.

Fuck. Curse Loop-de-Loop Theory for being so correct.

Their head ached, phantom pain splintering through layers of skin and muscle and bone.

He looked around.

Not this again, they weren’t going to fucking do this again.

His mask flashed, a wave of calm seeping into his mind as the world began to look fuzzy.

They were standing up. They didn’t remember standing up.

Gentle suggestions prompted them to look at the bookshelf, to check the door-

No.

The wave of calm retracted, as if in shock, and then surged back stronger than before in an attempt to control him. He gritted his teeth and let his anger rise to the surface, fingernails digging into their palms as he shook his head.

They weren’t going to let this happen to them again.

They couldn’t- no, he wouldn’t let their friends be taken again.

Memories flashed into their mind of Charlie screaming, Sneeg’s corpse at the back of the mall, a rusty metal box-

“BOO, BITCH!”

Charlie kicked the door down with the usual unnecessary force and Ranboo clenched their teeth, shuts their eyes and covers their ears. Just get through it.

“I see you’ve found my cabin!”

Ranboo resisted the bone deep urge to tell Charlie to shut the fuck up. It was Showfall making him say that. He should get mad at them, not Charlie.

Just get through the loop Ranboo, don’t fucking break already. Your friends need you. 

“Sorry about all the smoke, I do that a lot.”

Yes. Yes you fucking do, dont you? 

“Yeah I just had them load up a lot of that, jeez Louise.” Charlie fanned away at the smoke, completely oblivious to Ranboo’s fraying patience. They shoved away Showfall’s honey coated suggestions to the far back of their mind as usual.

“Yeah, fuck God i vape-” 

“-you vape, yes i know let’s just get on with it.”

Charlie looked over at them with a mix of incredulousness and vague offence. 

“Who’s haunting who here? Are you haunting me? Huh? Don’t finish my fuckin’ sentences jeez. Hah, I almost said Jesus Christ.” Charlie mimed gagging to really add on to his point. 

He fell naturally back into his script, and the urge to strangle the entire company of Showfall entertainment with his own two hands increased. Ranboo ran a hand through his hair and tried to tune out Charlie’s ramblings about bats. This wasn’t fair. Why them of all people? What did they do to get put through this shit? Calm whispery nothings tried to nudge their mind away from those thoughts, urging them to listen to Charlie. Ranboo mentally grabbed them by the neck and threw them in a mental box, duck taped the lid, and threw it into a volcano. Charlie was still talking as Ranboo rapidly clenched and unclenched his fists. 

“What’cha do to Richard?” Charlie was holding the clearly plastic bat with manufactured grief. Showfall didn't know real grief did they? 

“I don’t care about Richard, you’re not even real! Just- just stop talking! ”

Charlie’s offended look was back. Ranboo was too frustrated to care about it. It wasn’t Charlie in front of him, it was Showfall. And he had some choice words to say to them. Because it was not fair and never was. Whatever kind of sick and twisted entertainment Showfall was getting from this, they could shove it. Ranboo unclenched their fist, took a breather and carefully contained the need to punch something.

“What the- is that my grandma? ” 

Well, at least Charlie was a little off script now. Still, they weren’t doing a great job at hiding their frustration, a sense of urgency permeating their actions as he moved throughout the rooms, collecting everything needed as quickly as they could. 

“.... cooking competition!”

God, was Charlie still talking? Ranboo shook their head, trying to direct their anger somewhere else. Their fingernails rake across their scalp. The pain helps a little.

It was just a little distracting when you’re trying to figure out a plan to escape from a time loop, save your friends (who you’ve already seen die so many times before), and figure out the rest of the fucking plan whilst your brain-washed buddy over here keeps ranting about bats and cooking shows.

“Charlie, for the love of God could you please shut up?”

“Who’s Charlie? And I already told ya, I don’t believe in God.” The gagging noises were back. Charlie makes a gesture that looks like he’s hacking up a hairball. Slime ball? Unimportant.

“Ya know, Rumpus?”

Ranboo does know. They’ve had to fucking watch it for so many loops. They’ve probably spent so many collective hours total watching Charlie’s same stupid bits.

“Hey, did I ever show you Christian Hell?”

Ranboo suppressed a long-suffering groan.

“Yes. Yes you did. Now can we please move on?”

“Well we’re not movin’ on until you do my cooking challenge.”

Charlie retreats to the living room shouting for his ‘dining seat’ or something equally irrelevant.

Ranboo braces their hands against the table and attempts to not reach their fucking limit here.

“I’m leaving.”

“Oh you can try, goin’ out that door, but there could be 10,000 possibilities for you Rumpus. I’ll send you to the cooking dimension. Or would you want another visit to Bart the Vore’er?”

“ No, I want you to stop talking for two seconds.”

Charlie comically holds his breath for two seconds, making direct eye contact, grinning the whole time.

“Oh for fucks sake- I don’t have time for you!”

Now where the fuck were the rest of those things? The stupid magic fridge again?

They decided to check it anyway, just in case. The muffled sound of Charlie being stuck to various objects is emitted from the next room.

A few bones, some slime and a knife. They’re not even going to question how that got there, or why Charlie keeps his cutlery in the fridge.

Ranboo decided to take the latter, just in case it came in handy when he took down Showfall. 

And on the plus side, the threat of being stabbed might finally shut Charlie up.

A crash sounded from the next room over, followed by a whole thesaurus’ worth of swear words. 

Right. This was just getting irritating now.

They were supposed to be doing something, making progress and trying to form a plan to take down those fuckers at Showfall, but the only thing they could do is put up with Charlie’s stupid scripted antics?

It wasn’t fair, and he’d had more than enough of it.

Ranboo stormed into the living room, clenching the handle of the knife tightly behind their back.

“Charlie.”

“What the- Oh! Hello Rumpus! Mind helping me out here? Also, who the heck is Charlie?”

They stood there, seething, as Charlie managed to extract himself from the mess of slime and broken furniture on the floor, jabbering incessantly all the while.

“-Charlie sounds like a lame name, like some weakling who dies in the first 5 minutes of the movie- oh you have a knife.”

Ok, they were at their limit now.

“Ok, I’ve fucking had it with you and your stupid act, you’re not even the real Charlie and I will prove it to you.”

“You’re- uh- you’re not gonna stab me are ya? You wouldn’t stab good old slimey over here? Only, I swallow a lot of board game pieces and you really won’t wanna-” 

“WILL YOU JUST SHUT UP-!”

Oh, they were pissed now.

Ranboo reached out and snatched the fake-looking green horns from his head, snapping them in two with almost no effort. They hold them up in Charlie’s face.

“ See?  You’re not even real, you're just some- some TV show character!” 

The fight went out of them all of a sudden, and they collapsed backwards onto the sofa. Right back where they started. The knife clatters to the floor, it was never going to be used anyway. 

“I just want Charlie back.” 

“... Ranboo?”

Ranboo’s gaze snaps up at Charlie. Wait, what? His loud obnoxious persona had vanished, leaving one very confused looking man.

“What the… where am I? Is this my house? What am I- Why am I covered in slime? ”

To accentuate this, Charlie attempts to peel some slime off of his suit and show Ranboo. This is in fact Not Going To Happen On His Watch, and Ranboo leaned further backwards in the chair. They can reunite at a safe distance from whatever that is. 

“Charlie?” 

For the first time since the loop had begun, Charlie didn’t have an annoying as fuck expression on his face. Did that actually work? It was his horns the whole time?

“Uh, care to explain what the fuck is happening Ranboo? Since you’re here, with me, in my… cabin? Why are we in my house? I swear I was just… Oh, and while you’re at it can you tell me why the hell I look like I’ve just been slimed on Nickelodeon?”

Ok, this was definitely Charlie. If Showfall was still controlling him, he would’ve never passed up an opportunity to mention Christian Hell. This brings up the very important fact that Ranboo has no fucking idea how to explain this situation. He didn’t really expect to get this far. 

“I’m not entirely sure you’d believe me, man.”

“I’d take anything at this point.”

Ranboo takes a breath and tries to think of a quick way to get Charlie up to speed.

“Have you heard of the Truman Show?”

-

After some explaining that Ranboo would rather never have to do again, Charlie looks dumbfoundedly at him.

“What.”

He turns around, before immediately regretting it and doing the quickest 180 turn Ranboo has ever seen. 

“Charlie, I think we need to leave. As soon as possible.”

Charlie throws his hands in his hair, too far into shock to properly compute things.

“You think? What the fuck was that Ranboo! Is that a camera crew, man!?”

“I already told you-”

“Yeah alright you did, but that's not exactly what I was expecting- you just told me you died?”

“ Yes . Now let’s not bring it up anymore and just get out of here.”

Charlie takes a deep breath.

“Ok, ok, yeah. Ok I can- I can do that. Ok.”

Behind the camera, previously dormant people -can he call them people?- in Showfall masks start to move and Ranboo takes that as the cue to run for the damn hills, dragging a very lost and slightly hysterical Charlie along with him. 

The latter gets the message and books it out of the Cabin, still holding Ranboo’s hand. He tells himself it’s just because they seem to know where they’re going. He can push down the very much incoming panic about reality with adrenaline for a little bit longer. Getting The Fuck Out is the main priority. Leave now, cry later.

Ranboo mutters the shop names, Charlie thinks he catches a ”SUB A” in there, as they look for wherever the hell they’re going now. The Showfall company logo emblazoned practically every window of the place, painted in the same colour as the alarming amount of occasional blood stains across the floor. He wonders about how the fuck they got the budget before realising that that is the stupidest thing to focus on right now. Charlie would’ve looked around more if he wasn’t running purely on survival instinct right now.

Ranboo takes a sharp left, nearly slipping on the mall tiles as if their shoes were designed to have no traction on them. (Maybe they were.)

Charlie gets dragged into what appears to be the costume section, and immediately gets stuck to about five different things on the clothing rack. Slime covered clothes are not ideal. 

Ranboo stops for breath and leans against the wall in general shock. They both hold their breaths.

Rustle of clothing hangers. 
The tick of a clock. 
Buzzing fluorescent lights. 
No footsteps.

They breathe out. No Showfall staff just yet. Charlie attempts to wiggle out of his costume the same way one tries to catch a fish with their hands: unsuccessfully and a lot slimier than when you started. After an embarrassing couple of moments, he finally manages to manoeuvre awkwardly out of his suit jacket, leaving it tangled in the assorted costumes. The hell is that slime made out of? Pure glue? 

“I'm going to get out of this outfit before I get glued to the employees chasing us or something.”

Ranboo nods from the corner, and points to a rack of clean suits that seem to match the Showfall Staff. 

Charlie ignores his growing panic over being completely out of his depth in this situation and follows the idea. It’s all they have right now.

A few minutes later, Charlie emerges from the back in a slightly too big employee uniform. 

“Those slimy clothes are now safely in a bin. Ranboo, please tell me you have a plan.”

Ranboo turns to him from where they were rummaging through various tubs of useless  items.

“It’s not… a great plan.”

“Oh and that’s just so comforting isn’t it?”

“Well it’s the only plan I’ve got, ok? Those employees are partly made of wires, so they must act partly like machines-“

“Wait, how do you know they’re not human? Did you stab one of them to check or what?”

Ranboo grimaces under the mask, not really wanting Charlie to know he got that guess correct first try. 

“As I was saying, if they are partly machines, maybe they won’t recognise you as a fake. And we can pretend that you’re an employee that’s found me or- or something. I don’t know.”

They both completely understand how risky that was, but they are desperate and out of options here. Charlie paces back and forth and runs a hand through his hair.

“I don’t have a mask.”

“No you don’t, and I am not risking going and getting one for you. That’s why I’ve got this.”

Ranboo holds up a white plastic thing. Ah, they must have been rummaging in the props and accessories box. It looked like a blank masquerade mask of a full face. What kind of costumes and episodes did Showfall have planned where they needed that? Ranboo had hastily drawn Showfall’s logo on the front in black Sharpie. It’s a pretty bad imitation, but if the employees are truly no longer human then hopefully they wouldn’t notice. 

“Well, it’s better than nothing.”

Charlie takes the mask and attempts to tie it on, until Ranboo has to stand up and helps tie the knot in the back because Charlie’s hands shake too much. Ranboo doesn't mention it.

Looking in the mirror, Charlie spots the most obvious problem.

“Ranboo, the Staff don’t need eye holes. They’ll be able to tell im a fake if they see my eyes. Right?”

Ranboo fidgets with the hem of their jacket. Charlie is reminded that they are nineteen(19) years old. Fucking hell. Ranboo takes one very long breath before walking back to the accessories box. Charlie gets an astronomically bad feeling. The feeling intensifies as Ranboo returns with a white blindfold.

“Ranboo.”

“I know you won’t be able to see. But we can’t just wait here for them to kill us.”

“Ranboo. You want me to walk back out into that death trap blind? ”

“Well if you don’t have eyes it’s harder to detect you as a person. Ok? And if you’re meant to be escorting a captured me, I’ll be standing right next to you. I’ll tell you what direction to go.”

Charlie holds the blindfold uncertainly. They’re stuck in a prop shop. Showfall employees most likely everywhere in the building swarming around like ants. It’s not fair. Either this or die here, surrounded by shitty clothes. 

Charlie slips on the blindfold. 

“Fine. I trust you.”

Ranboo links their elbows, and guides Charlie towards the door. The mask is definitely going to become uncomfortable. How does Ranboo manage this?

“Just follow my lead ok? I’ll be your eyes. I’ll have to act pretty unresponsive but I’ll- I’ll push you in directions or something. This will work.”

The reassurance sounds like it was more for both of them rather than just Charlie. He takes a breath, prays to a God he doesn’t believe in, and Ranboo takes a step forward. Charlie lags behind. 

“What if- what if I walk into a wall or a person , or the plan doesn’t work and they recognise me? They will kill us, Ranboo.”

Ranboo squeezes their linked arms in reassurance. It’s this or nothing.

“You can do this, Charlie. Just, walk like you can see.” 

Charlie takes a deep breath in, and walks forward. Twin footsteps from his dress shoes and Ranboo’s trainers echo through the mall. A slight push to the left and Charlie slowly turns, trying his best not to give away how incredibly unprepared he is for this. 

There’s old ambient shopping music playing from somewhere. His footsteps ring his ears slightly. It’s too quiet. Who knew being blind would put all your senses on hyperdrive.

He can’t see. He can’t see. Charlie focuses all of his energy into trying not to shake as he gingerly walks ahead. He won’t hit a plant. He won’t hit the railings. He won’t run into Staff. Ranboo’s presence next to him is his only lifeline, and he holds onto them for dear life. Charlie takes a shuddered breath in. Ranboo’s presence next to him stiffens.

From his right, they whisper something he can barely make out.

“ Try not to breathe.” 

The Staff don’t need to breathe. They’ll notice him.

Charlie stills completely. A slightly frightened nudge from Ranboo kicks him back into walking forward. He tries not to picture whatever Ranboo saw that is currently here with them. Don’t think about the invisible threat, Charlie. Ranboo is counting on you to make it out alive.

Another set of methodical footfalls start to creep closer. Ranboo must have seen the Staff. Charlie fights the urge to freeze or run and keeps walking shakily forward. The footsteps draw closer, and Charlie’s body naturally tries to brace for an impact. Charlie shudders through it. Baby steps. Ranboo pushes him gently to the right, and the footfalls gradually walk away. The echo’s make it hard to tell where any of them are.

Charlie let out the breath he was holding. Ranboo gives an encouraging squeeze. Their shity mask worked . He can do this. He steps hesitantly as if he’ll walk into a wall. 

The next stressful couple of minutes are navigated in the same fashion. Charlie stays near to what he hopes for his sanity is the railing. It's when Ranboo tenses again that Charlie’s nerves really flair back up. What had they seen?

Fluorescent lights still buzz. There’s distant sounds of things moving. The clacking of dress shoes on hard tiles. Lots of pairs of footsteps. Charlie holds his breath. Get a hold of yourself. It’s just an unknowingly large number of people that want to kill you, that you can't see. No big deal.

Walk like you can see, Charlie.

Achingly slowly, he moves forward with Ranboo’s limp body leaning against him. He knows it’s for the act, but when you’re blind the imagination runs wild. He is not dragging Ranboo’s dead body. He won’t walk into anyone. Don’t breathe. Do not fucking breathe. Breathe and they both die.

One foot in front of the other. Imagine you’re just playing a game. Go forwards.

A nudge to the left. There’s too many footsteps echoing in his ears. He hears some Staff stop near him. Cold footsteps sound from every direction. Don’t think about how you’re surrounded. Walk forwards, hold your breath. Blend in. Nudge to the right. 

He can hear Ranboo breathing. 

Left.

Stop.

Left.

Right.

The footsteps start to lessen, and the tile changes to something else. 

Breathe in quickly, hold.

Right.

Stop.

Left.

There’s only the occasional unidentified footsteps now. He can breathe again. A whisper from his right.

“Good. Thank you.”

Charlie has never been more thankful for Ranboo’s existence. Until he hears the next part of the plan.

“Exit’s bottom floor. Stairs.”

Oh what the the fuck. Charlie resists the urge to take the blindfold off and glare at the universe. Stairs? Ranboo must be insane to suggest he can do that. They are either telepathic or smart enough to understand how much of an ask that is because there’s another squeeze from his right. 

“Small step.”

Charlie takes the most shaky and hesitant step forward of his life. The ground is bumpy. A broken escalator? He gets a confirmation squeeze from Ranboo. Charlie is this close to taking off the blindfold. How is he meant to walk downstairs like he can see?!

It’s when Ranboo suddenly starts shaking next to him that he instinctively reaches for the bannisters of the escalator. Thankfully, his hands find them and he clings on so hard he might get finger cramps. Ranboo’s breathing is speeding up. What the fuck is he meant to do now. Something in the plan has clearly gone wrong, and he has no idea what it is.

Suddenly there’s a low, almost growling noise from somewhere on his left. The screeching sound of tiny bits of metal dragging across stone fills the air as large lumbering footsteps come towards him. Oh shit.  

Ranboo fully tugs him away from the escalator drop, and sends Charlie stumbling backwards. The panic properly kicks in when Ranboo unhooks their arms leaving Charlie completely alone in the dark.

Jerky hands reach at his face and Charlie bats them away in complete defensive overdrive. What the fuck is that. It’s going to kill me-

Then the blindfold is off, mask with it, and Ranboo’s frantic face greets him. Charlie hisses out a very loud whisper.

“What the fuck are you doing?!- the plan-“

“To hell with the plan Charlie we have to GO!”

Ranboo sounds petrified and it jumpstarts something in Charlie and forces him into action. He gets a glimpse of the big thing approaching them. Ranboo slaps a hand over his mouth before he can scream and drags him into a sprint away from that thing.

The two run with no destination, dodging groups of Staff as the monster gives chase. It’s one hulking seven(7) foot mass of wires and cables, with a screenless old TV making up what he assumes is its head. And it is fucking fast.

“Ranboo- Ranboo what the fuck is that?!”

They’ve got a death grip on his hand, tugging him into alleys between shops and around pillars all the while the monster stays perfectly at pace with them.

“Security.”

The thing- Security - roars. A crowd of Staff flood around the corner Ranboo was about to take and the two are forced into a U-turn as the perfectly synchronised Staff pursue in a dead sprint.

Charlie takes too sharp a turn and loses grip on their hand.

“Ranboo!”

Stricken, Ranboo turns back for a moment. That’s enough time for the Staff to block the last exit, and a cold realisation to flood Charlie. The Staff had been herding them. Rounding them up like spooked sheep.  Right into the jaws of-

“Charlie!”

Ranboo screams as Security tackles Charlie to the floor. There’s blood on the tiles where he hits his head. Wires crush the air out of his lungs. There’s metal cutting into him-

“Ranboo,” He’s choking ,” RUN!”

“Charlie! Charlie, get up !”

Ranboo’s voice breaks as their friend goes limp. The Staff descends upon them, and all Ranboo can stare at is the blood pooling from beneath the wires. There’s the stab of a needle in their neck and Ranboo manages to punch one of them square in the face before the world goes dark.

-

It's a slow process waking up, as Ranboo blinks rapidly to make the world more than a mess of shapes. As soon as memory kicks back in, Ranboo is wide awake thrashing in the chains they knew would bind their wrists and legs. Charlie. After a moment, they go slack in the chair. Charlie died. Again. To Security. Again.  

They feel like crying. This isn’t fair. They were going to escape. Escape and have a normal fucking life. Why did Showfall have to ruin it?

The TV flicks on, and The Puzzler goes through his lines. Ranboo doesn’t even protest as 10,000 volts stun them into temporary unconsciousness. Charlie died even earlier than he would’ve normally. He didn’t rescue Sneeg. And Showfall just has the gall to put him back here like nothing happened. 

Ranboo unlocks his chains with the middle key. He has to check. Charlie is in the next room. He has to know if everything that happened has been wiped away from his memory.

They push the door to the ‘surgery’ room open, and sure enough Charlie is on the table. 

“…Charlie?”

“Woah dude, are you my doctor bro?”

Any hope in Ranboo’s heart breaks. Charlie doesn’t remember. 

From that point on Ranboo falls into a daze. Their hands move on their own, completing puzzles and watching other people he could’ve saved die before his eyes. Nothing matters. Nothing can get past the haze in his head of Charlie screaming. 

His hands move, his mouth speaks, people die and his legs run. The box snaps shut and Ranboo makes a promise. They’re saving Charlie the next time around. 

Chapter Text

They’re awake.

They’ve got a fucking awful headache, but they’re awake.

Ranboo springs into action.

7 minutes until Charlie appears.

7 minutes to make a plan.

6 minutes.

Dying by the box trap gave Ranboo his memories back permanently.

5 minutes.

Planning would be easier if they both remembered the previous loops.

4 minutes.

But Charlie was their friend, they couldn’t do that to him- they promised in the last loop they would save him.

3 minutes.

“Ranboo- RUN!” 

This is saving him. Isn’t it?

2 minutes.

One more time. Charlie will only have to die one more time.

1 minute.

The choice is made.

5, 4, 3, 2, 1-

“BOO, BITCH!”

The smoke clears.

Ranboo leaps into action.

Go through the motions.

Christian Hell.

Cooking show.

Sneeg in the basement.

Fight them both.

Grab Sneeg’s hat for later, it might come in handy. Don't offer an explanation as to why his hat just got stolen. 

Remember to keep the weird Slimecicle towel, maybe it can help wake Charlie.

Walk out the door.

Needle in the back of the neck.

Wake up.

It’s the middle key.

Escape the chair.

Walk next door.

“Hey bro, you the doctor in here? Because I’ve been waiting for a while now-”

Bingo.

Ranboo rips the blanket off of Charlie and places the slimy towel over his face, grimacing slightly. This is the most disgusting paradox he’s had to use yet.

This had better work. Listen, they don't exactly have any other ideas. If it works he promises he will never even think about doing it again.

Charlie spluttered, throwing the towel onto the floor and spitting out slime.

“What the- Ranboo?”

Thank fuck. Ranboo picks up the towel and puts it back in his pocket for later. Who knows when you might need an emergency slime towel.

“Charlie, I need your help.”

Charlie looks at him like the epitome of a lost puppy. He opens his mouth, realises he has no descriptors for the shock currently overwhelming every bone in his body, and settles for simply going slack on the operating table like a sack of potatoes.

Ranboo experimentally waves a hand over his face.

“Charlie? You with me? I know this is a lot, but we don’t have the time.”

Charlie just nods, unable to string any more complex actions together yet, and pushes himself into a sitting position. He looks around the room, at himself as if only just properly understanding it. 

“What’s going on? Why do we have to go? Where…why am I in a hospital gown? Why have you got Sneeg’s hat?”

Ranboo hardens any nerve they have left.

“Charlie. I’ve got some explaining to do.”

—

“ What.”

“No, I know, it’s crazy. But you have trust me here-”

Charlie swings his leg off of the table and hops to the concrete floor and immediately wishes he had socks on. That’s when the camera man decides to show up again.

Charlie looks from the cameraman to Ranboo and back again.

“What.”

“Look just- just come with me, ok?”

“HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO- WHAT? I was- I was just in my house, my cabin- How did I get here? Why did you put slime on my face? Wh-what the fuck is going on?”

“I’ll get you home, Charlie. You have to come with me. This isn’t where you’re- you’re meant to be.”

Guilt slammed into them like a truck, but they pushed it away. Charlie was meant to be leading a normal life right now, not being some plaything in the name of entertainment.  It didn’t matter. They had to get Charlie to understand first. Then they could both go home. 

Wherever home was.

“I just- I was home. Just a few seconds ago, I swear- Wasn’t I…?”

All Ranboo can do is contain their tears as Charlie keeps talking.

“What…what if they kill me? Us? I- this doesn't make any sense, Ranboo.”

Ranboo winced. That’s what they’re counting on.

“It’s ok, I’ll get you out of here.”

The lie tastes sour in their throat. This was in Charlie’s best interests. Right?

No matter what they try to preach to themselves, the guilt keeps bubbling upwards and clawing at his throat with unforgiving fingers. 

It’s for Charlie’s own good.

“But first, we have to get you some better clothes because I'm not leaving you in a hospital gown.”

“Good plan.”

—

Now wearing Ranboo’s jacket and shoes over the gown, Charlie followed them into the next room in utter bewilderment. 

“What- who are all these people, Ran?”

“They’re trapped here like us, we get to choose who we want to help us escape.”

There’s a pointed cough. The people on the carousel, is that a skeleton, have paused their pleas of escape to look disappointedly in their direction. Except for Niki, who continues wailing and ruining her mascara. 

Sneeg, ever the snark, pipes up first. 

“You know we can hear you, right?”

“What-?”

Charlie turns to face Ranboo with an imploring look. Ranboo sometimes forgets that everyone else isn't as desensitized to The Puzzler’s makeshift Saw movie as they are.

“Ran, we can’t just leave them here, right? They probably have lives to get back too…”

Charlie trails off as Ranboo sighs and his hands find Sneeg’s slimy hat from the Cabin still tucked into his waistband. Austin starts loudly talking about the many children he must get back to. 

They want to save the others, really they do, but they can’t jeopardise this run. For Charlie’s sake, things have to go according to plan. Even though that means both of them ending this loop dead.

But if it means keeping Charlie’s trust, then they’ll go along with it. 

“We’re allowed to take two of them, I’m sorry.”

There isn't time to spiral into a pit of self-hatred over the million manipulation tactics he is currently having to use, so they lean in close and whisper.

“I know how to free some of them. Trust me.”

“Oh- ok! But shouldn’t we take the nice-looking lady in red? She seems really upset and all.”

Niki looks up and immediately stops crying. She starts tugging at her restraints in an effort to turn around and face Charlie from her place on the wheel.

“I’m nice! I’m really really nice, please choose me I’m so friendly and I’ll really help your team-”

Charlie jumps back slightly. 

“Whoa- how did she do that?”

“I don’t know, man.”

They tune out Niki’s pleas as Charlie seems closer and closer to tears, waiting for the inevitable.Just then, the Puzzler entered the room again while holding his plastic mask over his face in order to maintain a form of mysteriousness. Or at least attempts to, until he gives up completely and loses it to reveal his full glory. The synchronised gasps from everyone in the room never gets old. 

Charlie yelps.

“Wait, Ran, who’s that?”

“The Puzzler. Don’t worry, he’s mostly harmless.”

Charlie stares at the very real detonator in The Puzzler’s hand and privately disagrees.

“Well, well, well! Look who our Hero’s brought with them! I must say, this was not part of my plan, but I like it! Now, let’s get this machine going!”

Whispers of “Is that Gigachad?!” echo from the carousel.

“Yes! I’ve always liked to think of myself as Gigachad, you know, as a young lad- Oh! There we go!”

The carousel started turning. One by one, each contestant gave their reasons to live, except for Frank (who Charlie is pretty sure died a long time ago) and Sneeg, who just stares blankly into the distance, all evidence of snark mysteriously gone.

“Well then, how about we let our Hero pick? Ah, who am I kidding, you know the drill by now.” The Puzzler waves towards the innocents stuck on the carousel with his detonator like it was a magic wand.

Ranboo’s head snapped up, but their attention was quickly diverted by Charlie tapping their shoulder.

“Ran? Who are we picking?”

Right, shelve that odd remark for later. He studied the contestants, remembering how they’d acted in previous runs. Sneeg was the first obvious choice, but Austin also seemed to consistently make it the furthest out of all of them. He also had an odd habit of looking directly into the camera. Ranboo sometimes questions if his mind control even works. Austin was the only one to really react to deaths after all…

“Puzzler, we’re taking Sneeg and Austin.”

“Ah, normally we let them pick but if that's where this is going then sure. The one with many many wives and children. Good choice, Hero!”

The other contestants started shouting and crying, tugging against their restraints as they tried to plead with Ranboo to make a different choice.

“Ran? What do we do? Aren’t they going to die? And who’s ‘them ?’”

“Don’t worry, they won’t get blown up. They need spares in case something goes wrong.” 

Ranboo intentionally leaves out explaining the audience’s existence, they don’t have time right now.

“Wait what?”

They are interrupted by The Puzzler striding over and plucking Sneeg’s hat from his hands, turning it over in his own and grinning as Ranboo makes vain attempts to snatch it back.

“What’s this? This is a… funky lookin’ hat, that’s for sure. Let me just-”

He threw the detonator haphazardly over his shoulder and one of the Rats scrambled to catch it, causing the contestants to shriek in fear. He laughed absentmindedly, bringing the hat closer to his face to peer at it.

“Well, you know what? This looks like it would suit… eenie, meenie, miney- YOU!”

He points at Sneeg and gleefully hops through the chain-link fence door, placing the hat on his head with an extravagant flourish. Ranboo watches, groaning internally, as Sneeg’s expression changes from vacant to panicked. He looks at Ranboo, who is frantically shaking his head and making a “NO!” motion with his hands. Sneeg cannot fuck this up and get caught.

The blank expression fully clears, and Sneeg’s eyes widen in understanding. Ranboo breathes a sigh of relief as The Puzzler makes some blithe comment about the hat matching Sneeg’s hoodie. They notice Austin staring at them weirdly out of the corner of their eye. Beside them, Charlie is looking from Sneeg to Ranboo with a confused expression.

“Ran, what just-”

“The hat wakes him up. Paradox stuff. I was planning on using it later, but Mr. Gigachad over here had other plans.”

“Ohh. That makes more sense of the gross fucking towel you just had to put on my face.”

The Puzzler interrupts their conversation by strutting over, closely followed by Sneeg and Austin. ( After a long unnecessary game of duck duck goose that Ranboo has learnt to take as white noise.)

“Ok then, Ranboo! Let’s move on to the next round! Wouldn’t want to keep our audience waiting now, would we?”

Charlie once again looks like he’s about to get into a crisis, and Austin’s eyes widen.

“Wait wait wait, what do you mean by ‘audience’? You mean those guys?” He gestured to the camera man.

“Never mind! Now, through the tunnel you go! Go on, get in there!”

Charlie crawled ungracefully through first, then Austin and Sneeg. Ranboo did the logical thing and used the door right next to it. 

“I’ll see you guys later! For now, bye-bye! There’s a cheesecake out there with my name on it!”

The Puzzler retreated, leaving only the group and a few Rats in the room.

Austin and Sneeg immediately turn on Ranboo.

“What the fuck is this place?”

“Are we safe? Can I drop the act?”

They wince as the pair’s loud voices echo around the room. 

“Keep it down, he’ll hear you.”

Their voices drop to a Theatrical Stage Whisper type quality, losing none of the bewilderment and fear.

“Ranboo, what do we do now?”

He takes a deep breath and starts to explain.

“Sneeg, I swiped your hat from the cabin earlier so I wouldn’t have to cut it out of him- ”

“You wouldn’t what?”

“- sorry Charlie, I’ll tell you later. I was planning on waking you up here, but The Puzzler snatched it off of me. Do you know what’s going on?”

He nods determinedly. 

“I remember being in the cabin-”

“What Cabin?”

“- It’s where me and Charlie were before we got here-”

“Then why does he look like he’s just come out of a hospital?”

“I had to wake him up here.”

“Ah.”

“ Anyway , Sneeg, do you remember-”

They pause. Would it be too risky to admit they’re in a time loop? Would the others even believe them? What if Showfall found out? Never mind, then.

“Remember what?”

“Don’t worry, we’re working with limited time here. Austin, what do you know?”

He swallows, temporarily losing some of his confidence.

“I remember seeing the cameras. Nobody else mentioned them, so I kept my mouth shut. Said what that- that weird mindfuckery kept telling me to say. Then you turned up and I could tell- I could tell you knew something as well. If you don’t mind me asking, what the fuck is going on here?”

The cameraman lurking in the corner that none of them had noticed before moved closer to Ranboo, zooming in on his expression. He batted it away irritably.

“We’re on a live TV show, and they- ”

Ranboo gestured to the camera.

“-are the audience. I woke up with memories of how this place works, for some reason, and I know the way out. Maybe they messed up my ‘programming’, I’m not sure. I can get you guys out.”

The lie adds another weight to their shoulders, but they can’t afford to get distracted.

The three look at him in various levels of existential crises. 

“I’m really sorry. We can have time to process later, believe me I know, but we have to go.”

Sneeg places a hand on their shoulder that they try not to flinch at and nods, eyes full of terror and resolve.

“I trust you, Ranboo. It’s good to know I’m not alone in this shithole.”

Memories of a previous run flashed into their mind, as well as the Puzzler’s words from his first loop.

“Fuck, I was going to have- monsters coming out of these cubicles in a minute but it’s all useless now-”

Shit. Better make it fast.

“Yeah, um, thank you, but we actually really really need to leave this room now or we’re all going to end up dead.”

A chorus of various “WHAT THE FUCK”’s echoed around the room.

“Like I said, no time to explain. Charlie, I need you to vomit until you get a small plastic piece that looks like a net. Everyone else, start assembling that board game over there-”

Ranboo looked over amidst the other contestant’s confusion, realising that the Rats were already assembling the board game. One of them held up the piece that should’ve been missing and winked.

“- wow, thank you. Ok everyone else, forget everything I just said and come help the Rats.”

“Uhhh, Ran, why did you want me to vomit?”

“Don’t worry about that, we need to get out of here quick.”

Charlie makes a hysterical shrug of “sure, I guess I’ll never know” and moves to help the Rats, because he needs something to do lest he collapse on the floor and have a mental break.

The Puzzler was rambling about lickable walls, seemingly too engrossed in his story to notice that no one was listening to him.

The group gathered around the table, helping the Rats finish assembling Mouse Trap and letting the little red cage fall neatly onto the prize just as a secret door opened. It’s so much more helpful when they don’t have to decipher whatever bullshit those instructions are written in.

“Come on, guys!”

Ranboo thinks he catches an annoyed noise from The Puzzler hiding in the cubicle, and an even more annoyed follow up noise as he breaks the door by hastily trying to get through it. A recurring problem it seems. Ranboo ushers everyone through and thanks the Rats before entering the next room.

“You better deliver on that promise of letting us process this shit later.”

“I wi-”

Ranboo was interrupted by the sound of an intercom crackling.

“Hello again. What you see before you is a room of deadly lasers.”

There were groans from the group of “Not this guy again” and “Why are there deadly lasers in a warehouse?”

Ranboo’s foot tapped the ground anxiously as they listened to the Puzzler continue his speech. They were on a really tight schedule if Charlie was going to get his memories back. Guilt tried to claw its way up his spine again, but he pushed it down.

“-you will get OBLITERATED. Oh! See that diamond over there? I would reach it if I were you, it’s your only way out. Good luck, you’re absolutely going to need it!”

Shit. Let’s just get this over with.

Sneeg cleared his throat.

“Uhh, Ranboo, how exactly do we get out of this room again?”

They took out the weird slimy towel from their pocket again and threw it unceremoniously at the nearest laser, where it promptly caught fire and got crushed by an anvil. Austin looks increasingly disturbed at the screaming towel.

The lasers flickered and died.

“How the hell did you manage to do that?”

“Just dumb luck I guess?”

Practice. It was practice. Ranboo grimaced, recalling the many, many hours spent in this room over and over trying to find the quickest route, and actually managing to hit the damn lazer. There was an embarrassing amount of missing involved. 

Slimecitowel’s sacrifice would be remembered. Charlie briefly considered holding a funeral for what was apparently his past incarnation. 

The group walked forwards and took the diamond, immediately finding themselves in the Puzzler’s extravagantly large walk-in wardrobe. There was a ludicrous amount of wigs. Is this guy a drag queen in his spare time?

“WHAT?”

Charlie looked around in confusion.

“Ran, what’s going on?”

“I don’t really know either, man.”

They weren’t exactly lying. They’d done enough loops to know for certain they’d never actually understand how this works.

It was getting tricky trying to conceal the fact that they’d done all of this before, but who knows if the others would even trust him if he started ranting about time loops and homicidal plans to kill your friends-

Charlie’s voice breaks them out of their free-fall into the roiling pit of guilt in his stomach.

“Ah. Perfectly logical- WAIT ARE THOSE CLOTHES?”

Charlie dives towards the nearest clothes rack in favour of ditching his current hospital gown-jacket-shoes fashion obscenity, and the others look around in shock.

“Is this meant to be The Puzzler’s wardrobe or something?”

“Yes, yes it is actually. Probably. You know what, I’m not sure.”

“What the shit ?”

Ranboo finds the button on the wall and presses it, trying to get through this room before The Puzzler turns up and inevitably gets his ass jammed in the secret door again. As much as they would love to repeat the dress up party of the first run, they have a goal to get to.

Everyone shrieks as the room starts to glow in the blacklight, revealing the messages scrawled along the walls.

Charlie re-emerges from Narnia in a passable outfit.

“Ran, what are we supposed to do now? Also, here's your jacket and shoes back.”

Ranboo shrugs on the jacket and mentally rejoices no longer running for his life in only Spider-Man socks.

“Thanks. It says the exit is this way.”

“Wait- we’re just going to trust it?”

Austin’s scepticism would be useful in any other situation, but memories of spinning doors and blood pooling on the floor invade his mind helpfully.

“I woke up with memories of this place, remember? Don’t ask me how because I really don’t know, but this is definitely the right way.”

He nods, squinting suspiciously at Ranboo’s mask as they lead the way into the next room, ignoring The Puzzler’s speech and waiting for the explosion.

“WHOA- WHAT THE FUcK?” 

Ranboo fiddles with a rubix cube on the shelf because this amount of nervous energy wasn’t doing any favours.

“Yeah, he’s gone now.”

“BRO, I MEAN LIKE- SERIOUSLY? We’re just cool with that? Also, is anyone else in this room getting deja vu?”

Sneeg nods in response to Austin’s question. Ranboo takes a minute to wish The Puzzler luck in Christian Hell.

“Ok, guys, we need to press that button over there.”

“What, the big red one that says ‘Do Not Push, Danger!’ on it? With the stick of dynamite in front?” 

He could’ve cut and served the amount of sarcasm in that sentence to a family of four. Ranboo tosses the now finished rubix cube to the side. Composure, Ranboo. Get it together.

“Yep, that one. The wall is going to start moving and we all need to fit through a gap in it. Just line up behind me and you’ll all be fine.”

“Are you sure about this, Ran?”

Guilt, invasive and unrelenting, worms its way back into Ranboo’s stomach. Shit. They’d been trying to avoid this the whole run. Charlie looked so trusting , and they were going to knowingly send him to his death.

“Ran?”

“Huh? Yeah, I’m sure.”

They moved the dynamite, trying to quell their rising doubts, and reached out to press the button. It’s never exploded before , but who can be too careful here. 

“See? Probably fine. Ok, everyone get into position behind me.”

“Wait, wait, hold on.”

Austin moves in front of the button and stares at them accusingly.

“I get that this is an awful situation and all, and we need to stick together, but are we just supposed to trust you? You’re the only one with a Showfall mask on! You say you just ‘ woke up with memories of this place’ but you seem to be able to predict everything that happens next! How do we know you’re not another Rat, huh? Like them ?”

He gestures to the Rats lurking in the doorway, and Ranboo notices absent-mindedly that the previous ones had disappeared. Showfall doesn’t like their protagonists getting help, huh?

Instead of the bouncy brunette Rat that had helped set up MouseTrap, this Rat was a scruffy blond with a distinctly British accent. He kept staring at him with blue eyes, perhaps a few steps off of recognition. If Ranboo had the time to stick around, he would’ve found him annoying at first. Something far back in Ranboo’s mind itched to find something familiar in the feeling, but the memory evaded them.

Charlie moved over to take their arm, staring Austin down defensively.

“I believe Ran’s telling the truth.They're trying to help us, and it’s not like any of us have any more plausible stories here! We all just woke up with no memories! Is it really so unbelievable that they could get us out of here?”

A twinge of guilt at Charlie defending them nagged at the back of their mind, but they ignored it.

Sneeg joined them both.

“Yeah Austin, I get that you’re concerned and all but this kid’s got wires stuck in his face. You really think that's what he wants?”

Austin sighed and looked down.

“Yeah, I guess. I’m sorry, man, I just- This place is really fucking with my head, you know?”

Oh, Ranboo knows all right.

“Sure man, don’t worry about it.”

He stepped aside and Ranboo moved closer to the button, motioning to the others to stand in a line.

They pushed the button. The wall moved closer and closer, and one by one the group passed through unharmed. How they hadn’t thought of this before wasn’t considered.

Sneeg laughed in relief.

“Phew! That was like, the easiest puzzle yet! This Puzzler guy sucks at traps. Worst Saw movie I’ve ever seen.”

Memories of Sneeg and Austin getting crushed by the wall flicker into Ranboo’s mind.

“Yeah, yeah sure.”

The group move into the next room, gasping at the sight of the Puzzler’s chair strewn with his remains. Ranboo gingerly steps in the dry spots between the blood as they lead the rest of the group like a frazzled mother duck and her ducklings. Except this duck was walking her kids into traffic.

“Ignore that, come on we have to go.”

They couldn’t let Hetch talk to the others. By now it was probably obvious what they were trying to do, and Ranboo wasn’t going to risk Showfall shutting them down when they’d come this far.

He guides everyone nearer to their first target. The Staff Office. 

“Ok, on the count of 3, we run towards the entrance and make it inside.”

“What- wait, shouldn't we have a plan?”

“Don’t worry. There should be a button in the heart of the facility that- that turns this whole place off. If we get to that, we can make it out.”

Charlie takes a deep breath, seeming to psych himself up before nodding. The others nod too, determination written across their faces. After all, if they’re lying it’s not like they’ve got any other plans. None of them notice Ranboo gripping their jacket so hard they’re knuckles turn white.

“Ok, ok. I can do that. I trust you.”

Ranboo winced again, but shook it off. Charlie needs to stop saying that or their mental health wont be able to take much more of it. Using Hetch’s words made their heart crack, but they had a job to do. Even if it hurt more than anything.  

“Ok, count of 3. Straight through those doors.”

Charlie takes a breath, mentally psyching himself up, and breaths out. Behind him, Austin stretches and Sneeg clenches and unclenches his fists.

“Alright, we’re ready.”

“1…2…3!”

Everyone bolts through the mall, shoes squeaking and skidding on the polished floors as they run past decrepit storefronts.

Charlie and the others barely keep pace behind him. Curse Ranboo’s longer legs.

“What are we looking for?”

Ranboo ducks around the corner adjacent to the Office, the rest of the group at his heels.

“We need four codes and a USB.”

“Right, of course we do.” Austin quips, breathing heavily as Ranboo tries not to panic.

They silently prayed to whoever was listening that Hetch would let them have this one. Surely, if they were still technically carrying out the plot, albeit with the roles reversed, they wouldn’t be breaking the immersion, right?

This had to work. They’d come too far now.

A horde of Showfall employees round the corner, and the group freezes momentarily before ducking behind a bench. Charlie clamps a hand over his mouth and looks at Ran, who is staring at their hands blankly.

If this didn’t work, if they sacrificed everyone for nothing-

Ranboo’s fingernails found the soft skin on their palms and dug in, hard. 

He jumps as Charlie puts a hand on his shoulder that he doesn’t have the heart to shrug off, though the touch makes him bristle with anxiety.

“You ok, Ran?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine. You know, just the normal amount of nerves. How are you holding up?”

“I feel like absolute shit from everything that’s happened so far but I’m feeling better now that we all have a plan. If this works Ranboo, I- you’d be my hero.”

Ranboo swallows the lump in their throat. Hetch’s words involuntarily come to mind.

“That was the real you, Ranboo. Your decisions, your choices that make other people die for you. That’s the hero in you, Ranboo.”

Ranboo forces a smile at Charlie. They won’t see it under the mask, but the thought is there.

“Sure man. Let’s just- do the plan.”

There's silence, only the squeaking of the Showfall guard’s polished dress shoes on the floor fading into the distance. Next to them, Sneeg has his eyes shut whilst Austin is staring into the distance, eyes wide with fear.

“You know you can talk about it right? Whatever is bothering you?”

Ranboo looks away from Charlie.

“I’m not really in a better state than you right now man, but if it helps I know some breathing exercises? You know, in for 4? hold for 7, out for 8?”

Great. More guilt. Ranboo looks at their friend, who’s trying to help them while being no less panicked himself. Fuck Charlie and his incessant need to be a good person. And Ranboo is going to kill him soon. They turn away again to prevent any of the group from noticing them start crying.

Once the last of the employees have disappeared from view, Ranboo leads the others in a slow jog inside the Office. He opened the doors slowly and stepped inside, trying not to alert the Showfall employees. All of them were just standing like mannequins, not even breathing. The Staff would never not be creepy. He ungracefully side steps past one, the rest of the group close behind. This had to work, they had to make it like this so that they could escape together. No amount of reassurance could stop the dread in his chest. If all went to plan, Charlie - and likely the rest of the group - would die before the hour is up. It made them ill.

Ranboo puts a finger to their lips- or where they would be under the mask- and everyone else follows suit, Sneeg leaning over to whisper in their ear.

“Where’s the stuff we need?”

They point to a small group of computers, and Charlie speed walks towards them in a way that would be funny in any other situation, and starts searching through drawers to retrieve the USB whilst Ranboo, Austin and Sneeg begin to pull the codes down from the wall and search for any sort of helpful information.

Red, Yellow, Green, Blue.

All of them ultimately useless, as they had found out over previous Information Loops. Not that they expected anything less from Showfall. Lying shits, all of them. Though it's not like Ranboo is any better than them now.

More guilt rose in his throat like bile as the others handed their findings to him, but they shoved it down. This had to work. They could escape after Charlie’s memories were restored. If it doesn't work, they’ll blame themselves for life.

“Ran! I’ve got it!”

Charlie’s voice rang out from across the room, and the Showfall employees’ heads snapped up. Ranboo knew full well that the guards weren’t voice activated, as Hetch had so very kindly reassured them on their first loop. Showfall is interfering. 

“Son of a- RUN, EVERYONE!”

The metal shutters at the far end of the shop start to move downwards as the group hurtles towards the exit, Ranboo and Charlie in the lead. They grab Charlie’s wrist and drop down to slide across the floor, barely making it through unscathed before the shutters snap down behind them. 

“Shit, shit shit shit- Sneeg and Austin are still in there!”

Charlie leaps up and begins banging on the metal shutters, but Ranboo pulls his hand away.

“Ran, we have to- we can’t leave them here- I have to help them-”

Tears run down Charlie’s face as Ranboo pulls him into a quick hug, the momentary comfort the most they are able to give in the current situation. Screams begin to echo from within the Office.

“Charlie, I’m sorry, they’re gone- we have to go, I’m so fucking sorry.”

Tears spill from their own eyes as Charlie shakes uncontrollably. More guilt churns inside them, the weight of Austin and Sneeg’s death adding to the growing number of fuck-ups he’d achieved so far.

It didn’t matter what they felt. They had to survive long enough to make sure Charlie got his memory back, make sure they both got out alive at the end of this nightmare. Then they could cry.

Charlie is gripping the USB with enough strength to kill God, and begins to walk further into the mall, tears still pouring down his face as he breathes in messy gulps of air.

“Ranboo, where the fuck do we go now?” 

They catch up with him and take a hold of his other hand, trying to provide a sense of comfort despite knowing how futile it was.

“We need to get to the heart of the building. Watch out for Security.”

Charlie whips his head up.

“Wait what’s Se-”

Unfortunately for his sentence, Ranboo grabs his arm and starts running, seconds before a swathe of masked guards round the corner behind them.

Oh fuck, fuck everything. Charlie cannot die yet. 

They still have to get to the button, and activate the controls so the box actually works-

“This way!”

Ranboo drags Charlie downstairs through a veritable maze of pillars and corridors, pure muscle memory guiding them both to their destination.

The pair reach the last stretch, barely one corner ahead of the Showfall guards, and Charlie slips, losing his grip on Ranboo’s hand.

No, no no FUCK no this is not happening again-

 Ranboo does a full 360 spin on the polished floor and scrambles to tug him upright, hauling Charlie towards the room

“Come on we’ve got to GO-”

Charlie finds his footing and the pair start running again, clenching each other’s hands tight enough to bruise as they clear the final few metres-

They reach the doors and haul the metal shutters into place, maybe 10 seconds before the thunderous noise of Showfall employees running past echoes in the room.

“Thank fuck, I think we lost them.”

Ranboo looks over to see Charlie bent over double, his limbs shaking as he sucks in rapid breaths.

“Charlie?”

They reach over to place a hand on his shoulder and Charlie recoils, eyes wide and panicked as he backs away.

“Charlie, it’s ok. We’re safe here.”

The lie tastes bitter on his tongue, but he’d say anything right now to get rid of that look on Charlie’s face.

“We’re not- we-”

Charlie bows his head again and Ranboo watches helplessly as his shoulders start to shake, arms folding inwards as a defensive gesture.

“We just left Sneeg and Austin and they’re dead now, Ran, they’re dead and I couldn’t do anything about it- and then- we were running and I slipped and I nearly killed the both- the both of us and it was all my fault-”

Charlie was kneeling on the floor now, and Ranboo knelt down in front of him, trying to keep from crying too because someone had to be strong here. His eyes kept flicking to the wall of screens and wires just metres away that would support Charlie’s corpse in less than half an hour-

“Hey, Charlie, look at me.”

He looked up, face stained with tears and eyes brimming with such guilt and fear that Ranboo couldn’t look directly at him.

“Can I hug you? Is that ok?”

“Yes.”

The word was so quiet that Ran could barely hear it, but it was there.

They reached forward and let Charlie crawl into their arms, wrapping their arms around him tightly.

Would Charlie ever let them come this close again if he found out what they were planning to do ?

“It’s not your fault. It’s this fucking place, Showfall, Puzzler, Hetch, all of them. You’re the best person I’ve ever known, Charlie. You can’t blame yourself for things like this, trust me, I know.”

Hypocrite , his mind whispered. Stupid hypocrite.

“Now, how about we go activate those controls, push the button that shuts this whole place down and get back to living our actual lives, yeah?”

Charlie sniffled into their shoulder before wiping his eyes and pulling back from the hug.

“Yeah. Where you go, I go. Thanks, Ran. I don’t know what I did to deserve someone as awesome as you as my friend.”

The words hit Ranboo like a punch to the gut, but they patted Charlie on the shoulder anyway.

“Thanks, man.”

Ranboo helps Charlie to his feet and they walk towards the control panel, silence permeating the room other than the occasional sniffle and the squeak of badly-manufactured shoes on the floor.

Charlie reaches it and stares down at the complicated mass of buttons and sliders covered by the shadows stretched thin across plastic and metal.

“Ran, what do I do now?”

“Ok, you need to plug in the USB and choose the correct code.”

“Which one is the correct one?”

“The red one, I think.”

Ranboo curses himself internally for having to break Charlie’s trust in them. But it was only a matter of time.

They watch as he inserts the USB and types in the code.

Alarms blare and he looks up, panicked.

“Fuck, Ran, what’s happening?”

“I think I chose the wrong code, shit Charlie I’m so sorry.” 

The lie slips easily off of his tongue, though they grimace under their mask. Charlie nods, his eyes glassy and tired , so absorbed in his mistake that he doesn't even realise it isn’t his fault. Ranboo’s heart cracks again, but they haven’t got any time to lose.

“Charlie, we have to go now before this place is swarming with guards.”

They grab his wrist and start speed-walking towards the Cabin, trying not to break down entirely when they hear another muffled sob from behind them.

Ranboo is currently fighting every urge in their god-damned body not to go hug Charlie, but the clock is ticking. They won’t have long before Security turns up.

The true realisation of what they’re doing truly starts to hit them, but they can’t turn back now. Not after everyone they sacrificed to get here.

Not when a chance at escape could be so close .

The pair enter the room with the Cabin, and Charlie stops dead in his tracks.

“What… what the fuck is this place.”

“Charlie-”

“This is my house, Ran. I live here… don’t I? What- wh- I don’t understand-”

“I’m sorry, Charlie. We’ll get these fuckers at Showfall back for this, you hear me?”

They meant every word, though it felt hollow knowing what was about to happen. What they were about to do.

“Ran- I don’t think I can- I don’t- Fuck. ”

Charlie presses a hand to his mouth, trying to hold back a fresh onslaught of tears. Ranboo swears he can hear chains clanking in the distance.

“Charlie, I’m so sorry, but we have to go. Can you do that for me?”

Charlie sniffles again and holds out his hand. Ranboo takes it and squeezes reassuringly. 

“I’ve got you, buddy.”

Charlie clings onto their hand like a lifeline as the two make their way past the Cabin towards the button. Ranboo squeezes his hand again, a false offer of comfort in the face of what they were about to do to him.

The pair reached the button.

“Ok, Charlie, are you ready?”

He sniffed loudly and wiped under his glasses with one hand, turning to face Ranboo with an expression like a kicked puppy.

“Ran, what if it doesn’t work?”

“It’ll work, trust me.”

Guilt threatened to consume them, but they pushed it down. It would all be over soon.

Keep telling yourself that, Ranboo.

“Alright… on the count of 3, I’ll push it.”

Ranboo stayed silent, trying to listen out for the telltale signs of Security.

“1, 2-”

A noise echoed in the distance. A wrenching, clanking, screeching noise that sent slivers of ice down their spines.

It got closer.

“Ran? What’s that?”

Charlie’s eyes darted over the

The noise paused. Silence fell over the room, close enough to breathe down your neck.

“Charlie, look out!”

Because, true to the loop, the lumbering form of Security emerges from behind the Cabin. Two clawed hands peak over the edge of the wall before the full monster rears its head. It is absolutely hideous.

Blood soaks the shattered TV screen, dripping off of the jagged glass shards and dotting the floor as Charlie screams.

Security lunges for him, revealing sharp serrated metal claws and grotesque wired arms-

“NO!”

Ranboo pushes Charlie out of the way, landing directly in the monster’s clutch and hitting the floor hard.

“Charlie! Push the button!”

He freezes, eyes locked on Ranboo struggling to get out underneath where Security has them pinned.

“ Run , Charlie! The button!”

They wince as the metal slices into their skin, already feeling a bump form where they hit their head on the tiles as his blood pools on the shiny floor.

Charlie hesitates for another moment, then slams his hands onto the button.

The lights go out, and Ranboo is dragged backwards, away from Charlie, away from the button-

They try to scream as more metal cuts deep into their flesh, but wires wrap around his mask and muffle the sound as Charlie disappears from view.

/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/

Ranboo wakes up to the sound of Charlie screaming.

A wave of nausea and throbbing waves and pulses through his head, and he tries to stand up only to be kindly reintroduced to the weight of a seven foot monster crushing his chest. They’re pinned lying against the hard linoleum floor, head tilted at an uncomfortable angle as the edges of the mask cut into his cheeks under the pressure. Blinking through the daze in their eyes, a small trail of blood shakes in and out of view in his vision. It leads all the way to themselves. A head injury? Did Security drag them all the way here? The sticky warmth of blood along the crown of their head only confirms it. Why didn’t Security just put them out of their misery?

They look up from where Security has them pinned on the floor, a fresh wave of horror washing through him at the sight.

Their vision still wavers and swings slightly from the blackout, but the nightmare in front of him is despairingly recognisable. Charlie is suspended from wires connected to the TV screens, most likely cutting circulation to his wrists, his feet dangling high above the floor so that his head fits into the metal box. It was designed for someone taller, after all. 

He is sobbing inconsolably, looking so lost and afraid-

Behind him, TV screens flash with familiar images. Charlie’s memories.

There’s the surgery room. The carousel. Mouse Trap.

The room with the lasers and The Puzzler’s wardrobe.

Running through the mall.

Charlie wandering through the silent rows of Showfall employees, tears running down his face as he calls for Ranboo, for help -

Ranboo’s stomach curdles.

But this is what you wanted, right Ranboo?

“Please- please let me go- I want to go home- Ranboo- what have you done to Ran -”

“Charlie?”

Fuck, their head aches from both the fall and the sedative. Ranboo tries not to start crying at the look on Charlie’s face when he sees they’re awake.

“Ran- I ”

“Charlie I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to- I wanted us to escape- ”

Charlie hiccups and sobs harder, his eyes wide and panicked.

“No, Ran, it’s- it’s all my fault-”

“No, Charlie-”

He says something that Ranboo barely catches, hanging his head low as the TV screens flicker in the background.

“You should’ve saved the others, they wouldn’t have fucked everything up this bad.”

Ranboo’s heart drops.

“No, no Charlie, please don’t say that-”

The TV screens flicker for a moment, Hetch’s face a stark contrast to the red background.

“Well, what have we here? It seems our valiant Hero has abandoned his purpose.”

Charlie’s face shifts to one of confusion and heartbreaking terror as he struggles to form words through the sobs wracking his body.

“Wh-what? Who- who is that, Ran?”

He looks at them, as if waiting for them to do something, to save him-

“Oh dear, looks like our Hero is regretting their decisions! What was it you were telling yourself, Ran? ”

Hetch’s use of the nickname stung, but not as much as the look on Charlie’s face.

“‘It’s for his own good’? What do you say to that now, hmmm?”

“R-ran- what- what the fuck is he-”

“I’m so fucking sorry Charlie-”

Without warning, Security clamped more wires around their face, completely covering their mask as he screamed, thrashing desperately against its inhuman grip, metal slicing through their jacket and cutting into their skin-

They had to save Charlie. This was a mistake. They couldn’t let him die -

Hetch laughs coldly. They swear the lights behind Charlie glow brighter.

Red LED blinds Ranboo for a moment as they panic. The mask is flashing.

But it’s best for Charlie isn't it? If his theory is right then it should keep his-

“And what theory do you have, Ranboo? Keep his what?”

Why is Hetch acting like he can hear their…

“Thoughts?” Hetch finishes. “Better be careful what you think about, because without our judging audience, I’ve decided that The Choice falls to you.”

Oh. 

Oh.

The realisation hits fully. 

They have to-

“Tick tock, Hero. Time’s a-wastin, you know.”

How can Hetch even do that?

“Feel that disk on the back of your head?”

Ranboo glares into the camera.

“That disk, what do you think is there for? Decoration? I'm afraid you'll be disappointed.”

Ranboo momentarily stills. A fucking chip?

Charlie’s eyes are darting from Ranboo to around the room, trying in vain to find the source of the voice.

He’s still crying, the noise echoing around the cold room as they panic, trying not to think of anything whilst simultaneously trying to come up with a solution. The logic of it all makes his head spin.

“How many others did you sacrifice to get here today? Sneeg, Austin? The others on the carousel?”

As Hetch names them, images flash on the screen of their final moments. The contestants scream for help as The Puzzler presses the detonator.

Sneeg and Austin bang on the metal shutters, begging to be let out as swarms of Showfall employees descend on them and Security roars in the distance-

“I wonder how far Charlie realises you’d be willing to go.”

Ranboo tries again to shout through the wires covering their mask, crying out in pain as Security shoves them back down onto the floor.

Charlie screams.

“Leave- leave Ran alone- please, please I’ll do- I’ll do anything, just let them go- stop hurting them, please-”

Hetch chuckles again.

“Quite a lot of Spirit you’ve got there, Charlie. Now, let’s decide once and for all. Hero, what will your decision be?”

Charlie spits blood out of his mouth, trying to look defiant despite the tears still running down his face.

“Did you practise that one in the mirror before I got here?”

Hetch laughs.

“Quite the mouth on this one, hey Ranboo?”

Ranboo groans from his place on the floor. The wires retract for a moment.

“Let him go. Please. ”

Hetch just gives a knowing silence in return. Because that’s not what you want, is it?

Ranboo starts crying properly now, unable to bear the fear and pain in Charlie’s eyes. The pain they put there.

“Ran- Ran don’t- I’ll be ok, I promise-”

The lie would’ve been pathetic even if it wasn’t for the tears continuing to choke their way from his throat.

“In for 4, hold- hold for 7 and- fuck this hurts- out for 8, remember?”

Ranboo tries their best, not letting themselves think about how fucking kind has to be to help them instead of begging for his own life. It’s the least they can do for their friend. Their friend, who they’ve knowingly led to his death.

The TV screens in the background flash with more moments from the past few hours. 

Ranboo saving Charlie from the surgery table.

Ranboo giving Charlie his jacket.

Charlie clinging to their jacket whilst he defends them to Austin.

Charlie sobbing into his arm, broken beyond repair by the events they’ve witnessed together.

Hetch speaks again, and Ranboo can hear the barely contained glee in his voice.

“Time’s up, Hero. Make a decision. It’s now or never.”Charlie stays quiet for a moment, holding eye contact with Ranboo as he sobs.

“I trust you, Ran. Just- just don’t let me die- please- ”

“It seems our Hero has decided.”

Ranboo can’t bear to break eye contact with Charlie now. It’s the only way they can say goodbye.

“Your Hero has chosen for you…. To die ”

“What?”

Charlie’s voice is small and frightened.

He looks at Ranboo as slow realisation dawns on his face.

“No, no no no PLEASE- ”

The TV screens go black.

The box swings shut, and Charlie’s scream is abruptly cut off with a wet crunch . 

Ranboo screams. It rips against his vocal cords, a grieving guttural shriek. Muttered denials spill from his lips as he struggles and writhes in the grip of Security. Blood slowly dribbles from the seams of the box, staining Charlie’s shirt.

One half of the box is slowly swinging open again, the hinges squealing as if in pain. Tatters of skin and flesh - Charlie’s skin and flesh - hang from the brutal bloodstained spikes as the full horror of what he has done hits Ranboo.

Charlie’s remaining visible eye is still barely moving, somehow miraculously not impaled by the box and the harsh jagged shards of glass and plastic. His arms twitch as tears slowly ooze down the bloodied wreckage that used to be his face.

Security hauls them up from the floor to get a better view. They sob, apologising over and over and over as they pray to anyone who might be listening to Please, please save Charlie-

As they are dragged closer, Charlie’s eye snaps to him, a simultaneous plea for help and damnation of their actions. At this proximity, they can see everything, albeit through a thick veil of tears . Charlie’s mouth is still opened in a silent scream, a wheezing death rattle drenched in blood scarcely audible to them. There is a blood-soaked spike visible inside Charlie’s mouth, nailing his tongue to his opposite cheek. 

He’s still quietly sobbing as one half of the box stays impaled in his head, blood pouring like a god-damned waterfall from the right side of what used to be his face. Craters of shredded skin and pulverised muscle leak spongy bone marrow and oozing mucus from the fragments of ruined bone strewn underneath the carnage. Cracked and bloodied slivers of plastic and glass are embedded deep in the debris, remnants of shrapnel from his glasses.

“Charlie- Charlie-? ”

The last word is a half-mangled shriek, hysteria and complete, unimaginable guilt taking over.

One second more, and the light dies from Charlie’s eyes as he goes limp. A Staff robotically reverts the halves of the box and it retreats back to its original position with a squelch as they scream again, wrestling with Security to reach out to Charlie, to comfort him, to do something-

Hetch speaks up, his voice cold and uninterested.

“What’s wrong, Hero? Isn’t this what you wanted ?”

He tuts condescendingly at their sobs, his picture once again appearing on the TV screens behind Charlie- behind Charlie’s corpse-

“Look what our Hero’s done now. You were supposed to save them all, Ranboo, or did you forget? Look at him, Ranboo. ”

He tried to speak, his vocal cords ripped raw from his sobs as he glared at the ceiling.

“I- I was saving them. I am saving them-”

“Keep telling yourself that. Oh, you’re free to go, by the way.”

What?

Shocked out of their misery, they looked up again.

“Wh- what ?”

“You’ve survived. You’re free to go. The real exit is that way.”

With a screeching of metal that tore at his ears, Security set them down and promptly assumed a statue-like position.

“What- but I- Charlie- ”

They made a small, broken grief-induced noise that emanated from deep in his throat. 

Just as quickly as it had arrived, the wave of grief subsided, leaving only nauseating apathy in its place.

They couldn’t. They couldn’t leave without Charlie. They were nothing without him.

The sound of an intercom crackling interrupted his train of thought, signalling that Hetch had turned off the microphone.

Ranboo was truly alone.

Slowly, brokenly, he struggles to his feet.

Walks over to Charlie.

The gut-churning stench of blood turns his stomach.

He blinks, and the cries of strangers fill their ears.

Blinks again, and the distant sound of keyboards typing out messages of horror and guilt echoes around the room.

The Audience.

Ranboo feels something warm run down their chin and moves to wipe it away, only stopping when they see the garish red stain on their hand.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

A choked sob forces its way out of their throat, quickly swallowed down again. He can’t break down here. The Audience are watching.

The Audience are always watching.

Painstakingly, achingly slowly, they begin to untie the wires holding up Charlie. He slumps into their arms, and Ranboo has to hold back another sob.

They place an arm under their legs for extra support and begin to walk away from the TV screens, cradling Charlie’s corpse as his limbs dangle and his one remaining eye still leaks tears that soak into blood-drenched scraps of skin and muscle.

The mall is desolate, only the remains of several dead Showfall guards left in the spooling silence.

They ignore the blaring exit sign and walk back inside. They can’t leave. If they leave, then Charlie is dead forever-

Ranboo uses the remainder of his strength to not break down. He’s done letting the audience have the satisfaction of seeing him cry. Seeing him grieve.

They set Charlie down gently behind the camera. They don’t want the audience to gawp at his corpse. He deserves that much.

There’s a scuffling of footsteps in the corner as a forgotten camera man tries to step closer inconspicuously.

“Leave.”

Their voice is cold, emotionless.

The man takes another step forward, aiming the camera at their face.

“LEAVE, GO ON JUST FUCKING LEAVE US ALONE-”

They scream, picking up debris from the floor and throwing it at him, shouting at him to just “GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE-”

He turns and flees, leaving a door swinging on its hinges.

Ranboo stops screaming and turns to face the camera.

“Are you happy now? Is this what you wanted to see?”

They pause, seething, and punch the camera, fracturing the lens and knocking it to the floor.

He looks at the glass shards splintering into the skin of his knuckles. It hurts. Good.

The camera, left half-broken at an awkward angle, is just able to broadcast Ranboo leaning down to close Charlie’s remaining eyelid gently. He chokes out a sob.

“Where you go, I go, right Charlie?”

The lens, though cracked, lies in just the right position to record them walking over to Security.

Ranboo wrenches up the metallic arm of the monster, exposing the scissor-like hands bristling with knives. Wires rasp against hastily welded metal as they angle the arm to stick out at a right angle to its body.

They glance back at Charlie’s motionless corpse, resolve hardening their features.

He grabs Security’s shoulders and pulls himself forward, impaling himself on the cluster of knives and wires.

Ranboo gasps, choking sobs sputtering out of his mouth as blood begins its steadfast stream onto the floor. They slowly slide off of the knives and collapse to the slippery tiles, using their arms to drag themselves over to Charlie. They manage to speak, addressing no one in particular.

“You’d- you’d think that I’d be used to pain by now, huh?”

They give a weak attempt at a laugh, coughing up blood that bubbles in their throat and dribbles through the seams of their mask onto shaking hands when they try to wipe it away.

“I’ll see you in a bit Charlie, yeah? And you won't be…”

They sob again, mouth trembling underneath the mask as their face contorts, the uncomfortable metal digging rigid lines into their skin.

“I miss you, man. I’m so, so fucking sorry-”

Ranboo groans as his vision begins to grow dim.

“I really hope we escape next time.”

They drift off into silence, eyes fixed on the mangled ruins of Charlie’s face.

The camera cuts out.

Chapter Text

Ranboo jerks awake on the sofa with an ungodly amount of phantom pain, emotional pain, and general feeling of emptiness. 

The coldness of death still clings its greedy hands around him. They’ve got about 7 minutes until Charlie kicks the door down and starts yelling. Their stomach pulses with agony from a phantom stab wound. Normally they would jump back into action, speed through getting all the keys to minimise the time lost but it’s been so damn tiring . Ranboo does not get up from the sofa. It’s too much. Instead they stare at the fake fucking ceiling and count down the seconds until Charlie’s cue. 

Charlie from the last loop (the Charlie he watched get strung up and crushed with blood dripping down his shirt and mutilated face that once held so much trust. Was that what they looked like when they’d-?)

No. Focus. Charlie had recommended ‘breathing exercises’ and following them was honestly the least they could do for him anymore.

In 5 minutes and 25 seconds Charlie will bust the door down. Breathe in for four.

5 minutes and 21 seconds. Hold for seven. Don’t you dare cry. The plan was never going to work was it? Of course it wasn’t. It’s Showfall, nothing Ranboo ever does works in his favour.

4 minutes 14 seconds. Breathe out for 8. Don’t cry because you don’t deserve to cry after what you’ve done to them all-

The door falls to the ground, both starting them out of their state and sending them tumbling off balance. Charlie was early. That doesn’t make sense, that’s not meant to happen. He’s never been early. Fear begins to replace whatever depressing hole they were falling into as they hit the ground with a yelp.

Ranboo wipes the tears from their eyes and folds ungracefully into a sitting position, wincing at the stab of pain in his abdomen as Charlie struggles through the smoke machine like he always does; with various coughing sounds. Eventually they can just about spot his vague outline from within the cloud.

“God, they really overdid it with that fucking thing- Ranboo?”

Ranboo probably looks very undignified, in a heap on the floor staring at Charlie like he’d grown a second head but honestly they don’t care. That was not Charlie’s line. Why had it changed? Did Showfall figure out they were in a loop? Was this just them fucking with him again for their own fucking entertainment? They must be. Ranboo isn’t letting himself fall for it and get heartbroken again.

“Ranboo?”

Ranboo tries not to linger on how Charlie says his name with so much compassion . The care in it makes him want to curl into themselves and curse out the world for giving them the name. It makes them wish they could just rip themselves to shreds and become something new, and hopefully a better fucking person than the monster they are now.

Charlie sounds confused, and increasingly worried at the lack of response he’s getting. His horns are off. Why did they take them off? What mind games were Showfall playing now? Ranboo cannot take anymore. Something about the concern in Charlie’s face, concern for them , is what breaks something inside of them. How dare Showfall make a mockery of Charlie like that? Have they not been through enough already? Is this punishment for not saving their friends because they’ve tried . So many times. Why isn’t that enough?

“Woah woah, Ranboo look at me ok? Breathe.”

Oh. They’re hyperventilating.

Shit.

Charlie is kneeling in front of him.

He reaches out a hand to touch him, a hand that minutes ago was hanging limp from his corpse , and Ranboo falls backwards, trying not to get any closer to Charlie in case they fuck it up again.

In case anyone gets hurt.

“Ran?”

It's the simple nickname, and the quiet hopefulness with which it is said, that causes Ranboo to break further.

They blink, and tears are running down their face as he breathes in messy gulps of air, and Charlie’s arms are around them. What is happening?

“You’re ok, Ran. I’ve got you.”

“Shit, no, I can’t-”

Their words are rushed and almost unintelligible, but Charlie hears somehow. 

“Ranboo, look at me.”

Hetch echoes his words.

“Look at him, Ranboo.” Look at what you did.

“I can’t.”

They close their eyes, digging their fingernails into their arms and wishing for it all to just end-

“You can, Ranboo. Please.”

He looks up, trying not to wince at the memories of that metal box snapping shut, of blood running down his shirt, of the same desperate pleading look in those trusting eyes that faced him now.

“I remember. And it hurts- God knows I’ve got the worst headache right now- but it's ok. I’m here, Ran. And I don't blame you.”

Guilt curdles in their stomach, tainting the relief that rises all too quickly at Charlie’s words. They’d forgotten that he would know now. Even if that was the whole point of planning his friend’s death.

“But I-”

“No. It’s ok.”

Ranboo tries not to start crying again at the way Charlie smiles bravely, trying to hide tears behind the guise of determination.

“I know what’s going on now.”

He smiles again.

“Let’s go run those fuckers at Showfall into the ground.”

Ranboo scrabbles for some sort of emotional control and only slips further. They fell backwards out of the hug, touch felt too much like a sharp vice ready to crush them.

“But we can’t. I’ve tried so man-many times ,” all of Charlie’s past screaming haunts them and there’s a live audience watching them break, “and it never works Charlie I can’t-“

Their hands start to scratch at the seam of the mask where metal meets skin like a muzzled dog, wanting for all the world to just get the thing off.

“Hey hey Ran don’t hurt yourself, I’m- I’m here now. It will be okay. You know what they say, two brains are better than one?”

Ranboo does appreciate the attempt at cheering them up but they’re too busy choking on tears to fully express it. Charlie inhales and tries his best to switch into logical mode. 

“Ok Ran let’s move your hands, just, wave them around or something ok?”

Ranboo manages to comply through the haze. People are watching this, those sick fucks are just watching them be fucking pathetic. Thousands of people could be just sitting back and watching- 

They search the room with panicked eyes, landing on the nearest piece of furniture. With all the grace someone having panic attack can have, they shoot upwards and attempt to drag it in front of them.

Charlie backs up in concern like he’s treating a wild animal, afraid for a moment that Ranboo might bolt, before the lightbulb goes off and he gets up to help block them from the view of the camera. 

Some frantic minutes and shed tears later, the two are crouched behind a hasty wall of sofa, cabinet and bookshelf. Charlie had managed to peel off his slime covered jacket and tried his best to clean off his trousers with a towel. Ranboo’s eyes are shut, they’re curled uncomfortably in a ball against the sharp corner of the cabinet.

Charlie thinks the sight hurts worse than the box. Ranboo doesn’t deserve this, no one does. They are friends now. (Privately, he would even call them family.) 

 So Charlie is going to help him through it, Showfall be damned.

“They can’t see you now Ranboo, it’s ok. No one is watching anymore.”

They simply make a low whining sound in response, and Charlie realises they’re tapping out an SOS. A calming method maybe? Charlie mentally hits himself for not noticing the situation before, mind control or not.

“Ran? Can you hear me?”

A small nod. Ok. That’s good. 

“Can you breathe for me? 4,7,8 just like I told you.”

The response is choked.

“Can’t- too much-“

“Shit um, is touch ok now?”

A pleading nod. Charlie opens his arms.

“Come here, I’ve got you.”

Ranboo all but dives over to him and Charlie almost falls backwards as they cry into his shoulder.

“Woah, ok. That’s good. You’re doing so good Ran. Try and match my heartbeat, yeah that’s perfect. You’re going to be ok.” 

It’s a promise. 

Charlie guides their shaking hand over his heart and slows his breathing, exaggerating inhales and exhales for them to follow. He can feel how Ranboo trembles against him, heartbeat a mile a minute. It’s the tightest and most awkward hug he’s ever been in, trying to hold an over 6ft kid, but he would stay like this for years if Ranboo asked. It’s not comfortable by any means, some excess slime still hanging on near his collar, but it’s good enough.

“It’s ok, it’s ok. I’m here.”

Shakily, Ranboo’s hand emerges from the hug and slowly finds Charlie’s face. Charlie lets them pat his head in silent confusion before it hits. Oh. They’re making sure he’s still alive. Intact. 

Ranboo’s voice is almost unintelligible from where they’re pressed against his shirt. The metal points of their mask are definitely going to bruise his shoulder, but Charlie would rather be killed again than complain.

“I’m sorry.”

Charlie’s heart breaks a little. Ranboo continues before he can respond. Both their hands now fist the fabric of Charlie’s shirt. 

“If i had just been- been better- “

“Hey no, none of that ok? You did good Ranboo.”

“But-“

“No buts. You’ve done so well. Now you don’t have to do it alone, ok? We’re friends. You’ve done so much to help me, let me help you back.”

A moment of silence passes, filled only with quiet crying. It disturbs Charlie at how good they are at breaking down unnoticeably. The Staff can recognise the sound of children crying. You can't let them find you. (Why would they need to be programmed to do that? Think, Charlie. When did you come here?) 

Something muffled is spoken into Charlie’s left shoulder, snapping him out of his train of thought. Ranboo is talking again, or trying to.

“What was that? I’m afraid I can't speak mumbling.”

“Maybe I should've stayed dead.”

Charlie’s heart drops.

“No, no Ran. Please don’t think like that.”

“But I should've! I haven’t- I haven’t saved anybody. Every time I come back all I can do is watch everyone die. I shouldn’t be here. I’m practically a dead person walking too many times over to count.” 

“You’ve saved me. I can remember now, Ranboo. You saved me.”

“I planned your execution!”

He flinches, remembering the blinding, agonising pain and how Ran had screamed -

He also remembers every time Ranboo tried to save him. Slowly some pieces are put together.

“You didn’t want to hurt me. You had a theory, and it worked. I didn’t know then, and that hurt , but it’s ok now. I understand. I don’t blame you.” Charlie pulls his friend closer. “I don’t blame you.” 

Ranboo’s grip on Charlie only tightens in response.

“Look at me. You are not a bad person.”

“But- I-”

“You are not a bad person.”

“Stop saying that-“

“You are not a bad person. Sure I could've gone without the headache, but I can remember now. For that, thank you.”

“I regretted it, I regretted everything when I saw you there-”

“No, no, Ran, please, it’s ok, I’m here ”

“I don’t- I can’t- They’re watching us, Charlie, they’re fucking watching us and I can’t do anything about it-”

“Ran, please-”

“Charlie.”

They pulled back from the hug, tears still running unnoticed down their face. A vague thrill of horror ran down his spine when he noticed the hollow, defeated look in their eyes. His breathing had slowed, the panic ebbing away and replaced with terrifying apathy.

“Ran-”

“Charlie, please, I can’t- I can’t bear you trying to tell me I’m a good person. Do you know how many times I’ve watched you die -”

“No, Ran, stop it-”

“It’s no use.”

“Ranboo-”

“Stop! Just- just stop, please, I can’t- I don’t want to do this anymore.”

“No, Ran, you can’t, you can’t say that, you have to keep going , you can’t leave me here.”

Shit, now he was crying too. Ran wasn’t looking him in the eyes.

“I can’t do this without you, I need you, please, Ran- please don’t start thinking things like this, even for a little while, I promise I’ll be here with you this whole time if you stay with me.”

They curled in further on themselves, still not facing him fully. Charlie was sobbing harder, now.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry for making you do this, I just can’t let you leave, we have a chance , Ran, we have a chance now we both know and I need you to just hang on, ok?”

…

“ Please .”

He kept looking at Ran, trying not to shake, desperately hoping that it would be enough, that he would be enough-

Ranboo looks up slowly, tears brimming in their eyes.

“I’m sorry.”

The words were hesitant, quiet, barely audible over the delicate silence in the dusty cabin.

“I’m sorry, it’s just- it’s hard.”

A lump formed in Charlie’s throat.

“I know, Ran, I know.” 

They open their arms slowly, wiping away their tears with one hand, and Charlie climbs over, wrapping his arms around them tightly. A human weighted blanket.

“It’s ok, I’ve got you.”

“Hey, that's my job.”

Ran lets out a weak laugh, burying their face in his shoulder and trying not to cry again.

“Shouldn’t we keep moving?”

“It’s ok, Ran, we can stay here as long as you need.”

“You’re just saying that because you’re still crying, aren’t you?”

Charlie splutters out another laugh.

“No I’m not.”

“You really are.”

“No. No way.”

And for the first time in weeks of dying, dying and dying again, it’s warm. 

“Thank you, Ran.”

“For what?”

“For staying.”

“... Thank you too, Charlie.” 

—

The Showfall employees were starting to move again, muffled sounds of fabric rustling and shoes squeaking echoing in the silent cabin. Behind the sofa, Ran and Charlie sat drawing a map of the mall in the dust carpeting the floor. Seriously, Showfall needs cleaners.

In hushed whispers, they conveyed the New And Updated Plan to each other.

Charlie tries his best to commit the rough layout of the mall to memory and mentally creates a folder of Important Escape Information: Do Not Forget. Ranboo’s just explaining the route to the “SUB A” -whatever that is- when the stage lighting flickers out. ‘Episode One’ is only about 2 hours long if all goes to script. Shuffling and clanking sounds begin from the direction of the camera crew. Time’s up.

“Shit, it sounds like they’re starting up again.”

Ranboo's eyes started to dart around, his breathing speeding up as they looked for the nearest exit. Usually they just book it practically ten minutes into the loop.  A muffled noise of  opening a cage sounds from two rooms over, accompanied a beat later by a cut off yell, pained noise, then a thud. Their breath quickens slightly. Was that Staff taking Sneeg?

“Hey. Hey, Ran, look at me.”

Their eyes meet his, red-rimmed from crying.

“It’s going to be ok, I promise. I’ll be right behind you. And we can do this as many times as it takes.”

“Ok, ok we’ve got this. Done this a million times before.”

“That’s the Spirit!”

Ranboo does not linger on the exact same pun Hetch had used. Charlie grins at them obliviously before popping a head out above the sofa, wincing as the employees spotted him.

“Quick, now’s our chance, run!”

Scrambling to their feet, they both sprinted for the door, barrelling into the warehouse and out into the open mall.

“Shit, there’s more employees than usual-”

Charlie drags him away by the arm before he can get caught up in implications.

The pair booked it through the mall, dodging swathes of frozen Showfall employees whose heads turned to look after them as they went. Ranboo is easily a few steps ahead at all times. A mix of long legs and gruelling life or death practice most likely. 

They turn a corner and then a shop comes into view. The weak glow from four large letters appears in his vision like the second coming of Christ.

“Quick, into the SUB A!”

Ranboo dove over the counter, closely followed by Charlie, and together they pulled down the shutters as the masked employees began pounding at the metal. Ranboo haphazardly shoves a whisk between the handle and the door stays firmly closed against the beating fists behind it. A, what, one centimetre sheet of metal is the only thing separating the two. 

“Shit. Shit, shit, shit -”

“Ran, buddy, it’s ok, we’re fine-”More and more employees joined the ones already trying to knock down the shutters, and the noise echoed around the confined space like thunder. Charlie tried to pretend he didn’t see the way Ranboo flinched with each new clatter and screech.

“I’m trying to find a light switch, just hold on.”

Ranboo’s breathing sped up as they huddled behind the counter, lightly hitting his head against the wall over and over again as Charlie fumbled in the darkness. Maybe it would get the mask off. It’s wishful thinking. 

“There!”

A few flickering lights illuminated the other countertop surface against the opposite wall holding empty tubs labelled ‘Cheese Slices’, ‘Tuna’ and other vaguely familiar food names. A gaping chasm seemed to open up in Ranboo’s ribcage as they realised he didn’t remember what eating food was like. The mask feels more claustrophobic than it ever had before.

“Oh god, oh god.”

He was rocking back and forth now, hands in their hair whilst the hammering on the metal got louder and louder and-

“Hey, hey, Ran, look at me.”

They did as Charlie said, looking at their friend’s panicked face as he fought to stay calm.

“Just try and breathe, Ran. We’ll get through this, ok? There’s more employees than usual, but the plan doesn’t change. Let’s just see if there’s anything to salvage and then we make a move.”

Ranboo nodded shakily and tried to stand up, collapsing back onto their knees when their legs couldn’t hold his weight. The SUB A still has faded posters advertising the menu. Do they really have to die in a place that sold £9.99 tuna pizza? A particularly vicious crash! makes a dent in the door. Get a grip Ranboo. 

“Sorry.”

“Don’t worry, you have nothing to apologise for. Need a hand?”

Ranboo wordlessly took the offered hand and Charlie pulled him upright. He immediately began to look around, prompting them to do the same. Charlie is being more useful than you ever have been and he just got executed two hours ago. 

“Hey Ran, come look in these drawers with me.”

Ranboo mentally slaps themselves. “Sure.” Make yourself useful and stop wasting time being pitiful. 

They both tried to ignore the drumming on the shutters getting louder as their movements became infused with a sense of urgency. Focus. Ranboo fumbles opening the drawers.

Open the drawer.

Dust. Mouse skeleton. Ladle.

Open another drawer.

Plastic cups. Dust. 

Find another drawer. Open it. Find nothing. Ignore the pounding on the window.

Ignore that crashing noise. It was probably nothing. Just do what Charlie told you.

Not important.

Keep moving.

Keep-

“Ran?”

“Yeah?”

Don’t look up. Don’t stop moving. Make yourself useful. Don’t fuck up. 

“ RAN! ”

Shit.

They turned around.

Charlie was being dragged through a previously unnoticed door, Showfall employees surrounding him as he thrashed against their grasp. Dust kicked up into the air like snowflakes. And their world ends, again. 

“CHARLIE!”

He’s biting, pushing and kicking, but three against one will always be unfair odds. 

They ran towards him, quickly knocked back and sent reeling by a vicious punch to the stomach that only exaggerated the remaining phantom pain. They tunnel vision onto Charlie’s struggling. One of the Staff gets hit with the ladle. Ranboo reaches forwards while Charlie is ripped backwards.

“NO, PLEASE-”

“RAN! RAN YOU CAN STILL DO THIS, YOU CAN STILL-”

Charlie disappeared through the door, and it is slammed shut behind him, locking Ranboo back into the SUB A. They pound and scrape at the door-

Then the screaming starts.

“CHARLIE? CHARLIE-”

–

Charlie woke up. 

That’s new. 

He gets one second to acclimate to the realisation before he lurches back into his body and stumbles into an object then identified as the kitchen table. Ranboo gets it easy waking up on a sofa. Charlie then remembers what causes Ranboo to wake up on the sofa and takes back the statement.

Charlie attempts to turn his reality the right way up. He had been in the SUB A. Then he hadn’t. And wow that phantom pain is a bitch. How does Ranboo deal with that? He’ll have to ask for Traumatising Time Loop Advice or something. Ranboo had been doing this for way too long, after all. 

Ranboo. Who he'd left alone in that mall-

Nope. Name five things you can see.

Frying pan.

Fridge.

Kid photos of him that should not exist.

Ok, not five things then. Name colours. Get a hold of yourself. Ranboo’s done this a million times, so you can do it twice.

Red fridge magnet.

Orange cup…holder... thing.

Yellow lights.

Green slime. Quite hard to miss, that one. 

Blue cupboards. 

He’s in his kitchen. About to break the door. Can he work with that? He can work with that.

Charlie scrambles to get most of the slime off of him - man this is going to get annoying - and prepares to bust down the door. He rips off and subsequently breaks his horns against the counter. Good riddance, they hurt his head. So, the door. Sure he would push it open, but when you have the opportunity to break a door you are going to take it. In honesty he’s hoping the action will be familiar enough to Ranboo that they don't immediately freak out. 

There’s a beat. 

 Ok, so Charlie has no idea what he’s doing, that's fine. Perfect even. Totally love this situation. Just go one step at a time, all you have to do is kick a door. Ranboo is here, they will help, you are in this shit together. 

Remembering the smoke machines (and how annoyed they made Ranboo), he aimed a kick at one of the offending things -how had he not noticed they were there before- and watched as it spluttered out a pathetic puff of smoke and died with a few measly sparks and a crunch. Huh, it's easier to break those things than he thought. Good enough. Let's hope Showfall is as weak as their equipment. 

He mentally cursed himself for getting so easily distracted and took up a fighter's stance in front of the door. Ok, Showfall. You're going down.

In 3, 2-

Charlie kicked the door down with a tad more pizazz than usual and let out a triumphant… screech of sorts? It didn't matter, he decided, electing to make a beeline straight for Ranboo in favour of getting The (Christian) Hell Out Of Here. 

"Ran? Ready to get out of here? I've come up with a plan and I think if we go right away they won't have time to- Ran?"

Charlie has a lot of half baked plans for things they could've been greeted with. Ranboo could’ve been crying like last loop, still asleep, dead, god forbid not even there but this… this wasn't any of those. 

They remained staring at the far wall, clenching and unclenching their fists robotically. They didn't look panicked or on the cusp of a breakdown. Just, not there. 

The plan had been to get going as quickly as possible in order to avoid Staff. Why weren't they doing that already?

Charlie cleared his throat, suddenly painfully (ha-ha) reminded of how the last loop had ended. Probably best to lose the over-exaggerated enthusiasm. Not that he wasn’t ready to fight God and win, but a change of pace would probably help Ran out a lot.

"Ran? You ok? I'm sorry for leaving you, but I'm here now, alright? See!"

He gestured to his general lack of blood, gore and mangled body parts. He ignores how much his body still aches, if only for Ranboo’s benefit. His already faltering confidence wavers. Ranboo still hasn't looked at him, or even acknowledged his entrance. 

"Ranboo?"

He frowned when he got no response, growing increasingly concerned about the kid's state of mind. He was expecting at least something similar to last loop. Something was off this time. Charlie mentally flips through his newly acquired memories. The ever present starting scene with Ranboo laying on the sofa, one arm draped over the back with the other flopped towards the ground, appears like clockwork.

Each time Ranboo would jerk into the world of the living, and Charlie would yell the same infuriating lines. Sometimes Ranboo would go along with it, sometimes they would yell, sometimes there were tears, or flat out dismissal. He’s hit with the realisation of just how many times Ranboo has re-lived this. Over. And over. And over. And in each recollection, Charlie sees through his own vacant eyes how Ranboo looks exponentially sadder. Each time they jolt awake, Charlie sees the light in their eyes dim, just a bit. It adds up, over time. And Ranboo has spent a lot of time here.

They’re still not looking at him. Through every lifetime Charlie recalls, this is new. In every single one, Ranboo has been doing something. Pursuing a goal. Whether that be getting past the cooking section or escaping the loop, Ranboo was always motivated, set on something.

He figures out what’s different about today. He doesn't see that determination anymore. (What happened after Charlie had died?)

"Fuck, I’m so sorry Ran. I just- I’m so sorry for not being there for you. I didn’t know - I didn’t-”

Tears spring to his eyes and he brushes them away, trying not to break down in front of the kid. He’s been through too much to have to deal with Charlie’s whole mess right now. But they still weren’t looking at him, and he had to know why. He had to help.

Charlie kneels down, trying to reassure the crushing guilt curdling in his stomach next to the phantom pain still coursing through his skin.

“I’m here now, Ran. I’m here and I’m so sorry I haven’t been here before but I am now. I have a plan to get us both out of here for good but I need you to trust me. I need you to talk to me, Ran, even just fucking look at me and I know how fucking hard it’s been but I need you.” 

His voice broke. Ranboo still wouldn’t look him in the eyes. He would’ve even preferred the sobbing mess that they had been last loop because at least then Charlie could tell that Ran was there. He didn’t know what to do without them.

“I can’t keep doing this, Ran. I- we can’t keep living in this fucking nightmare but I need you to help me because I’m nothing without you-”

He sucked in a breath, cutting off his sentence as the truth wrenched its way out of his mouth. 

Because it was the truth, wasn’t it? Ranboo was the Hero. Ranboo was the one with the ideas, the one who faced it all and still came out standing at the end. Charlie was nothing. The sidekick, the emotional support, the Spirit, the Patient, the Villain.

He was nobody. 

Ran stood up, slowly, quietly. Not even glancing at him as sobs forced their way from his throat, as he just sat there on the floor like a pathetic child- 

“Please, Ran-”

Charlie reached out to Ran as they walked away, a stupid wretched gesture that accomplished exactly nothing, because that was exactly what he’d done to help Ran. His miserable plan to save them both had failed and even before that Charlie had been nothing but a bystander, an accomplice to Showfall’s twisted games.

They didn’t look back at him as they began to search the cabin, robotically churning out phrases he’d heard a thousand times before but never really registered.

“...Ran?”

They continued speaking like he wasn’t there , carefully avoiding any sort of eye contact.

Was this… was this Showfall?

Fragments of memories churned their way to the surface of the panic blooming in his mind.

Charlie lying on a table, raw unimaginable pain ripping through him as Ranboo fumbled with his organs. The blinding LED lights blinking out for a moment as Ran looked at him as if realising what they were doing. Their expression going blank once more as the lights flickered back stronger, continuing to root through his abdomen as he started screaming again-

The mask must be some kind of… mind control? Like how Ran used Sneeg’s hat to wake him up. But nobody else even had a mask, so this one would be harder to break them out of.

Charlie grimaced as memories of the hope he had held when the others had woken up was replaced, the image of Sneeg and Austin crying out for help from inside the office shoved their way into his mind. He took another deep breath, clenching his shaking fists and trying to calm his erratic sobs.

If this was the mind control, shouldn’t the mask be on?

Charlie leaned forwards to try and get a look at Ranboo’s face from where they were standing, near motionless, in the centre of the room.

The mask LEDs weren’t on.

Shit. So did that mean that Ran-

Oh.

Oh.

They were just… ignoring him? But he didn’t understand, he’d tried , really tried to get the plan to work- 

“Ran, please- please, I didn’t do anything wrong, did I? I’m so fucking sorry about the plan failing, I promise you it won’t happen again, just please talk to me-”

They did nothing except walk into the kitchen. 

Charlie scrambled after them, trying clumsily to stand up off the floor as he raced after Ranboo into the next room. 

“Ranboo, please, you’re scaring me-”

He feels 12 years old again, begging faceless parents to tell him what's happening where is everyone going- 

Why can’t you remember them?

How old were you when you got here?

His eyes darted around the kitchen behind him desperately, looking for something, anything that could get Ran to listen to him. 

Then his eyes landed on an object glinting in the open fridge.

A knife.

A cold, calm numbness washed through his entire body, sending thrills of morbid excitement and dread up his spine.

He had to get Ranboo to listen. Otherwise they would both just keep dying, over and over and over.

And it’s not like anyone cared if Charlie died again, right? Ranboo was the Hero anyway.

He picked up the knife, trying not to shudder at the cold metal biting into his hands.

More memories flashed into his mind, and-

–

He’s stuck between a door and his kitchen floor, watching helplessly as Ranboo’s blood creeped between the grooves closer to him.

Charlie opened his mouth to cry, to scream, to do ANYTHING-

“Was my cooking show idea that bad?”

–

Charlie does not want his own Shortest Loop. 

But if he could get Ran to snap out of it, even for a second-

It was worth a try.

Ranboo came back into the kitchen and paused as Charlie blocked his path, holding the knife to his throat awkwardly. Where was it even best to aim that thing?

“Ran, if you don’t talk to me I’m going to reset right now so we can get back to planning our escape.” 

“Mum? If you don’t tell me what’s happening I’ll- I’ll hold my breath! For a million years!

The memory dissipates as quickly as it came. Ranboo stares at him, actually fucking looks at him through a blur of unshed tears. Charlie’s heart drops at the emptiness that’s reflected back at him.

“ Please, Ran.”

Painfully, Ranboo turns away. He can see their hands shaking, but they don’t object.

“Ran-”

The nickname is wrested from his mouth like a sob as he grabs them by the shoulder and spins them around to face him again. He holds the knife closer to his throat, and a wobbling red line carves itself into his skin. Charlie is breathing hard, eyes wide and panicked as the pain brings him back to the reality of what he’s threatening. Ran’s face (or what little of it can be seen above the mask) whitens. 

Charlie drops the knife. 

Ranboo’s voice cracks awfully when they start talking. 

“A cooking challenge?” 

Charlie’s breathing picks up again, shaking hands wiping away streaks of red that smear across his skin. He doesn't understand. He doesn't even manage a strangled sentence, but Ranboo keeps responding to rehearsed replays Charlie didn't say. 

“What do you mean, check the fridge?”

Ranboo is full body shaking, yet continues to stumble around the kitchen like Charlie wasn't there. He doesn't understand.  Ranboo’s mask isn't activated.

Charlie notes distantly that he’s getting near hysterical. He throws plates against the wall, pleads, but Ranboo keeps ignoring him with tears in their eyes, like someone pointed a gun at their head and forced them to do it. Except there is no gun, because Ranboo’s mask is turned off.  

“Ranboo, say something. Are you even listening to me right now?”

Ranboo attempts to open the fridge without acknowledging him. 

More past lives resurface.

“Are you even listening to me, Ranboo?”

“Ranboo, just answer a single question!”

“What’s going on?!”

“Are you even you right now? Is this what you want?”

Charlie blocks Ranboo’s path. They try pitifully to pretend he isn't there, replying to themselves through stutters. 

“Ranboo? Are you even you right now?”

“Ranboo, I just need you to listen to me-”

“Ranboo-”

“Ranboo!”

“Ran-”

Something is triggered in their head. Ranboo throws whatever they were holding harshly to the floor, where it bounces and hits the fridge with a bang.

“Shut up!”

Charlie stumbles backwards at the outburst. 

“Ranboo-?”

Ranboo harshly claws their hands through their hair and curls in on themselves as if the name hurts.

“ Please.”

Charlie shuts up. He tentatively moves towards them. Clearly something has been building up over these loops and he has a feeling it's at breaking point. Charlie carefully words his response, stepping verbally through a minefield. 

“Why were you…going through the motions? What happened to the escape plan?”

Ranboo lets out an involuntary sob. 

“I’ve done this so much. I can probably recite the entire floor plan of this place. I can probably predict when the stage lights are going to flicker, I can probably parrot back every one of your lines before you say them. But I can't save anyone. I’ve- Charlie it's been so long. Not once have I saved someone. Nothing I do is good enough to save even one person. I can't do it.” 

“So you’re going to give up?”

“There is nothing to give up. Every decision I make, it makes no difference. I thought- I thought maybe if I just complied it would be- be easier.”

“I’m here. Let me help.” 

“It’s not that simple.”

“Why can't it be?”

“It just- isn't.”

Charlie slowly inches his way towards Ranboo.

“You need to rest, Ranboo. Let me save you.”

“I can't . Showfall-” 

“Give yourself a break, ok? If Showfall fucks with you, I will be there this time. It will be ok.”

Ranboo practically falls into Charlie, repeats of the same day - time that had probably amassed into months at least - the exhaustion of it all suddenly pours out of them. Sheer tiredness leaks through the cracks in their façade until it bursts completely and Ranboo collapses fully into the hug.

“Touch-starved, huh?”

Ranboo nods, concerningly light against Charlie. 

“Last loop was the first time I got a hug in-” Ranboo momentarily entertains the idea of counting before abandoning it. He swallows. “-in a while.”

This is half true. Charlie remembers that once, just once, Slimecicle had hugged him. The memory pushes itself to the front of his mind for a moment. Slimecicle had sort of hugged Ranboo. Not Charlie, his character. But it wasn't a hug. Not really. It did nothing but make Ranboo feel colder. Ranboo had initiated it. It had been one of the worse days, they clearly took what they could get.

There wasn't any emotion behind it. Slimecicle, Showfall really, had held him together like a piece of glass. Something fragile. That if they were to let go he would tumble to the floor and shatter, leaving them to clean up the mess. There was no care, just Showfall’s own self preservation to keep the show going a little longer. Broken, shattered, protagonists aren't entertaining.  

Charlie’s hugs were different. Warm.

Charlie holds his brother and promises that no one in the world will make them feel like this again, as long as he lives and breathes , Ranboo won't be cold anymore. 

“We’ve got all the time in the world, yeah? It’s ok , Ran. I’m here for you.”

Ranboo shudders in his arms, their grip only tightening around him.

They mumble something incoherently.

“Ran?”

“-sorry for making you deal with me again -”

“Ran.”

Charlie moves back slightly, hating himself almost instantly for the way Ran’s breathing speeds up.

“Ranboo. I’d do this again and again, as many times as you need , before I let you face this alone. You don’t need to apologise for anything. ”

"But-"

"But nothing , Ran. You're safe here. Now we have each other, we can figure more things out, protect each other and take as much time as we need, yeah?"

They sniffle again.

"Yeah. Thanks, Charlie. I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Hey, don't worry. Let's take this loop easy, ok? It's probably not a good idea to make escape plans when we're still upset."

Last run had definitely driven that point home.

Ranboo huffs out a shaky laugh. 

"We don't have to rush through these loops. Wanna go see how many outfits we can make out of The Puzzler's wardrobe?"

"Oh my gosh I've been dying to try on some of those wigs"

"Wait till I tell you about my first loop."

“Did you actually try them on? No way, man.”

Ranboo sniffs and wipes his eyes. 

“Yeah, yeah we did. It was really fun actually.”

The pair exited the cabin, paying no attention to how the Showfall employees began to twitch behind the cameras. After all, they’d have plenty of time to escape later.

For now, they were just going to take it one day at a time.

Charlie looks at his brother. Through all the nervous energy ever thrumming through his body, Charlie can tell from the slight twitch of his eyes that Ranboo is smiling. Just a little. 

A small rock of worry settles itself in Charlie's ribs. He still didn't know what had happened after he had died in the SUB A. Any amount of time could have amassed between then and Ranboo’s death, anything could have happened to them. What had they experienced to make them shut down like that?  Ranboo didn't look like they were going to tell him any time soon either.  

So as Ranboo smiles, that rock of worry in Charlie’s chest grows. 

Chapter Text

Ranboo fidgets as the two make their way to the set. Getting to and fro from various episode sets is a route long memorised, knowing which empty plant pots and walls to hide behind and when; all actions getting close to second nature now. This does nothing for the constant cloud of paranoia making itself home around Ranboo, and honestly for pretty good reason. He’s been in constant survival mode for the equivalent of a month or two at the very least. Charlie hopes that taking a breather- as much of a breather one could get in here- might ease the tight knot of nerves the kid has wound himself into. Thus, Puzzler’s wardrobe. Or whatever the place is called, Charlie isn’t picky with the names. 

The walk there is uneventful in a physical sense. Security, thank his lucky stars, hadn’t reared its ugly head yet as it so often did. Charlie wasn’t dumb enough to think it never would- he’d become intimately acquainted with its claws way too many times to think like that- but it wasn’t here yet. 

Emotionally, the walk there may as well have crushed him with a comically large piano and laughed in his face about it. Because something happened and they aren’t talking about it. Ranboo is the most courageous kid Charlie has ever met and probably ever will. Desperation only gets you so far and if that was all that was keeping Ranboo going they would’ve given up loops ago. Ranboo is one brave fucking kid. They had, for all intents and purposes, successfully enacted and completed a plan to get Charlie killed. Get lots of people killed. And they had still gotten back up, gotten back to escaping. 

The kid trailing behind Charlie now looked like a few choice words would break them in half. It made something in Charlie’s chest crawl. Something not just happened, something changed. And he is going to fucking kill whoever did it if it’s the last thing he does.

Ranboo trips slightly as the flooring transitions from tile to carpeting.

Charlie doesn’t mention it.

The walk continues like this for the better part of 10 minutes. The odd Employee roamed idly about the floors, and Charlie would lead the way and Ranboo would follow meekly behind- save for whenever they saved Charlie from making a wrong turn. Sue him, he’s new to the whole “keeping his memories thing” and yes he may be a little bit overwhelmed with the whole thing because first of all it makes no logical sense for time to loop around them but then again Showfall Media makes no sense and he’s trying his best to be there for the kid because he gets a horrible familial burning in his collarbone whenever he thinks of what they went through and is still going through-

Ranboo tugs on the back of his shirt before Charlie walks into the side of a cabinet.

-and his internal monologue has become nonsensical rambling. Awesome, real helpful Charlie.

Ranboo is looking at him with the air of a kicked puppy. Or- no, more like the air of someone who just watched someone else shoot a puppy then put it in a meat grinder. Either way Charlie doesn’t like the expression on Ranboo's face. Their eyes don’t belong on someone so young. The poor kid looks like he’s been through the wars. It’s plain trauma. Charlie internally curses Hetch’s name into the dirt, as has slowly become a tradition whenever he thinks particularly hard about the situation. 

Charlie takes a moment to mentally slap himself back into the present moment, however shitty the present moment has proven to be, and takes stock of the surroundings. No immediate or imminent danger, save for himself almost giving himself a new bruise with that cabinet. Charlie then mentally slaps himself again because how had he managed to get so lost in his thoughts to not pay attention to where he was going? He knows first hand that this place is dangerous and he just daydreamed instead of looking out for Ranboo? Some good he’s doing.

First note of order is that they successfully reached the Puzzler’s Wardrobe/Set which means that he can finally try and lighten the mood. 

Ranboo had been standing by Charlie, idly looking over the various assortments of clothes, wigs and miscellaneous items in an attempt to completely ignore the whole situation that had lead them here to begin with and had, like he said in his previous inner monologue: settled a growing rock of worry right in Charlie's chest. Whenever they notice Charlie looking at them they physically straighten up to try and look more put together than they clearly were. 

It’s weird. A lot of this situation is weird. Honestly weird is an understatement. Charlie should say something to break the strange silence coating the two of them, and he’s not sure why he can’t. A million words and questions come to mind such as are you ok what happened what did you see how can I make it better , all swirling and twisting together in one mass of fear, worry, anger and care. Everything knots together in his heart and by the time it’s reached his mouth no longer makes any sort of sense. He wants to say a lot of things. 

What's wrong?

Who hurt you?

What happened?

How can I help?

Please let me help you.

It will be ok.

But what came out of his mouth instead is-

“Want to dress up?”

—

Ranboo isn’t doing very well. To most this looks like a very surface level observation, obviously they aren’t doing very well they’re stuck in an everlasting psychological horror time loop. It’s not going to be a walk in the park. But to Ranboo the thought mentally fucks them up a bit. There hasn’t been time for self reflection. It’s all been a constant run-hide-scream-cry-blood-wake up repeat so an actual moment in a comparatively healthy environment to just pause and think about it…yeah Ranboo isn’t doing very well. Yes maybe the last time they properly broke down didn’t end well- 

-LED lights flickered tauntingly and a wave of blissful apathy momentarily soothed the fraying edges of his sanity as he straightened, no longer concerned about why his shoulders heaved painfully with choked sobs and the hole in his chest yawned wider -

-so they’re definitely not repressing things at all. No, totally not. Honest. 

Ranboo was expecting a serious talk. Maybe some tears, some burning shame and perhaps even worse rejection. So the question of “Do you want to dress up?” comes largely out of left field. Charlie was meant to address the last loop. Ranboo had gotten so used to the routine of the day, 7 minutes till the door is kicked down, give Charlie a mediocre explanation, run for life, repeat, that he felt wholeheartedly out of his depth now that that schedule is broken. Charlie was meant to be doing…something. Meant to ask why he’d just ignored him in the kitchen. Not invite him to try on outrageous clothes together. What do you even do with that question. 

Obviously you agree.

So ten minutes later Ranboo is browsing through clothes (why does The Puzzler even have this stuff?) and trying on the mismatched jewellery and knickknacks in draws and on shelves. There’s an interesting black and white dress with a long slit up the side that actually looks like it could be his size. Ranboo fumbles with the clip of an expensive looking necklace. Charlie stares at a pair of jorts with a complicated expression. It might be offence. Nothing goes wrong. (Charlie stabs himself with a pin by accident, but compared to the usual of being mauled to death Ranboo doesn't count it.)

He knows this is stupid. He should be watching for danger, or breaking down or making an escape plan. He also knows that if he does try and escape right now then he will break into an inconsolable mess and that's wont help anybody. So glitter eyeshadow it is. Metaphorically of course, The Puzzler rather annoyingly has no makeup in here, but he does have wigs and dresses…

“Hey Ranboo! Check me out!”

Ranboo turns and is greeted with the sight of Charlie nearly breaking his ankles in platform heels. A grin breaks out under their mask and Ranboo fights the urge to double over on the ground and laugh at him. Charlie continues to take baby steps like a drunk baby fawn, completely undeterred.

“Now I can finally-,” Charlie braces himself hurriedly on the wall with a yelp, “-finally be as tall as you!”

Ranboo almost wishes he had a phone to get a permanent photo of Charlie embarrassing himself. He appreciates Charlie doing most of the talking and the embarrassing stunts. Whenever he feels like saying something his throat just- closes up. Despite it, Ranboo shoves the kitchen to the back of his mind and laughs at Charlie. They’ve got a dress to try on, they seem to be doing a drag show at this point and they may as well commit to the bit. They can make up names and everything. Like- like Miss Beloved or something. It was a chance to forget about everything, just for a moment. Do some inner child healing. (He briefly flashes back to -pages and words and horror-) God knows Charlie needs some.

—

Charlie had not expected Ranboo to go along with it. 

Charlie is very aware that this is practically like putting a plaster over a bullet hole but Ranboo needs something and that plaster is better than nothing. It's not like there's anyone else experienced with this situation he can ask advice from. Cant exactly go on r/stucklikearatinamazerunbyacorruptcompanyusingmypainforentertainment and ask if anyone has a WikiHow. There’s WikiHow’s for all sorts of stuff, how to shower with a lemon, how to beat an ostrich, how to breathe.

There’s no WikiHow for this sort of situation though and he is very aware that he has no idea what to do. A very ‘the blind leading the blind’ situation, he muses. Having fun in this hellhole is already a massive demand, and if that fun helped even a little, and if it came in the form of bad quality drag shows, then so be it. 

They had made sure to shut as many entrances as possible because running away from an ambush in ridiculous high heels is impossible. And it looked like it had worked too. The two were alone. Or as alone as you can be in the mall. Charlie knows these rooms must be monitored and there’s no doubt cameras everywhere , but he prays to anything that Hetch will leave them alone this once. There's no cameraman following them around constantly, but the appearance of the cameraman in question has always been rather varied through the loops. How much Hetch would allow the audience to see was limited. Whenever an escape plan could work as entertainment, there was always predictably a cameraman tailing them five steps behind. At first they had tried to get rid of them, but the camera was so far the only Employee that did not actively attempt to kill them so it was reluctantly allowed to stay. If anything the only risk it caused was giving away their location, but Hetch probably had a million other ways of finding them either way. 

The kitchen incident had been filmed. It made Charlie incredibly uncomfortable to think about. Either the audience saw that and just decided to not get help, or Charlie is going to be awarded an Oscar for Best Distressed Acting when they get out of here. Charlie wonders what the audience is seeing now. Since nothing life threatening has come their way for a solid hour and a half, Charlie hopes Hetch has ended the whole broadcast. It's very possible that they’ve cut to an ‘interval’ or something. An impatient audience will only accept that for so long. Charlie and Ranboo’s time wasting is limited. There’s always a timer ticking down for when you next need to pack up and bolt.

God he’s tired.

What mattered is that it looked like Hetch was leaving them alone. Considering it had been a good hour or so at least, it seemed like he was. This undeniably unsettles both of them as time goes on, but Charlie forgoes mentioning it for fear of ruining the mood. This is the first time in a long time Charlie remembers seeing Ranboo properly happy, and he isn’t going to get in the way of it. 

Still, the absence of Hetch-like issues remains. Because if Hetch isn’t getting the story back on track, he’s doing something else. And he has no idea what it is. There’s been a lot of that lately; not knowing things.  He’s missing a massive part of the puzzle and he knows it. Charlie once again prays on Showfall’s downfall and goes back to untangling himself from a feather boa. 

—-

Unbeknownst to Charlie, correct as he was, the eyes behind the security cameras drummed white gloved fingers against the table. 

Du-dum. Du-dum. 

The drumming crushed any other sound in the room, ordering all else to quiet. All other sounds obeyed without question. 

Du-dum. Du-dum. The drum of a rhythmic heartbeat. 

The Figure mused to themselves. This go around was an interesting one. The subjects had adopted a new approach. 

The Figure could be alone in the room, it would be hard to know for sure. It is too dark to see anything but The Figure’s hands, drumming, du-dum, du-dum, against the table. 

They watch. A very interesting go around, indeed. They will be watching this loop rather closely.  Their drumming ceases, but no other sound dares fill the space. The Figure tends to have that effect. 

They did found the whole project after all. 

—-

Back in the mall, Charlie sits on the floor between racks of clothes as Ranboo shrugs their jacket back on. Two hours of fun had ended, and now there's nothing to distract from the gaping emotional hole between the pair. Ranboo struggles slightly with the jacket. It has no holes, but the left cuff is fraying a little. Ranboo unconsciously messes with a loose thread. The red colour is a little faded. Charlie doesn't like how clean it is, as if none of the things Ranboo had gone through with it had ever happened. He wouldn't like it any better covered in blood though, so he dismisses the thought rather quickly. They had kept a few bracelets on. Ranboo looks a little more like his own person now, Charlie thinks in the privacy of his own head. Getting out of costume felt like a good call. No one wants to be murdered in a terribly fitting outfit. 

The elephant in the room is very prevalent now that the fun has subsided. Ranboo looks ready to let the elephant move in permanently, so Charlie speaks.

He’s not loud, or confrontational. Just worried.

“Something happened, didn’t it.”

There’s no need to clarify. Something must have happened between Charlie’s death in the SUBA and waking up in the kitchen. The fact rattles round in circles in his head like an old toy train. He can see how it’s been eating at his friend, and that won’t do. 

Ranboo, now seated next to him and looking everywhere else but Charlie, is smaller than he’s ever seen him. They’ve managed to curl in on themselves so much that their spine is bordering on a complete u-bend, reminding Charlie of a wounded dog protecting its vulnerable areas. It doesn't suit them. They keep pulling at the frayed thread of their jacket sleeve. 

Charlie is patient. Charlie is nothing if not patient. He will wait as long as Ranboo needs. Every loop, every time.

Ranboo looks like they’re about to say something, backtracks, then tries again. A painted noise forces its way out and is abruptly cut off before it could form a word. Charlie hears Ranboo’s teeth click shut and they pull their knees to their chin. The pointed angles of the mask makes the position look uncomfortable.

Charlie is torn. On one hand he doesn’t want to make a clearly bad moment worse by pressing the subject, but seeing just how badly it’s impacting Ranboo and doing nothing feels like getting stabbed. Their changes of behaviour all present terrible implications and Charlie has no idea what caused them. 

Ranboo looks more alert than ever, like letting their mind wander would kill them.

They won’t look in a mirror. 

Sometimes the way he looks at Charlie makes him feel like they know something he doesn’t, and he has a feeling that whatever they know is hurting. 

They keep touching the back of their head, where that disk thing is.

Ranboo hasn’t talked of an escape plan once today. 

They’ve taken off their jacket, opting to tie it around their waist instead. Like they don't want Charlie to see it. 

There’s a plethora of small details that Charlie desperately wants to string together into a cohesive answer as if he isn’t solving a jigsaw puzzle with half of the pieces. Feeling useless over it isn't going to help, but he can't really help it. Charlie is out of his depth. He is stuck in a cycle where it turns out his whole life is fake and everyone keeps dying. The one other person trapped with him is currently breaking at the seams and despite his urge to help-protect-care-save Charlie cant do anything about it. All he can do is stay here, in between racks of clothes he doesn't care about, and try. Brothers look out for each other.

Charlie shuffles closer to Ranboo, side by side now, and looks at them as if to reiterate the question. Tell me what's wrong. You are deserving of help. Tell me so I can help you. Let me help you. 

Ranboo wrings their hands for a long moment. 

Then, quietly, “Yes.”

It’s the answer Charlie expects yet Charlie’s heart doesn’t just drop, it rips itself downwards with the gravitational force of Jupiter and bounces off of his ribs like a terrible pinball game. Because that yes could mean anything. Anything that Charlie should’ve been there for. 

Charlie awkwardly offers a hand. He isn’t experienced at comfort but physical touch seems to be the best in his observations. He thinks back to the loop he finally remembered. The last loop. Sitting on the floor behind a barrier of furniture, holding each other close enough to hide from the world watching them. 

“Tell me about it?” 

Ranboo looks at the offered hand with an unreadable expression before something seems to relent and they lean their head on Charlie’s shoulder as a compromise. Charlie rests his hands in his lap and leans back. Take as much time as you need, I’m not leaving you. 

For a moment they just sit like that. Charlie cross legged on the floor, Ranboo leaning on him with their knees to their chest. 

Softly, “I don't know where to start.”

Charlie’s heart drops further. Multiple things happened then. Hetch is so dead when Charlie gets his hands on him. He tightly packs that anger away deep into his mind because Ranboo doesn't need that right now. 

“Start from where I left off?” He offers into the silence. Charlie cringes at his own wording, but it seems to help; giving Ranboo a place to start.

They snap the thread they were fiddling with. Slowly, ever so slowly, Ranboo’s hand finds Charlie’s. 

“Ok.”

Charlie knows then with 100% certainty, that he’s not going to like the recount he’s about to hear. 

Ranboo takes a shuddered breath in.

—Four hours ago, yesterday, or last lifetime (depending on how one looks at it).—

The SUB A’s shutters wail, old metal scrapes against itself as Showfall tries to force the locks open. 

The cacophony of Staff banging and pushing from every direction overwhelmed everything, drowning out the thumping of his heart and Charlie's crying.

The screaming was getting louder and louder and Ranboo couldn’t breathe-

“CHARLIE? CHARLIE-”

More Showfall employees held him down as he struggled, trying desperately to reach his brother-

A choked gurgling sound; silence.

No.

No.

Salty tears begin to sting as they meet the seams of the mask, and the Staff simultaneously turn their attention solely onto Ranboo. Now there are arms vice gripped around him, and he’s yanked backwards towards the shutters and the awaiting throng of Staff behind it.

The familiar yet no less manageable haze of panic wraps reality in a thick cloud, shooting up his veins like a live wire spark, letting them kick and squirm with the desperate and uncoordinated look someone would get from being electrocuted. Escape routes. They had made sure the shutters were firmly shut, a decision now more akin now to locking the lid of his own casket than keeping the monster at bay.  It was stupid to block off their only escape route. Stupid stupid stupid. Vents? There was a rusty old grate within stepping distance.  

The hands tighten around Ranboo’s torso and he gasps as the air threatens to be crushed out of him. Who’s he kidding? This is real, not a mission impossible movie. Vents are a no go. Another pair of hands closes around Ranboos neck and any options they had in that split second of planning time is strangled. Their scream is cut off, and suddenly they're pulled backwards and away, away, away from Charlie and towards, towards, towards Showfall.

It feels like every survival instinct is activated at once. Gloved hands grab at their jacket and scrabble for holds like one conjoined mass. They latch onto pockets, seams, collars with no goal other than capture. Fingers yank at their hair and dig into the sides of the mask for handholds making Ranboo cry out. A hand finds the disc at the back of their head and yanks them backwards further away from Charlie. It sends a flare of pain through his head so powerful that for a moment his vision whites out completely. Ranboo tries to break loose, they swear they do, elbowing and kicking and headbutting any limb that wasn't theirs. He probably would have bitten them if there wasn't a glorified muzzle on their face.

Ranboo is petrified, angry and protective all mixed into a very erratic soup. But the Staff persist, an immovable object meets unstoppable force, and Ranboo is stuck in equilibrium being pulled and clawed at with the furniture digging into his side as he is yanked every which way. 

His back collides with the sharp corner of the counter as he’s pulled towards the shutters, and his one free hand catches on a drawer. He forces his mind to ignore the overwhelming feeling of hands poking and prodding and gripping and plants his feet between the metal legs of the counter. Ranboo keeps hold of the drawer because his life depends on it. The grip holds and halts where he is, still being assaulted on all sides but at least no longer getting dragged. Please work . Force out every other sensation apart from white knuckling the drawer. Every inch of him hurts, he has to pull his arm out so tightly to reach it that it feels like his shoulder is going to dislocate. 

Ranboo searches blindly through the drawer with his fingers and immediately sharply cuts himself. He scrambles to find the handle of what has to be a knife. 

The handle slips through the blood on their fingers- when did that get there-  until Ranboo’s fist finally closes around something solid. It’s apparently perfect timing as one of the Staff members decides it's time to crush Ranboo’s foot under their heeled dress shoes and just like that Ranboo is dislodged from the counter and is ripped backwards again with a scream and a popping sound. Their left arm ignites in agony that threatens to make them pass out.  Something definitely dislocated. 

Knife tightly clutched in their one remaining hand, the other flaring in pain when it as much as brushes against something, Ranboo screeches and wildly swings the weapon at anyone in distance. The Staff are not human enough to scream, but a couple hands constricting him go lax and Ranboo pushes their way through the tangle of limbs as the blood of once-people stains their hands. It feels like cutting through thick, squishy vines as bodies continue to tear at him. Adrenaline dampens their own body screaming out in pain and mutes the ache coursing in their legs. Someone's blood spurts across their jacket.

“Come on, Ranboo.” says a voice in their head that sounds suspiciously like Charlie, “Get up.”

Escape routes. The only other door is the one that took Charlie. Ranboo rears back and donkey-kicks a Staff member still determinedly attempting to headlock them from behind. The once-person gives out, and Ranboo takes the precious second to bolt for the Staff Only door their brother had disappeared into. 

They bite down hard on their tongue as his entire left side continues to engulf his mind in glaring pain. 

The SUB A was a small shop, maybe eight good paces across at best, but getting to the door felt impossible. Every inch of the already small space was quickly filling in with Staff effortlessly packing themselves in between tables and counters like the picture of uniformity while Ranboo skidded haphazardly around corners with uncoordinated limbs. They barrel past the same cold face over and over again, any personality or defining feature striped away, the door was right there-

Ranboo nearly throws up and their fingernails scrape against the doorframe because Charlie is lying there. More hands begin to catch up to them. Ranboo kicks themselves into action as the Staff force their attention away from the body at their feet and out, out and away.

An Employee almost manages to get its arms around his neck again and Ranboo practically falls forwards, struggling and tripping past the Staff still lining the walls. His foot catches on something and Ranboo topples forward and screams as their dislocated shoulder connects with the ground. Something warm and squishy seems to break their fall - it’s Charlie, that's his blood on your clothes- but Ranboo can’t afford to pay it mind unless he wants to die here with him. He scrambles up with one hand, kicking away legs and bodies crowding around him and is up again in an instant. As soon as there’s breathing room Ranboo is gone. They push past the thinning hivemind of Staff and the cold nothingness of the Mall greets them as their trainers thunder across the tiles.

From then on the only thought is to run. One foot in front of the other until there aren't twenty more footfalls behind you. Adrenaline numbs the pain coursing through their entire body, and the thought of Charlie is forcibly forgotten until it's safe to even think about him again, in the same way blood is funnelled to vital organs and nothing else when freezing to death. Save heat, survive for as long as possible.

Mindless turns through corridors, slipping on steps and slamming doors, all motivated purely out of the need to live . Even when the mass of employees behind them dwindles Ranboo keeps running. The heartbeat in their ears and heavy thumping of breaths in their chest sounds too much like footsteps giving chase. It's only when the adrenaline begins to wear off and the burning in their legs starts to consume them that Ranboo drops to the floor, shuts their eyes, and pants trying to catch their breath. 

It’s only then that the rest of the spur-of-the-moment energy they had drains away and Ranboo is hollow against some random wall in some random room of the mall. 

They’re not empty exactly, their shoulder was still burning something hellish, and every bad emotion possible has congealed into one horrible disgusting lump between their ribs. 

Despair. Despair is a rather good word for it. 

It's not like they know any sort of first aid, and Ranboo doubts if he can relocate his own shoulder with no assistance at all. The voice in their head that sounds like Charlie whispers encouragement. Thanks possible-auditory-hallucination Charlie. It doesnt change the fact there’s absolutely no one reachable in the whole building that would be able to help. Ranboo fights off the urge to cry. Every escape attempt so far has failed. Even if they were to escape without Charlie, there's no way they could do it with a dislocated shoulder. 

Every. Single. Loop. Every single time, nothing ever works. No one ever gets saved. Ranboo can practically hear Hetch’s next gloating monologue already.

“Do you know how humans used to hunt in prehistoric times?” 

Ranboo cowers against the wall, winded and alone with his figurative tail held low. This isn't fair. Crying about it wont make the pain go away. Ranboo racks his mind. He can't relocate his shoulder, he has no ice or pain relief, maybe the next best thing is to make a sling? At least he needs it to not move because every time it does it makes them stifle a low keening sound because it fucking hurts. They don't have a sling. Their jacket is the only thing coming to mind. Shit. Shit fuck fuck fuck it all god damn it. Ranboo hopes Hetch falls down the stairs and breaks his neck. 

It takes Ranboo a full five minutes of hissing through his teeth and searing pain for them to take their jacket off without jostling their bad arm so much that they pass out.

It's an even more agony inducing period of time making and getting their damn arm in the sling. 

They keep telling themselves that it will pay off. That the pain will be worth it someday. Ranboo refuses to acknowledge that he believes it less and less each loop. He just has to hold out for a little bit longer. He thinks about the hot chocolate he’ll make when this is all over. Showfall is always one step ahead, but if he can always be one step behind then at least Showfall will never know any peace. The back of his head hurts. The Hetch in his head takes on a more patronising tone, like a disappointed parent. 

“Humans have very good endurance, Ranboo.” 

There was no clock in the room so Ranboo doesn’t know how long he spent boneless against the wall of who knows where. He was below ground level, that he was pretty certain of. He recalls a lot of Staff Only doors and tripping down many a stair in his blind escape. All things considered the room, basement really, was boringly decorated. Staff were probably the only entities travelling down here and any appreciation for home décor was removed along with basic empathy and all other emotions. 

The walls were grey. Not the type of grey where it’s smoothly painted intentionally that way, more like the grey you get when you fuck up the paint job and simply leave it there to peel away and dirty itself to reveal the actual, even greyer wall underneath. The stuff you make pavements out of, but vertical. The occasional pipe ran along and up. Water pipes maybe. A small off white circle sits unassumingly on the ceiling; a fire alarm, maybe a camera. He’s aware he's not thinking clearly. The back of Ranboo’s head hurts. Maybe they hit it on something. Ranboo doesn’t particularly care about any of these things. 

What Ranboo does care about is the door.  After a period of time lying on the cold uncomfortable floor of a cold and uncomfortable room, in pulsing agony, one has to get up and keep moving. Tears drying for now, Ranboo forces himself to his feet. He winces as his left arm (now wrapped tight against his chest) catches and bumps against the wall.

“They would hunt prey that was faster than them, but the prey would sprint and use up all of its energy.”

No rest for the wicked. It’s always run and keep running, no matter who you run past or falls behind you. Keep your focus on the ones giving chase and maintaining as much distance as possible between the two of you. Focus on escaping. No time for anything else.

“Come Ranboo, plan something, you’re good at plans you’re the planning guy.” Goes his internal monologue, still sounding suspiciously like Charlie. They frown.

Great job so far Ranboo, you’re going insane already. 

Faint sounds of methodical footsteps above him stand out from the low thrum of the pipes. No time to worry about irrelevant things. Ranboo manages a skimping speed walk in his exhaustion, and laboriously continues deeper into the lower layers of the mall. 

“And the humans would simply… keep up.” 

——-

In an undisclosed location within Showfall’s grasp, a man paces back and forth.

Hetch was pissed. Things had not gone to plan, and The Founder is probably going to blame him for it. 

Someone on the team had clearly fucked up, he thinks, while watching the stars of the story run completely off script via CCTV. Of course the control fucks up the one time they live broadcast a show. 

The few other sentient workers in the building with him who kept their autonomy were practically wishing they’d been masked when Hetch found out the show was going wrong. Asking (read: yelling at) the tech guy to switch to the technical difficulties interval screen in time for the viewers to not hear The Hero running his dirty mouth about the company was pretty easy, but it did not change the fact that the show was not at all on track anymore. 

Hetch doesn’t do planning. He executes the plan. The Founder is the one that makes the plans. The Founder gives him the plot points, Hetch writes the script. Hetch is the one that creates the dialogue, shapes the characters and the backstories. 

The Hero, Ranboo , has managed to fuck up every single one of those things. And even more frustratingly, Hetch has no fucking idea how. Fortunately enough, whatever previous knowledge Ranboo seems to have impossibly gained hasn't aided him for very long. Charlie has been apprehended, and it shouldn’t take too long to reinstate his programming. (Hetch would order a fix for whatever error seems to have broken him out of it, but The Founder had given advice against doing so. The Founder also refused to elaborate on why. Secretive bitch. It pissed him off.) It shouldn't matter too much. Every experiment has its hiccups; easy fixable hiccups. It's not brain science. Hetch snorts to himself. Not in the traditional sense anyway. 

Ranboo isn’t showing up in any camera feeds. 

Seething anger washes over him again.

Hetch kicks at his office chair. When they locate that fucking kid he is going to take delight in ordering his reset.

Behind Hetch, a head of messy blond hair peers in through the doorway and scrutinises the CCTV. And has been for a while. He is hurriedly scribbling down directions onto a slip of paper from the recycling bin. Blue eyes shine with uncertain determination.

—- 

Somewhere deep inside the mall, a kid paces back and forth. 

Ranboo is alone. Things have not gone to plan, now they’re worse off than ever. Do abused dogs end up missing the chain around their neck, if they go far enough? At least running for his life was a routine. There was hope there. A horizon line to sprint towards. I can get there, just a bit longer. Now there is not even that. There is just the ache of a dislocated shoulder, and the damp cold of being alone is Showfall’s lowest levels. 

“Steadily they would follow, and over time…their prey would get more and more tired.” 

Ranboo is exhausted. They were getting nowhere. If Ranboo had the ability to remember Greek myths then the never ending twists and turns of the lowest level would remind them heavily of the maze that trapped the Minotour. A hero walking towards either victory over the beast or certain death. Ranboo has a feeling about which fate was going to meet him today. 

Every single direction was the same concrete in questionable condition. The few and far between instances of footsteps echoing in far away corridors do nothing to help the possibility that he’s finally lost his mind and is hallucinating to keep himself company. The loops have destroyed any semblance of both his internal clock and sense of direction. This isn't very good when stuck in a basement of repeating corridors and nondescript doors. 

Well not entirely repeating corridors, they passed an out of order lift a few minutes ago. After a moment taken to pry the doors open they were greeted with the lovely sight of no lift, just the elevator shaft. Concerningly the drop down implied the existence of even deeper levels of the mall, and Ranboo resolves to not go down any more sets of stairs. They also try not to think about the broken body of a Staff member crumpled at the bottom of the shaft, lest they delve into complex philosophy feeling bad about it. They don't question how it got there, or who might have pushed it. It's not like they have time to think about it, they’re busy wandering aimlessly at a snail's pace as their legs burn with exhaustion and desperation grows. Very busy. 

Ranboo has about ¾ of a mind to lie down on the floor and let nature reclaim him when one of the distant footsteps registers as approaching. No, no, not again. He’s so tired of this. He can't go anywhere without those damned methodical footsteps always in perfect rhyth- hold on. Ranboo pauses. The footsteps coming towards him lack the normal clack clack of dress shoes. 

The footsteps, muffled like someone trying badly to be stealthy, round a corner and… it's not Staff. Words don't describe the relief that fact brings. Words also don't describe the confusion of the realisation of who it is. 

One of the Puzzler’s Rats stares at him. Even more strangely, it's the annoying one from the loop where he killed Charlie. The annoying-at-first one. His blonde hair is askew and rat costume in bad enough condition that it became clear he wasn't meant to be here. Huh. Huh? 

He was disobeying Showfall orders. He was disobeying.

What.

The Rat looks up from where his eyes were previously glued to the scrap of paper clutched in his hands- a badly drawn map, upon further inspection. Recognition sparks in his eyes and the paper is hastily shoved in a back pocket. 

“What are you doing here- hey!”

The blond kid grins, abruptly spins on his heels and bolts down a hall. Oh hell no, Ranboo wants some answers. 

“Get back here!”

Now if there ever were background music to the next 5 minutes of Ranboo’s life, it would certainly be clown music. 

——

Ranboo groans with exhaustion as the Rat rounds yet another corner, using one hand to prop themselves up on the wall as they stagger through the maze of corridors. The kid had an incredibly annoying habit of pausing just long enough to let Ranboo catch up before running off again. Every nerve in their body screamed that this was probably a trap, but they were past caring. He wanted a goddamn explanation and he was going to get one, even if that meant dying in the process. 

Ranboo glares at a camera as he runs past, face twisted in a grimace of pain as their arm jostles in its sling. He bets Hetch is having the time of his life right now. They grit their teeth and keep moving, ignoring the waves of agony washing over their body. The thought of Hetch calmly watching him suffer fuels him with enough anger to keep putting one foot in front of the other. That bitch.

Ranboo grits his teeth and keeps moving. The blonde Rat slows, turning another corner with the creased piece of paper still gripped tightly in his hands. Ranboo would have let out another sob of relief he was able to suck in enough air as he slowly limped forwards, closing the distance and rounding the corner in bitter triumph-

There was nobody there. It was a dead end. Just the spatial equivalent of a broom closet with one derelict looking side door. Ranboo felt like crumpling to the ground.

They bent over, bracing their good hand on their knee as wheezing breaths choked their way out of their throat. The taste of blood filled their mouth as they straightened, breath clouding in the damp, stale basement air. 

For one sudden, awful moment, Ranboo becomes aware of somebody standing in the space behind him.

Suddenly two bony hands shove them through the side door, which slams closed with a resounding bang and the click! of a lock.

Ranboo whirls and pounds at the door with their one good arm and a yell. 

“Let me out!”

The Rat winks at him through the small window of glass, mouths a sentence he can't decipher, and runs. Ranboo feels like crying again.

“And they would run out of energy.” 

Adrenaline melts away as quickly as it came, and all the ‘weak-alone-sickly-listless-pain-misery’ crawls right back to take its place. Animalistic yelling turns more into animalistic wailing and crying, until it petters off all together into relatively quiet panting sobs. 

Ranboo’s arm falls, and with the heaviest sigh known to humankind, they turn around to survey the room they’ve been locked into. 

As it turns out, ‘room’ was an understatement. 

He was in what can only be described as a small warehouse, but was more likely a dumping ground where they tossed things never intended to see the light of day again. Concrete walls, rows of filing cabinets, boxes, crates. Odd desks and unnamable objects. Buzzing filament light bulbs. Innocent-seeming papers stapled together probably containing a myriad of damning information. Including damning information about the people you’ve kidnapped, he assumes. Some kind of storage area for all the shit he has both been longing to know and also dreads whole heartedly.

He recalls the rat winking at him through the glass. God damn it. 

Ranboo feels an unnameable emotion that some would write poetry about. He just feels homesick. That's probably what it is.

hiraeth (welsh) 

NOUN

the homesickness for a home to which you cannot return, a home which maybe never was; the nostalgia, the yearning, the grief for the lost places of your past. 

He has to commend Showfall’s terrible approach to secret keeping. Keeping it all in one, findable, room? They really should've invested in a paper shredder instead. What if one lucky person happens upon it and sues the company out of existence? Or maybe Showfall just has really good lawyers. Or maybe Showfall is just such a big company that it wouldn't even make a dent. Ranboo decides to not ponder just how big off a mess his life has become without his permission. 

The most glaring issue currently obvious is the fact that this is a highly illegal information room and thus is definitely covered to high heaven with security measures. This begs two things: Whoever’s manning the CCTV 100% knows they’re here now, which means lots of bad things approaching very quickly, and secondly why the fuck did they leave the door unlocked.  

So Ranboo has limited time here. Always running out of time, always. No catching a break today, or ever. Ranboo exhales a miserable noise worthy of an undeserving peasant about to be publicly executed in 1692, resists the urge to collapse and cry until Security comes to kill him, and starts to read the label of the nearest filing cabinet. 

A lot of it appears to be money related; he’s recognising an abundance of ‘tax evasion’ adjacent words on the labels. He knocks his forehead against the metal of the filing cabinet and groans. They are never going to get out of here. Their life is going to consist of this same day, over and over and over for the foreseeable eternity. And they’re spending it with a dislocated shoulder, destroyed will to live, and filing cabinets. It could very well take hours to search this whole place for something useful. Ranboo would equate it to the size of your average Tesco, if he could remember the average size of a Tesco. Memory wipe perks. 

Showfall had helpfully labelled the cabinets in accordance to its contents but had, not so helpfully, locked them all. Sigh.

Well, Ranboo decides, have to start somewhere. 

He starts forward and immediately steps on something crunchy. He moves his foot, revealing a crumpled PR leaflet. Showfall has social media? ‘Entertainment Representative tip #3: When faced with negative reviews, delete them under the guise of redirecting them to a customer service number. We do not have a customer service number.’

Ranboo rolls his eyes to the heavens. Of course.

The first few cabinets and desks he doesn't bother too much with as its all money stuff and legal jargon that is no use to Ranboo. The drawer labelled “lawsuits” doesn't look very empty. Snowfall probably has enough money to pay them off and sweep it under the rug like it never existed. Showfall have historically been very good at that.

Sigh. Next few cabinets. Ranboo skims the labels. Rat Program, Chronicle 0, Ranboo Bakes A Ca - what.

“Ranboo Bakes a Cake? What the fu-”

Ranboo cuts himself off with a yelp as he straightens up and hits his head on a drawer. 

Ranboo curses under their breath. Fucking spacial awareness. This is what happens when you are 6 foot something and others Normally Are Not. The drawer that will probably give him a new bruise is only titled JRWI. The drawer itself is attached to the cabinet with the larger title of SCU. What's with all the abbreviations? Is it God taunting him by making him unable to understand all the secrets? Perchance.

 The JRWI drawer is leaking some weird substance. The drawer above it (marked The 100 Days Test ) smelt strongly like rot. Hm. Yeah he wants none of that. Nope, not opening that. That is more likely to contain a deadly biohazard than information. No thank you. 

The next few cabinets are covered in notes, stuck onto the metal with little cartoon bear fridge magnets. On closer look, Ranboo’s seeing a lot of government-y, federation-y words. Quite a few names he does not recognize, he spots a Mariana, a Jaiden, a Bobby… and every once and a while, Charlie’s name. (He wonders where those other people are. He hopes they are ok.) There’s a lot of binary code sequences. That is not a great sign. He’s just going to… leave that the hell alone. It practically screamed THIS WILL GET YOU INTO AN EVEN LARGER MESS IF YOU MESS WITH IT, thus, leaving the hell alone.

Another drawer labelled The Lostfield Incident had a lot of caution stickers slapped on it. Ranboo dismisses another section simply abbreviated to MCC. Ok. None of that felt like it would give him specific answers and he doesnt particularly want to know whats in some of those because all of them sound ominous as fuck (except Ranboo Bakes a Cake, what the hell is that).

It’s a few long boring depressing treacherous minutes of searching the clutter of various storage items when Ranboo gets to a particularly messily arranged section. By messy he means stuff everywhere. A lot of it was papers. Various bits of probably important files strewn around the floors, sticking out of draws, pinned to the wall like a noir detective movie. 

Upon closer inspection of the papers oh my fucking god those are people’s. People's lives. The people Showfall has taken’s lives. Missing posters. News reports. Birth certificates. Screenshots from people's private social media. Blackmail. Death certificates. Forged death certificates. 

He feels sick. So many people’s lives, thrown away like trash. These were people. With names and lives. He thinks of the Employee broken at the bottom of the elevator shaft. A person. Who were they? Was their file somewhere in here? They had a family. A family who will never have a body to mourn. Because there is a person dead in the elevator shaft. Oh god. Ranboo really wants to throw up.

Various files are pinned to a board, names and locations linking together the same last names the same last names; a family-

Ranboo snatches at the nearest file to his knees (Oh, he’s on the ground. When did that happen?) and clutches it to his chest, knocking his bad arm in the process, as if he can still save them. A few rouge tears blot the paper. His hands shake has he thumbs through page after page of names, of lives-

Jane D. Anthony JC. Lucy H. Bella F. Stanley and Mariella P. F Pines. Dr Gerald M…

It’s a terrifyingly long list. In bold capitals, a word under each face.

Accepted. Disqualified. Accepted. Accepted. Ranboo’s heart drops further. Showfall was scouting for Employees . Accepted. Disqualified. Ranboo’s noticing a pattern. Disqualified. Disqualified. Accepted. The accepted people tend to be alone. Accepted. Accepted. Alone with no one who would look hard enough to find them. Disqualified. Accepted. No one on the carousel mentioned people to go back to. Accepted. Accepted. 

Ranboo aches, and the pain in the back of his head worsens slightly. They stop turning the pages on a particular face looking back at them. 

MISSING PERSON: 

HAVE YOU SEEN THIS BOY?

It’s the Rat that led them in here. He looks different out of costume sure, but the resemblance is uncanny. Same blond hair, if a bit shorter, same eyes. Same dead and buried memories of laughing together years ago. 

Tommy. Having a name to the face is… disturbing. The words in the file laugh at him.

Accepted.

Brighton beach. Last seen with his family.

A low definition photo is paperclipped to the page, unmistakably the Rat. Tommy. It shows him in a crowd of holiday goers, flanked on either side by two taller figures, siblings perhaps, seemingly arguing over ice cream orders if the van next to them gave any indication.  The one in a yellow jumper makes an exaggerated gagging motion as the other defends their pink ice cream. Neither are looking at Tommy. Tommy’s ice cream is melting onto the pavement. A shorter man in a green hat and Tommy's hair colour has his back turned to the family and sheepishly pays for a cone in the grainy background. A family. Tommy had a family.  

The worst thing is that the photo looks like it was taken across the street, maybe from a car. Tommy is looking right at the camera. He looks afraid. Very afraid. 

Last seen. Last seen. Last seen.  

Does Tommy's family know what happened to him? Did they turn around to ask him if he prefers chocolate or strawberry and see him gone? Did they get taken too? Ranboo feels really ill now. He thinks back to Tommy disobeying orders to show him this room. The wink through the glass. The mouthed sentence he couldn't make out. He hopes that wherever Tommy is now, that he’s alive. 

IF YOU HAVE ANY INFORMATION, PLEASE CONTACT ███████ IMMEDIATELY. PLEASE BRING HIM HOME.

All the contact information is blacked out.

Ranboo keeps turning pages in numb horror. Showfall had been stalking a lot of people for a long time. A blurry photo through the window of a Starbucks as a woman in her 30s uses the free Wi-Fi to work on her laptop. Accepted. A photo from the street aimed at a bus, framing a man looking out the window unaware of the photographer. The motion blur strips away his features. Accepted. A man with his son at the park, the child making eye contact with the camera. The next photo is of the same man, now alone. Terminated. A wedding. The bride is mid-bouquet throw, the photo focusing on a bridesmaid making no move to catch it. Accepted. A photo through the window of a family home as two people in their early 20s watch Home Alone 2. Disqualified.  

The worst part is that they are starting to recognise faces. A familiar woman walking her dog. Niki. Niki who was shot dead in the bathroom, with a dog waiting at the door for its owner to return from the shopping run. Accepted. A young man being dragged away with someone else’s hand over his mouth, unmistakably Sneeg. Accepted. Ranboo closes the file quickly and represses a wave of nausea. Oh god.  

Ranboo puts the file gingerly down and doesn't cry, he doesn't. Family. Family. Ranboo doubles over until his forehead touches the concrete and grieves. 

——-

In an undisclosed location within Showfall’s grasp, Hetch scans the lower level’s CCTV. A skinny figure walks aimlessly through the hallways, rat costume askew. Tommy looks right at the camera. And flips it off. 

Hetch scoffs. That kid was trouble from day one. He’ll get someone to deal with it later, he has one much bigger fish to fry. 

Hetch watches a tall figure crumpled on the ground, like a prayer, clutching at papers. It’s a little pathetic actually.  

The fish has just jumped from the frying pan, into the fire.

——-

DAUGHTER DID NOT RETURN HOME.

MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE: DO YOU HAVE INFORMATION?

PLEASE BRING HIM HOME.

HELP US PLEASE.

HELP!

MISSING: HAVE YOU SEEN ME?

PLEASE LISTEN.

MISSING PERSON, PLEASE SHARE.

FIND ME.

HAS NOT BEEN SEEN IN MONTHS, HELP!

PLEASE FIND HER.

WE CANNOT AFFORD A REWARD, PLEASE HELP US.

MISSING: CAN YOU HELP?

PLEASE, INFORMATION NEEDED.

CALL ██████████ WE ARE DESPERATE!

HAVE YOU SEEN THIS MAN?

RUNAWAY TEENAGER.

BRING ME HOME.

MISSING PERSON.

MISSING.

MISSING. 

MISSING.

“Then the humans would eat them.”  

Ranboo doesn't believe in ghosts because if they were real then the mall would be full of them. If ghosts were real there would be lost people wandering through the place constantly. If ghosts were real, Sneeg would be snarking at Charlie from the doorway and Ranboo would be butting in every now and then as they bicker together good naturedly. 

Ranboo is alone with his crying. 

There’s people out there. Families with a seat missing at the table. There are empty coffins buried out there. Ranboo does not move from his spot on the floor. Everyone inside this mall is missing. Gone. Vanished out of existence while Showfall hides in plain sight. Ranboo is a missing person. He is a missing person. He belonged somewhere. Out there, there is a person mourning a Ranboo-shaped hole in their lives. Showfall had dug their fingers deep and taken until there's nothing left. There’s thousands of gaping blank spaces outside, that no one has that capacity to fill anymore. 

Ranboo still sits shaking on his spot on the concrete. Because there is something lying on the desk on his right. And he doesn't want to look at it. So he keeps his head pointed at the ground, seeing but not really looking. Afraid that if he looks up, reads the words next to him, up on that desk, that it will all become real. It feels like death. 

Ranboo is kneeling, grieving, on the floor, with his neck placed on the chopping block. And looking up will send the guillotine down, down, down. 

Ranboo delays the inevitable for a long time. It hurts. The air is strangling him. Ranboo looks up. 

Two files. Paperclipped together, not to be separated. There are no names on the front, but Ranboo knows whose lives are in them. 

Ranboo slowly unwinds from his heap on the floor, and reaches one-armed to the files. It irritates his shoulder, but the pain that flares is an afterthought now. Somewhere between the floor and the desk, Ranboo’s hands stop shaking. 

The first thing tucked inside is a missing poster. 

MISSING: ████ , Charlie

AGE: ████

MISSING SINCE: ███ ,██ ,2008

And there it is. Ranboo just stares, winded. Reading it, he almost feels guilty. Like his viewing of it had somehow cemented Charlie’s fate, as if this could’ve been changed. 

Ranboo turns the poster gently over. As if damaging it would damage Charlie. There's too much that Ranboo can't bring himself to read. He sees a lot of research pages. Things labelled as Experimental. There's diagrams. Ranboo wants to throw up. Ranboo wants to cry again. Ranboo wants Charlie back. Ranboo wants to go home. Ranboo wants to stop reading. Ranboo wants to lie down in his childhood bedroom. Ranboo doesn't want to be alone.

IF FOUND, CALL: ███████

There’s photos, like Tommy had photos. 

A park. A kid with his back to the camera. A school playground. The kid is older now. He has friends. Accepted. Ranboo can't see his face. 

Ranboo doesn't see Charlie’s parents in any of them. Not properly, he glimpses no faces. He sees the hands that hold Charlie’s. They look old. Grandparents, then. 

A special sort of knife stabs at Ranboo’s heart. MISSING SINCE: ███ , ██ ,2008. Decades. Charlie can't see them again. 

There’s more photos. Showfall photos. 

A white, sterile room. Wires. People in white coats, masked all the same, as faceless surgeons. There is too much, too many. He spots what looks like past shows.  And the aftermath of them. Ranboo recalls the filing cabinets he passed. There is blood. The lab rat, the testing guinea pig. His brother. Ranboo closes Charlie’s file, before he can see something that will stay branded into his mind forever. Oh God.

—

Du-dum. Du-dum. Du-dum. Du-dum

—

The file paperclipped to Charlie’s reads “Hero” in bold font.

—

Du-dum. Du-dum.

Always watching. Always planning.

Du-dum. Du-dum.

—

Ranboo has photos too. Or, he did. Whereas the others had been clipped in, Ranboo’s photos had been glued. And then– ripped out. He was denied even this.  

MISSING: ████ “Ranboo” ████

AGE: ████

MISSING SINCE: ███████

There is no contact information to redact. 

The paper is ripped, parts of it coming away with the photos. The edge of it still remains, stuck so well to the page that it could not be removed without ripping the information beneath it. 

The fragments left do not tell him much. 

What appears to be the steps to a house. The bottom half of a small figure sits on them, reaching out to part of a cat barely in the picture. The name tag reads ‘Crumb.’ Next to the boy, a pair of women's shoes. Flat red ones with black straps. The faintest implication of socks, then the rest of her is ripped away. The kid’s shoes are red, like hers. Accepted.

Ranboo’s fingers lightly trail the blank space where the figure of his mother should've been.

Another photo’s remains. A glimpse of a cloudy sky peeking over a slate roof. The motion blur of the kid’s red shoes running past the camera, followed by a grey streak of dog. A man’s shoes stand on the path, a pair of women's shoes chasing the boy. They are a different style of shoe than the first photo. Black heels, not suited to the grass she’s running through. 

Another. Not much of the boy survived the rip this time, though the impressions of other children did, with different Velcro shoes lining up in the photo’s bottom corners.  Ranboo thinks he spots his red shoes among them. A brick building, maybe a wall, is behind them. The beginnings of a fancy iron gate.

More and more photos. Eventually, Ranboo loses sight of his red shoes. Grew out of them, maybe. Each photo, the shoes next to him change. Sometimes there are no shoes next to him at all. 

The last ripped photo. There are bags by his feet, he’s wearing faded white trainers. He’s by a black vehicle, assumingly a car, beside black dress shoes that lead upwards to the beginnings of some smart trousers. The camera caught Ranboo mid tumble as he strips over a bag. He gets the impression that dress shoes person is pulling at him. Or Ranboo was too eager to follow. The photo doesn't tell him.

—

Du-dum. Du-dum.

Are you watching, readers? 

Du-dum, Du-dum

—

Showfall photos, intact. Wires. ‘Experimental surgery.’ A scream captured in a freeze frame. Restraints. Prototypes. Shows. Blood.

Paragraphs on anatomy, studies, tests, experiments, reactions, deaths–

Ranboo shuts the file. 

Yeah, if ghosts were real, Ranboo thinks he’s found them.

 If ghosts were real Ranboo decides he might find Charlie’s here, sitting in storage like it’s Lost and Found. God, Charlie. 

There is an indescribable weight on his chest, in his chest, crushing him.

What would Charlie have looked like now without Showfall taking him away? Where would Ranboo have been? Would they still have been friends?  He dreams. It’s a desperate, needy thing.

Charlie would be on the swings, grinning with a missing front tooth and muddy velcro trainers. Ranboo would probably be in the sandpit, maybe the slide. Were they neighbours? Childhood friends? Did they even live close to each other?

What would he think of Ranboo now, saddled with decade-old survivors' guilt for a brother he never truly had? 

If ghosts were real Charlie would be here, in all his 10 year old innocence, with his biggest worry being what birthday present he’s going to get.

"Ha," the 10 year old that isn't in the room would say, "you got old!"

"So did you," Ranboo would say back. 

The kid would only laugh disbelievingly and stay waiting, cross legged on the floor, for his parents to come back.

MISSING BOY.

The kid that isn't there eyes him up and down. He clicks his tongue in the obnoxious way kids do.

"Who are you?" The kid would say.

"Your brother," Ranboo replies. 

10 year old Charlie giggles. 

"But you're a grown up."

"So are you."

The kid sticks his tongue out and grimaces.

"Nah, I'm staying young forever."

"Not to me."

Charlie’s grin is back, showing off his missing tooth. Ranboo wonders if he ever got his tooth fairy money. 

"What am I like? Funny?" The kid that isn't there strikes a stupid pose from where he is on the floor, "Handsome? Charming?"

"You'll entertain a lot of people."

"Well now you’ve made me look forward to it!"

"I…"

Ranboo trails off, because he's alone in the room.

They stare at the cover for the file again, trying to mask their increasing desperation for help that simply doesn't exist . The files were rather innocent looking when he first saw them, as innocent as illegal papers with the Showfall logo stamped on the front could look. Ranboo's whole life, Charlie's whole life, reduced to a few censored documents. Junk to Showfall. Worthless.

If he could at least get a date they went missing, perhaps he could search the missing persons directory if he gets out. When. When he gets out. 

"What are you doing?" The 10 year old would say. 

Ranboo would ignore the paper cut on their thumb and keep searching the same sentences over and over again. 

"Looking for you," Ranboo would respond.

The kid would frown.

"But I'm here. Am I lost?"

MISSING BOY. HAVE YOU SEEN ME?

Ranboo cannot respond to the ghost in his head.

"I'm not lost." The kid in his head repeats. 

"I know you're not."

"You know I'm not here."

The kid would gesture in the direction of where Ranboo left Charlie, the real one, the dead one, as if he were lazily giving directions with no care in the world. 

"Yeah. I guess you’re not." Ranboo responded to nobody. 

The room seemed to press in on him, the thick concrete foundation of this whole fucked-up organisation breathing dust down his neck. The blood on their hands was congealing, seeping slowly into the papers they clutched like a lifeline. Reddish-brown obscures Charlie’s name, and Ranboo has to fight the urge to either laugh hysterically or break down sobbing. 

Their arm throbs, a deep-seated pain that he’d managed to block out over the past few minutes with the pretence that he might find anything that could save them. Ranboo is just so , so tired.

“You look sad.” 

The kid fiddles with a loose thread from his shirt. He doesn’t make eye contact with Ranboo.

“My parents said I had to be a good boy and not make a fuss while they were gone. Do you know where they went?”

Charlie is looking at him now. Ranboo can see the tears gleaming in his eyes, hear the lump in the kid’s throat.

“They’ll be back soon.” 

The lie slips from his throat smoothly, like he’s done it a million times before. 

“Don’t worry. There should be a button in the heart of the facility that- that turns this whole place off. If we get to that, we can make it out.”

The kid’s face brightens momentarily, and he shuffles towards Ranboo slightly.

“Will you look after me until my parents get back?”

Bile rises in his throat at the innocent, trusting face that shines up at him.

“Sure thing, buddy.”

The kid beams, and just for a second Ranboo sees Charlie, sobbing and terrified, strung up in front of TV screens in the second before the box swings shut-

Ranboo blinks.

Their hands clench into fists, crumpling the documents that hold whatever fragments of their childhoods are left after Showfall.

“Will you protect me from the bad guy? He’s looking for me.”

“The bad guy?”

“Yeah. He’s getting closer.”

The child huddles in on himself, shivering slightly.

Anxiety flared in Ranboo’s mind. They could think of a few Showfall executives who fit that name. He leans forward.

“What does the bad guy look like?”

“Well, he’s really tall. And- and really famous! Everyone likes him.”

Ranboo grits his teeth. Showfall loves putting on a persona for the outside world, don’t they?

“He’s trying to find me. Every time I close my eyes, his face is like- like glowing in my brain.”

“Glowing?”

“Yeah, he’s got these- like glowy parts on his face? It gives me nightmares sometimes. He wants to kill me. A-and if you see him, you have to run away, ok? He’ll hurt you.”

“What kind of glowy things?”

Ranboo silently curses whatever new fucked up experiment Showfall has concocted.

“Like- these red glowing things that look like eyes. Please don’t let him catch us.”

“Listen, Charlie, you’ve got to run, ok? I’ll get rid of the bad guy for you but you’ve got to stay safe.”

The kid nods, trembling. His eyes are wide and full of fear, but not for himself. Ranboo realises with a twinge that Charlie is afraid for them.

“Remember to look out for a white and red jacket.”

Ranboo freezes, glancing at the blood-soaked makeshift sling on his left arm. Most of the white was stained a garish red, blending with the dyed fabric.

Oh.

Oh.

Red LEDs flicker on in the corner of their vision.

Charlie blanches, scooting backwards until his back hits the wall. 

“Please, please don’t hurt me, I’m sorry-”

The kid cowers away, visibly shaking. The red lights glare accusingly at Ranboo from the reflection of Charlie’s plastic dinosaur glasses.

The kid is sobbing, arms wrapping around his stomach protectively.

“Please don’t put me in the box again, I don’t want to go-”

“No, no- I didn’t want to, Charlie, please-”

Charlie screams and flinches back from Ranboo’s outstretched hands, eyes wide with terror as sobs catch in his throat.

“You’ll- you'll cut me open again!”

Ranboo’s heart audibly shatters. 

Charlie hiccups, fat tears sliding down his face turning betrayed eyes towards Ranboo.

“I want my parents. You said they’d come back. You promised to look after me.”

“Charlie-”

“I want to go home. ”

“No, please no Charlie I just want to help you, to protect you-”

They reach out again towards the kid, arms outstretched, trying so desperately to convey that they would never want to hurt Charlie-

Their arms envelop nothing. The room is empty. 

In the dim lighting, the neon glow of the mask washes over the rows of filing cabinets like spilled blood.

des·pair

[dɪˈspɛː]

NOUN

the complete loss or absence of hope.

“Do you feel tired, Ranboo?” 

Ranboo’s hands shake. It’s not fair. They’re so exhausted. All their energy, will to survive, falls away. 

There’s nothing they can do.

Red LED glares.

Ranboo’s head hurts;

a familiar throbbing ache in the base of their skull.

It’s hopeless.

They’re hopeless.

Hopeless.

           Hopeless…

                                    Hope

                                                                  less

…

                             No.                                                              

                                                                                                                                                           Never mind.

                                                                Don't worry.

            It’s all                                                                                                         ok.

                                                                                                                                                                Your hands are 

                                             Moving.    

                                                       Pay it no mind.

       It doesn’t 

                                                matter.

                                                                                                                                                                       Nothing is hurting you. 

                                                                               You        

                                                                                                                            are fine.

                 No one is in

                                                                                              danger.

 ——

Hetch white knuckles the desk. 

“Keep going.”

The employee impossibly hesitates.

“ Now.”

——

           You are a hero.

                                   The Hero.

                                                                                                                                                                      That’s ok. 

                                           How long have

                                                                                                                            you           been here?

                   Pay it no mind.

                                         but

                                                                               wasn’t there                                                                             someone

                                                                                                           with you?

                           Why does something 

hurt?

The mask flickered again, and Ranboo stumbled back into his body, head reeling from the overwhelming sensation not unlike having a strong hand root through his brain. Fuck.

They looked around. The dimly lit documents room stared back at him, objects glinting amongst shadows as if mimicking the glare of a camera lens. He isn't in the spot he remembers sitting. Ranboo raised a hand to drag through his hair in desperation, ignoring the fistfuls of shredded paper that fluttered to the ground in clumps-

Wait.

He looked down, racing thoughts jarred into focus by a sharp twinge of pain from his injured arm suddenly twisted in its sling. Remnants of torn-up documents littered the floor, dense blocks of text and blurred-out pictures visible in fragments amongst them. The Showfall Logo gazed tauntingly at him from the jigsaw-puzzle pieces as if in triumph. It looks like they did invest in a paper shredder after all.

Look at what you’ve done. We couldn’t just let you take these, could we?

The shreds of unsalvageable paper blurred as Ranboo sank back down to the floor, clutching at tatters of their previous lives as if desperately trying to piece them back together, to rewrite the past-

Their head still hurts. No, the chip in the back of their head hurts. That's what’s been hurting. LED lights flickered tauntingly and a wave of blissful apathy momentarily soothed the fraying edges of his sanity as he straightened, no longer concerned about why his shoulders heaved painfully with choked sobs and the hole in his chest yawned wider.

Then the mask darkened again, plunging him back into a rapidly spiralling panic at what he’d done . They’d torn up the only evidence of any life lived outside of Showfall, destroying what could be their shot out of here. The fact that they could return next loop didn’t matter. Showfall would keep fucking with their head and make sure they never got anywhere so what was even the point-

Ranboo went still.

Showfall would keep fucking with their head. 

The LEDs flickered weakly as if in protest as they ran their fingers over the sharp edge where smooth, brutal metal met flesh. Faint lines of crimson bloomed on already bloodied fingers and left trails of red on shiny uniform grey.

Ranboo didn’t care. They wanted this thing off.

>_>_>_>_>_>_>_>_>_>_>_>

He dug his fingers into the corners of the mask and tugged, biting back a curse as wires twisted painfully into skin. This was going to be more difficult than initially anticipated. 

Scanning the dim room for options, their eyes landed on a letter-opener gleaming indistinctly in the murky shadows. Well, it was better than nothing. 

They stepped over the scattered documents and raised the makeshift weapon with a shaking hand, trying to steady their erratic breathing as another electric current of pain ran through their left arm. They’d been through worse. The main objective was just to get this over with before Showfall could intervene and stop them.

With a sort of reverent terror, they held the blade to the bundle of wires next to their left ear. It wasn’t like they hadn’t done anything like this before. Although dying was easy. Destroying a symbol of Showfall that they couldn’t remember living without? It felt almost sacrilegious.

Ranboo took a deep breath in.

On the exhale, they jerked the blade forward and sawed partially through the wires, sending vibrations reverberating through his skull as the mask heaved uncomfortably against his head. He gritted his teeth and closed his eyes. The smooth chrome of the mask sliced stinging red lines into his skin as it was tugged back and forth by the movement.

LED lights flickered, sending a pulse of electricity through the frayed wires. They retract their hand with a sharp inhale, the sharp spike of pain almost immediately dulled by the familiar all-encompassing wave of soothing apathy. Gentle suggestions lapped at the corners of his mind, prompting him to just let go of the blade-

No. 

The lights flashed briefly and died, and he took the opportunity to continue sawing at the wires, gritting his teeth against the recoil as they snapped one by one. Ranboo hisses in pain as the blade reaches their skin, cutting through the remains of mangled and frayed wires

Right. One side down.

They begin working on the other side, the repetitive motion emphasising the ache in their already strained limbs. The smooth metal of the mask gnaws holes in their cheeks as it scrapes against their skin. Ranboo tries to control their breathing, shutting his eyes tight against the pain as he continues to work his way through the wires. The mask stutters over their skin as they brace it against their shoulder to stop it from moving.

The last wire snaps, and another electrical pulse sputters out weakly as it brands hot sparks into his skin. He winces for a moment before the realisation sets in.

The mask is no longer attached.

A sigh of relief escapes their throat as they set the blade down and place their now free hand on the mask. The near-dried blood on their palm smears over the pristine metal like a promise. Ranboo hesitates for a moment, then tugs on the mask.

He cries out in pain again as the mask wrenches at his face, clinging like a parasite to his skin.

Wait.

What?

But he’d- he’d cut off the wires holding the mask in place, surely that would-

They tugged at the mask again, with more force this time, sure that maybe it was just their imagination-

No. 

It was real.

The mask was somehow attached to their fucking face-

Ranboo couldn’t breathe.

The mask was fucking bolted to their face and they couldn’t get it off, couldn’t ever escape what Showfall had done to them-

Their breathing was rapid, panicked. They barely noticed their shaking hand picking up the blade.

Ranboo suddenly became aware of the cool metal of the letter opener pressed against the raw bleeding skin where the mask had chafed. They had to do this. They couldn’t stand another minute with a glorified fucking muzzle on their face. 

They took a shaky, shallow breath in and began to cut.

The blade sliced deeper into their skin then they had anticipated, angled downwards awkwardly as he tried to manoeuvre it against the smooth chrome of the mask. Shit .

Their fingernails imprinted harsh crescent moons on the soft skin of their palms as their hand gripped the letter opener tighter. He tried to ignore the wet, sickening rasping sound of skin separating from raw flesh as it burned in the wake of the keen-edged metal. Tears slipped beneath the metal and sparked fireworks of agony over his flesh as Ranboo tried to painstakingly move the blade along the seam where his face ended and the mask began.

The blade shuddered to a halt as it struck something unfamiliar that sent excruciating agony echoing through his face. Pain splintered into his marrow as if the mask was anchored into his very bones . They didn’t let themselves think about how much truth there might be behind that statement.

What the hell even was that thing? Ranboo tries again to pull the blade past, biting back muffled cries as their muscles wrench in funny, fucked up ways and blood fills their mouth. 

Whatever the fuck it was, it seemed almost immovable. Was the mask fucking bolted to his skull?

Their breathing starts to speed up as they pull the letter opener out of the wound quickly, too quickly , causing more blood to start gushing through the seams of the mask. Ranboo’s mouth is filling with blood and their tears trace lines of agony through their bloodied flesh and they can’t breathe-

The mask is stuck on their face and they’ll never be free, never get out from Showfall’s grip because as far as they can tell there’s fucking barbed wire nailing the godforsaken metal into their flesh. 

They still can’t breathe, pain slicing into the palm of his hand as he grips the letter-opener tightly; grasping deliriously at any remaining shreds of control left to him like a starved dog. Blood glistens on his throat like a collar and all he can think of is the metal festering somewhere under his skin as shuddering nausea runs feather-like fingers up his spine.

Ranboo doesn’t register the pain as the letter-opener clatters to the floor and hungry hands begin to tear and rip at the razor-sharp edges of the mask with desperation-fuelled strength. His dislocated shoulder screams in protest as the sling rips. Bloodied craters on their face gape wider, sharp fingernails tearing wildly at raw flesh and muscle.

Slowly, excruciatingly, Ranboo digs out enough space to pry his fingers between the inside of the mask and his face. Half-mangled wires soaked in blood tangle with remnants of tattered flesh as their breathing slows and the horrifying reality of what they’ve done hits them. They can feel the sickening sensation of blood pulsing through slick exposed veins and brushing up against his fingers as its metallic stench chokes the air out of his lungs. Revulsion hits them like a wave, but it’s too late to turn back now. 

They swallow the bile rising in their throat, and begin to pull. 

Blood-slicked hands struggle for purchase on the smooth surface as they grunt in pain, screwing their eyes shut against the grotesqueness of soft tissue giving as metal rips its way through flesh and sinew and bone.

A pained, animalistic sound forced itself from his mouth as a horrific wrenching sensation sent agony rupturing through his nerves. The skin on either side of their mouth tore in mangled clumps as long, bloodied fucking nails slid stutteringly from his flesh. Wires slithered like pale, engorged maggots down his throat and overflowed from the gaping hole in his face as the mask clattered to the floor, taking large chunks of gums, teeth and skin with it.

They were crying, tears burning agonising fire into the mangled, pitted hole where the lower half of their face used to be. Gargled sobs wracked his bloodied throat as wires choked his vocal cords, pain splintering down dislocated cheekbones and erupting into waterfalls of blood that continued to splatter wetly onto piles of discarded flesh.

Ranboo slumped to the floor, vision blurring in the dim light as slippery metallic blood seeped into his clothes from the cold, unforgiving concrete floor. His hands scrabbled for purchase as he tried to pull himself upright against a pillar, stinging pain momentarily distracting him as the soft skin of his palms found the bloodstained blade of the letter opener.

A soft gasp pulls them from their dizzying descent into unconsciousness, and they look up. The kid stands in front of them, terror etched on his face. There are tears on his face. His lip wobbles. He points towards Ranboo. He mouths a word.

Monster.

Ranboo opens what used to be their mouth to speak, to reassure, gasping for air as they choke on blood-soaked scraps of words. The kid flinches, turning paler at the sight of the blood. His hands bunch the fabric of his shirt, and Charlie takes a fearful step back.

Ranboo tries to smile at Charlie, to reassure him that they won’t hurt him, but the fragments of torn skin and wire constrict painfully around the fraying zombie-like crater in their face, and more tears carve rivers of agony into their tortured flesh. All it does is show off his bloodied teeth.  

Idle sentences float inside his mind. They dissipate whenever Ranboo tries to catch them. 

Ranboo blinks, and Charlie is gone, leaving behind no trace in the dirt slowly staining with red. Their vision wavers, breath coming dizzyingly fast as their blood thickens and congeals slowly on the icy concrete.

His thoughts had to drag themselves across his brain like wounded animals in head-high snow. Bleeding to death. Won't survive for much longer, with the way its paws are frostbitten to unusability, and life force drip drip dripping away. Soon that animal will collapse into the snow, and watch it gradually turn pink as the hunter leisurely follows its maroon stained trail. Its fur will have matted and stuck together, the biting air nipping at the wound, taking chunks and chunks until the frost numbs its body. The animal’s eyes flick up as the cold steals the last of its body heat and its heart slows to nothing, and the hunter will rip the spear out of its side, and it will die. Cold and alone.

The last thing they register is a ringing in their ears as the pain fades to quiet oblivion, and then silence. He lets it. Gurgled bloodied breaths stop. Ranboo lies down in the snow.    

And then Ranboo wakes up. Charlie walks in and starts talking. It’s far away.

Ranboo just clenches and unclenches his hands, reminding himself that they can still move, staring at nothing. 

—— >_>_>_>_>_>_>_>_>_>_>_> ——

Charlie is looking at him. Ranboo shifts awkwardly from his seat on the floor having just metaphorically ripped his own chest open, pulled apart his ribs and placed his slimy, bloody, beating heart in Charlie's hands. He cannot see Charlie cradling it. Charlie’s voice is full of an emotion so caring and familial pained that Ranboo is not ready to ever identify as coming from his mouth.

“You just… accepted it? Gave up?”

There’s heartbreak in his tone.

They open their mouth, searching for words with the desperate helplessness of someone who knows they’re about to break.  Hot, damp tears tumble from his eyes and Charlie pulls them carefully into a hug as if they were a bomb about to go off. A low, whining sound rips from their throat and his brother’s arms tighten around him, one hand supporting the back of their head. Ranboo struggles through the choking sobs to voice the dread that’s been slowly curdling in the pit of his stomach since the first loop.

“We’re dead, Charlie. We’ve been dead for years–” Ranboo counts dejectedly on his fingers– “denial, bargaining, anger...” 

“Fuck the stages of grief, Ran!”

“Charlie-”

“No, fuck that. We have nothing to grieve yet! We are not mourning anyone because we are still alive, Ranboo. Nobody’s killed us yet, and they won’t if I have something to say about it.”

Ranboo chuckles wetly. 

There is an animal in head-high snow.

“I keep fucking falling apart , Charlie. I’m cold.”

They wave a hand vaguely in the air as if to encompass the sheer scale of how shattered they feel. He chokes back the sobs wracking his body, feeling Charlie’s grip tighten almost imperceptibly. 

Bleeding to death. In another life it will surely die.

“Every single loop I do this, like I shouldn’t already be used to this whole fucked-up mess by now. I’m slowing us down, Charlie. We’re never going to be able to escape with me having a fucking breakdown every 5 minutes.”

“No, no , Ran. I’m not going to let that happen. I promise to you now, I will always be here to pick you back up again. No matter what happens, I won’t leave you behind. If we’re going to do this, we’re going to do it together, yeah?”

But today, the entity following behind in its blood-soaked trail is not the hunter. A lamb nudges at its legs.

Ranboo only shudders, leaning his head on Charlie’s chest as muffled sobs turn to quiet whimpers.

No knife will slit its throat, the frostbite in its legs will thaw. It will not die today.

Charlie rubs a soothing hand up and down his brother’s back, gut-wrenching sorrow mingling with vengeful anger on Ranboo’s behalf.

Instead of numbing in the snow the animal is lifted into warm hands, washed and bandaged. It is placed next to the hearth, nursing a wound that shall heal into a smooth pink scar, and dreams of flying.

Ranboo’s uneven gasps slow into steady, peaceful breathing as their head lolls, quickly supported by Charlie’s hand.

Those warm hands will card through its fur gently as they hum a lullaby. Because Charlie is a good person. 

He combs his brother’s hair back from their face gently, feeling tears run down his face at the sight of Ranboo finally getting a moment of peace, even somewhat short-lived.

Charlie waits, and Charlie thinks. He locks eyes with the nearest security camera and glares at it over the rim of his glasses, clutching Ranboo to his chest. Anger at Showfall for himself, for his family , fuels a spiral of thoughts that solidify into a plan. A real, solid plan. One that, if executed properly, could get them both out of there.

When Ranboo shudders awake, Charlie will be ready. They will ask how long they’ve been asleep, and he will tell them it doesn’t matter.

He will tell them he has a plan.

Chapter Text

Hello! It’s been a frankly abysmal length of time since we updated this fic, TSPenjoyer and I. This chapter is an apology that the rats in our heads stopped making this enjoyable, and so in this little bonus chapter is our minimal plan that we were working off of as well as a collection of bullshit from the writing process as an apology. Please ask any questions this didn't answer in the comments and I’ll probably try to answer. This fic was a passion project and sadly the passion part faded away before it was completed. There's always a chance we come back to this and properly write and finish it, but in the meantime i think you deserve as good a wrap up for this fic as you’re currently going to get. 

-CowPrintLillies

Firstly, our playlist. A genloss playlist, with all the songs we were listening to during the writing of this fic! It is structured in a specific order that goes as such: 

[A song from the soundtrack]

[A list of songs relating to the character/scene/idea that the soundtrack song relates to.]

[Another song from the soundtrack]

[Another list]

Etc.

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/06CBb242XqGtjDIF1jy4Up?si=e62f5738f68a4e3a

Planned plot facts!

-The escape plan was going to include intentionally electrifying Ranboo in order to short out the mask, as detaching it clearly wasn't going to work. This was probably going to be done with an electric fence surrounding the outside of the mall. Acceptance pt2 would be the plan in action, and the last chapter of the fic would be the Freedom Loop of them figuring out where to go from there.

-Ranboo (and Charlie) wake up to the reality of the looping instantly via the Box, but Sneeg was planned to be different. Each time he wakes up on the carousel via the bad hat, it slowly undoes more and more of his mind control shit, little by little, loop by loop. I imagine it feels like worse and worse deja vu each time he realises, or like a gut feeling of wrongness that worsens with no immediate cause. The fact he’s Staff masked and ‘factory reset’ or whatever they do to him keeps the process slowed, hindering hsi escape attempts. There was an idea of a Sneeg POV during Ranboo and Charlie’s successful escape plan where the severe breaking of script wears his mind down enough to snap out of it sooner than intended. 

-Sneeg is unable to be saved, and the pair will feel guilty about it for the rest of their lives. Sneeg is dead from his own escape efforts, Security finds him before they do.

-In the escape, Charlie and Ranboo manage to kill Security. Inside its wires is Sneeg’s dead body, along with an unidentifiable limb or two, likely Staff. This is inspired by a personal headcanon/silly theory of ours, on how it seems like Security somehow absorbs or mimics its victims. When killing Charlie Ep3 you can hear it repeat his words before Charlie even says them. There would be a little horror moment here of the people it’s killed all fused together inside it being the reason it acts so angry and irrationally. Sort of FNAF remnant style.

-Charlie’s eyesight is definitely bad, but the glasses he wears have a nifty double usage.

. Since Charlie has been with Showfall since he was a child, they needed a way of covertly making sure whatever mind control tech they had at the time would be connected to him constantly. Thus, glasses. It was a very good preventative measure, Charlie is hesitant to be rid of them. In drafts of their escape Charlie has to get rid of them, pops the lenses out for safe keeping, and deals with incredibly blurry vision until they can find an alternative solution when they’re free. This was going to call back to Charlie navigating blindfolded in Chapter 2. We were still undecided on whether to do this though.

-Another part of a backstory we considered for Charlie was to have the actors playing Ghoulio and Ghouliette be acting as his caretakers while in the early days of his presence at Showfall, but it never made it into any chapters before the hiatus.

-The loops were to slowly degrade in quality as they continued, just like real generation loss. Think bodies not cleared away yet, lighting or props not reset yet, actors being slightly late to set, etc. We were thinking of explaining Sneeg’s hat appearing in Ep2 and snapping him out of it on the carousel as an example of the loop decaying. 

-It is later discovered that this is because time was not looping and never had been, it's more of a programming/feedback loop. The entertainment The Founder was orchestrating was this fic as a whole. The show is not about the three episodes, it's about breaking the loop. This means everyone, Hetch and Staff included, were manually revived and reset back each time Ranboo died, this was partly achieved through the tech in the Staff’s masks, Ranboo’s mask, Charlie’s glasses, Sneeg’s hat, etc. (Before this was settled on and this fic was still a concept, there was an idea tossed around of Ranboo finding their own dead bodies from previous loops. Yikes.) This idea was sparked by a line Hetch says in Ep3 about Showfall already having missing posters made of Ranboo.

-Tommy’s Puzzler Rat character was going to show up again to help in the final escape plan! His character appearance is more of an easter egg, but I wanted him to play at least some part in things- likely as a distraction. I thought it would be interesting to show that its not only Charlie and Ranboo who are slowly waking up. Adding to this, a character from HouserOfStories’ Genloss fics, Jane Doe, was going to have a very small easter egg appearance as a sentient member of Staff. Tommy Rat was going to die in the process of helping, sorry King. 

-Hetch was going to get severely injured by Charlie and his axe during the final escape struggle. How was never specified but it was going to involve Charlie finally getting to axe him. Hetch showing up in person is a sign of how desperate he becomes in this loop to keep them in once he realises they’re actually succeeding. Hetch is not a fighting guy, so he’s sloppy, and his axe-shaped defeat here is the final straw that lets them escape.  

-The content of the final chapter was going to be voted on! This is partly what the Representative in the notes of the last chapter was referring to with the question of ‘would you choose you or them?’. Charlie and Ranboo would successfully escape out of Showfall's front doors in Acceptance Pt2, leaving the third person POV ‘camera man’ this fic has been written in at the threshold. Ranboo makes a gesture towards the camera/readers to be quiet, and the Showfall Representative in the ending notes asks the readers if they know anything about the disappearance of their main cast. If enough commenters snitched, Ranboo and Charlie would be caught or at least constantly stalked by Showfall employees. In other words, there was a bad and good ending planned for this fic! If enough commenters stay silent, Ranboo and Charlie live the best they can in their new lives. The oneshot on CowPrintLillies page ‘Away’ is an expert from the planning of the good outcome! 

-Any unresolved questions asked by the Showfall Representative in the notes would come to fruition in the last chapter. 

-A concept tossed around with was Ranboo finding his family again post-escaping, but his mother not accepting him back into her life, having already mourned his death. 

-We briefly considered them meeting the Founder but decided it’s more interesting to have The Founder be this constant watching presence. Putting a physical description to the name lessens the effect I feel.

-Charlie having to “walk like he can see” was inspired by the scene of Amy Pond walking through angels in Doctor Who 5x5 “Flesh and Stone”

-This was an old planned ending scene of the fic (for the good ending at least), where they managed to locate their old homes:

It’s dark outside. The clock innocently displays 11:27pm. He’s in his childhood kitchen, the real one. It’s quiet. Not a mechanical, sterile quiet. There’s chirping outside, rustling nature, the clock. It’s peaceful.

 He’s dusting. It hurt his heart to see old photos he must have loved looking forgotten. So, dusting. 

“Charlie?”

Ranboo is standing in the doorway. Normally he’s nearly tall enough for his head to hit the top of the frame. Tonight he’s hunched in on himself and barely reaches above Charlie’s own height. 

Once, the two had snuck out to try and buy food without getting recognised from the missing posters. Ranboo had introduced him as their brother. They claim it was an accident, but personally, Charlie adopted Ranboo into family status practically as soon as they escaped, if not before.

He pauses his dusting and gives a hum of acknowledgement, signalling Ranboo to continue talking. 

“Charlie, do you ever… think about it?”

Charlie has an unfortunate idea of where this is going. He sets down the duster on the mantelpiece, and looks at Ranboo over his shoulder.

“It?”

He sees the look on their face, the look in their eyes that only resurfaces when they’re thinking about Showfall. Charlie hopes that one day he’ll live long enough to see that look fade away.

“Do you think they’re still aware? Under all that?”

Charlie turns to properly face Ranboo. Yep, mind control question. He runs a hand through his hair. 

“I don't know. Knowing what I know now, I look back at it and it feels obvious to me that I was still me , just… covered up.”

Ranboo provides no response. They just fidget with the old jumper they’re currently using as pyjamas. Charlie continues. 

“But I don't think I knew it then. I didn’t know there was a real me to find. All the inconsistencies, strange logic, it was normal. It was my life. ”

“Do you think that others could ‘find’ themselves again? Without us?”

“I…,” Charlie hesitates, not wanting Ranboo to feel any worse, “I don't know. Being under Showfall’s control like that, it's like dreaming. Everything is perfectly real, then you wake up. And you wonder how you ever believed it.”

Ranboo looks downcast. Charlie offers, and Ranboo silently leaves the doorway and leans on his shoulder in a non-committal half hug. 

“It's hard to spot a dream while you’re having it.” Charlie concedes.

Ranboo looks down, reminding him of a child about to confess to something in hopes they won't get punished. 

“Will they… be ok?”

Charlie understands the question.

“Sneeg will be ok, Ranboo. He needs us, but not now. He will be ok. I need you to be ok first.” 

Ranboo lightly punches him in the shoulder.

“You too, Charlie.”

Charlie grins. Yeah, brothers.

Later, when the birds have gone to sleep, there will be a whisper.

“What if i- what if we grow old and die, and I wake up on that sofa again?”

And a whisper will be returned.

“I would do it all again with you.” 

_.---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------._

It’s rotten work.

Not to me. Not if it’s you.

_.---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------._

— End of Fic —

And now, a list going through all our funnier behind the scenes bullshit that we had to de-clutter out of the doc before uploading each chapter. With explanations. I thought it would be fun to give you insight onto what it was like writing this, because i have a feeling we came off way more smart with it than strictly true. 

—-

A stupid crack argument from chapter two:

“Charlie, for the love of God could you please shut up?”

“Who’s Charlie? And I already told ya, I don’t believe in Go-” 

The gagging noises were back.

“Hey, did I ever show ya Christian Hell?”

Ranboo suppressed a long-suffering groan.

“Yes. Yes you did. Now can we please move on?”

“Move on like as in death? Oh boy you don’t want that one man”

“Shut the fuck up bro”

“AY YOU WANNA GO TO CHRISTIAN HELL AGAIN”

“NO. NO I DO NOT WANT TO GO TO CHRISTIAN HELL BUT YOU CAN GLADLY SHOVE OFF THERE”

“WELL THATS WHERE YOURE GOING IF YOU DON'T MAKE ME SOMETHING SLIMEY”

“HOW ABOUT YOU TAKE YOUR HEAD OUT FROM WHERE YOU’VE SHOVED IT UP YOUR ASS AND MAKE IT YOURSELF”

“I TELL YA WHAT RUMBUS GRUMBUS YOU CAN TAKE THAT ATTITUDE AND FUKCING EAT SHIT  LIKE THE DRY BOY YOU ARE”

“MAYBE IT'S NOT WORTH SAVING YOU MY GUY WHERE’S SNEEG”

“WHO?”

“THE GUY YOU HAVE TRAPPED IN A DAMN CAGE”

“WHO, FRANK?”

“NO THE ALIVE ONE”

“HE’S LUCKY HE AINT IN TWO CAGES”

“WHY- HOW THE FUCK WOULD HE BE IN TWO CAGES?”

“I DO WHAT I WANT RAINBOW NOW GET YOUR TALL ASS OVER TO THE FUKCING FRIDGE, BOY”

“ONLY IF THE FRIDGE HAS A MURDER WEAPON SO I CAN JUST KILL YOU NOW AND SPARE MYSELF THE EFFORT OF DISSECTING YOU LATER”

“W H A T”

“YEAH BITCH YOU HEARD ME”

“OK TALL BOY CARE TO TELL ME WHAT THE FUCK YOU’RE TALKING ABOUT BEFORE I SICK GHOULIETTE ON YOUR LANKY ASS”

“YOU'RE NOT EVEN REAL MAN”

“OH YOU WANT REAL? HUH? I’LL SHOW YOU REAL”

*Ranboo is then punched in the face, in a very real way. Charlie then proceeds to rub the slime all over his punched face, again in an extremely real manner*

• Stupid meme from our google doc #1  -

Waking Austin:

“Dude. You’re gay.”

“But I have a wife.”

“No, no you dont. Come on man it’s pride month”

“Shit you right”

-

Originally this conversation took place in the cabin!

“What the- Ranboo?”

“Charlie, I need your help.”

Charlie looks at him like the epitome of a lost puppy. He opens his mouth, realises he has no descriptors for the shock currently overwhelming every bone in his body, and settles for sitting - falling, really- down on the sofa like a sack of potatoes.

Ranboo experimentally waves a hand over his face.

“Charlie? You with me? I know this is a lot, but we don’t have the time.”

Charlie just nods, unable to string any more complex actions together yet, and leans on the armrest in exhaustion.

“What’s going on? Why do we have to go? Where…”

Ranboo hardens any nerve they have left.

“Charlie. I’ve got some explaining to do.”

—

“ What.”

“No, I know, it’s crazy. But you have trust me here-”

Charlie stands, spins around, notices the cameras and turns around so fast that Ranboo swears they hear something in his neck crack.

“What.”

“Look just- just come with me, ok?”

“HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO- WHAT? This- this is my house. I- I live here. Don’t I?”

“I’ll get you home, Charlie. You have to come with me. This isn’t where you’re- you’re meant to be.”

Guilt slammed into them like a truck, but they pushed it away. Charlie was meant to be leading a normal life right now. It didn’t matter. They had to get Charlie to understand first. Then they could both go home. 

Wherever home was.

“I just- I thought I was home. Am I…not?”

All Ranboo can do is contain their tears as Charlie keeps talking.

“What…what if they kill me? Us? I- this doesn't make any sense, Ranboo.”

Ranboo winced. That’s what they’re counting on.

“It’s ok, I’ll get you out of here.”

The lie tastes sour in their throat. This was in Charlie’s best interests. Right?

No matter what they try to preach to themselves, the guilt keeps bubbling upwards and clawing at his throat with unforgiving fingers. 

It’s for Charlie’s own good.

—

For a while, we wanted Austin’s last words in chapter three to be “Come on, not in Pride Month!”

 —

There was a funny idea requested by a friend that Charlie get a little pink foldable stool to stand on during his execution scene in Chapter three. The idea of Hetch being like “Oh damn he’s too short. Does anybody have a stool? I need to crucify this man.” And a Staff just pulls out a tiny foldable stool. The idea very nearly made it in, but the ‘suspended off the ground’ look ultimately won for the religious imagery and general coolness.

— Austin was woken up out of his mind control like this in the first draft, we changed it because it sucked and we hated it.—

“Hey Austin?”

“Who the fuck are you? Where are my many many wives and children? I need to get home them man-“

Sneeg came over to stand next to Ranboo.

“Wives? I thought he was gay.”

Bingo.

“Austin, name your kids.”

“Wh-what? Uh, Johnny, Mark, Trevour and Sally.”

Ranboo raises an eyebrow.

“And your wife?”

“Bethany-uh, Beatrice.”

“Really? Think, Austin. What do they look like? What’s Johnny's favourite colour?”

There is a slightly pathetic moment of fumbling, before Austin gives up.

“I dont know.”

“Exactly. Can you remember where you were before you were on the carousel? What does your house look like? Your wedding venue? When did you get married? You like men. ”

Charlie chips in, cutting off Ranboo's interrogation.

“Ok man, that’s enough revelations for the guy. I don't even want to think about some of those questions.”

A fog seemed to clear from behind Austin’s eyes. Holy shit, had that actually worked?

“What- where the fuck am I?”

– Cut scene in chapter three of the first draft of Sneeg’s waking up. We cut it because I didn't like the characterisation. –-

Ranboo wasted no time, immediately taking Sneeg’s hat out from their waistband and putting it on his head. 

“Charlie, could you go try and explain things to Austin for a minute? I’ve got to wake up Sneeg.”

“Uhhhh, I can try?”

Sneeg was blinking and looking around, eyes widening when they landed on Ranboo.

“Ranboo? What- what the- where are we? I’m not supposed to be here-”

“Listen buddy, do you remember what happened in the cabin?”

“Umm- wait yes! There was a cage, and… Frank! Where’s Frank? What’s going on?”

“Sneeg, I- uh, I don’t know how to tell you this, but… Frank’s gone. We couldn’t save him.”

“What? No, no no no no-”

“I’m sorry, but we have to escape- we have to get out of here, I’ve got a plan-”

“ Fuck this man I’m not going anywhere.”

“Don’t you want to get revenge on the people who captured Frank?”

Sneeg paused, tears in his eyes.

“If we escape, if we get out of here, we’re doing exactly the opposite of what they want. We’re fucking with their perfect TV show. Don’t you want to beat them?”

Sneeg nodded, trying to hold back tears.

— Stupid crack idea that i wish made it into the final fic somehow—

Idea 

-Ranboo gets looped back to the cabin but keeps his memories somehow and is rightfully pissed about everything

-They know that the mask is making them see shit that isn’t there and Slimecicle gets to be really concerned that Ranboo wants to run through their wall yelling about “camera people”

-Like the idea is that Ran has to take a weird leap of faith and run straight at what the mask is making them think is a brick wall but they KNOW that wall doesn’t exist because yk set and stuff

“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING”

“IM GONNA DO IT”

“ITS A FUCKING WALL MAN”

“THATS WHAT THEY WANT YOU TO THINK”

“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU SAYING”

“ITS NOT A REAL WALL DUDE”

“FUCKING- YES IT IS ITS RIGHT THERE? FIRST YOU BREAK MY GRANDMA NOW THIS?”

“I TOLD YOU I DIDN'T DO THAT”

— Stupid meme from our google doc #2–

Showfall: we may be a corrupt company that can excuse torturing innocent people we kidnapped for entertainment but we draw the line at queerphobia 

Ranboo: you can excuse what now 

— Random cut dialogue. —

Charlie freezes, his gaze locked on something else. Not the Cabin, but something moving.

“I don’t want to freak out and ruin the mood, Ranboo but it seems our impending doom is actually, um, impending.” 

Ranboo turns, and true to the loop the Security is climbing towards them. Shit.

–Stupid crack meme #3–

Charlie reached out to Ran as they walked away, a stupid wretched gesture that accomplished exactly nothing, because that was exactly what he’d done to help Ran. His miserable plan to save them both had failed and even before that Charlie had been nothing but a bystander, an accomplice to Showfall’s twisted games.

They didn’t look back at him as they began to search the cabin, robotically churning out phrases he’d heard a thousand times before but never really registered.

“...Ran?”

“Ran deez nuts over to your mums house hahaah”

“RANBOO WHAT THE FUCK WE’RE GOING TO DIE HERE.”

— Stupid crack meme #4 —

*Break down door*

“SNEEG WE’RE GOING.”

“WHO THE HELL ARE YOU”

Squiggles popping up like WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING GET BACK ON SCRIPT

— Us working out the consequences of deaths for Ranboo. And then memeing it.---

In a lot of time loop fics I've read the main dude gradually gains scars form invites they sustained in previous loops 

The thing is that Ranboo kinda fucking dies via getting crushed and idk how that could make a scar so my compromise is that Ran has to go through the first like hour of the loop with the WORST headache known to man

“BOO BITCH- what the fuck”

*Ranboo lying on the floor with their eyes shut*

“Do you have any fucking paracetamol in your magic fridge”

–

When this fic was barely a concept, the Acceptance Loop was written differently. It began as a list of Ranboo going through the motions over and over until Charlie broke the cycle. This was pushed aside when the fic became more fully developed rather than an interesting idea we could talk about. 

Jerk awake on the Cabin’s dusty sofa.

Wake Charlie. 

Dont panic.

Pull him along with you out the door and be knocked out. 

It’s the middle key.

Apologise to Charlie.

Breathe and keep doing the tasks.

Move your hands. Take a left. It’s the door on the right. Breathe.

Walk to the office. Avoid Security.

Charlie.

The choice.

The box snaps shut.

Jerk awake on the Cabin’s dusty sofa.

Wake Charlie. 

Dont panic.

Pull him along with you out the door and-

“Ranboo?”

His hand pauses on the doorknob.

Charlie looks at him, concerned.

“Are you ok?”

Ranboo looks back at Charlie. They look down, and see themselves dragging him by the wrist. Their nails are nearly digging into his skin with the force of their grip. It looks painful. Charlie is still looking at them with worry all over his face.

Ranboo quickly lets go of his wrist like it burnt.

“Let’s just go, Charlie.”

—

Acting as Showfall in the author’s notes and asking for comment suggestions was always the plan but my job as the infamous Showfall Entertainment Representative in the comments was not. That was just a funny idea I had once . I thought it would be to reply to a comment pointing out a plot hole, then I just kept doing it. 

Some lore about the Showfall Representative: 

-The Customer Service Number. It isn't a real number, it's just Showfall’s way of saying yeah we don't want any negative reviews to be seen and so are ‘redirecting’ them to customer service. They just bin them. There is a waste bin in Hetch’s office with ‘Customer Service’ scribbled onto it with Sharpie. Particularly valid complaints get printed out and a game is made of tossing them into the bin from the farthest distance. No bad PR, and your audience is satisfied thinking their concerns will be listened to. Win Win.

-Whenever they mention the Writer’s Team, that was our way of updating our status as the actual fic authors and not Showfall in-universe. 

— Stupid crack meme #5 that had to be clawed out of the fic. —

Then, a weak glow from four large letters appears in his vision like the second coming of Christ. SUB A. Oh joyous day. Charlie collapses to the ground and kneels before the SUB A, muttering Hail Mary’s. Amen.

–

Fun fact, in the Depression Chapter, we were going to write in a Truman Show reference while Charlie tries to get Ranboo to pay attention to him! The idea was for Charlie to hold the knife to Ranboo’s throat like Truman does to his wife in the film. This idea was eventually rejected as we felt it didn't make as much sense as the final concept but it was fun to play around with. 

— A crack interaction with Slimecicle because I love writing him —

Ranboo gags at the whole entire rat in the food. Slimecicle barges into the room again.

“My rat!” He knocks over quite a few Assorted Kitchen Items to get to ‘his rat’ as quickly as possible, “Where is it!?”

Slimecicle scoops up the dead rat, Timothy apparently, and bites its head off affectionately. What. The. Fuck.

Ranboo tries not to throw up.

“A- a rat?”

Sliemcicle innocently looks at him while chewing the rat.

“A rat. What, never seen a rat before?” Charlie waves its beheaded corpse in his face.

Ranboo awkwardly pushes it away with a spatula and shivers.

Slimecicle keeps talking past the dead rat he’s eating.

“Rats. Rats make me crazy.” He says, intellectually. 

“Right.”

“I was crazy once.”

Ranboo does not doubt it. 

“Are you sure you stopped being crazy?”

“They locked me in a room.”

O…kay? 

“A rubber room.” Sliemcicle continues like he’s stating the most important fact of the universe.

Just keep cooking, Ranboo. 

“Let me guess, a rubber room… with rats?”

Slimecicle points at him triumphantly.

“Yes Rumble.” He leans closer to his face, rat blood dribbling down his chin, “ a rubber room with rats.”

Ranboo makes a mental note to file a complaint to HR about this. 

“Dear HR, 

Charlie keeps fucking talking about The Rats. Fix it. It’s driving me crazy. 

Slay, serve, survive,

Ranboo”

“Ranboo,

Driving you crazy? I was crazy once. They locked me in a room. A rubber room. A rubber room with rats. And rats ma… [see more]

With absolutely no regards,

Showfall Media HR”

—- The RGB trio but in a group chat. I have forgotten why this was written. —

The RGB Group Chat.

How it would probably go.

Nickelodeon Slime: crazy? I was crazy once. They locked me in a room.

Franks #1 Fan: a rubber room? A rubber room with rats? I hate rats. They make me crazy.

Ranboob: I was crazy once. They locked me in a room a ru

*Ranboob’s typing permissions have been temporarily disabled by Showfall Admin.*

Franks #1 Fan: Skill issue

Nickelodeon Slime: didn’t even let him talk about the rubber room, the rubber room with rats. Rats? I hate rats, they make me crazy

*Nickelodeon Slime’s typing permissions have been temporarily disabled by Showfall Admin.*

Franks #1 Fan: this is silencing of free speech

—- Stupid crack meme #6–

Charlie: *shoots Hetch multiple times over and over again with a gun* 

*completely deadfaced* sorry i was stimming.

—— Stupid crack meme #7—

It’s not a live or die choice, it's just “Either we let him live or he does a sick kickflip.”

Instead of “i don’t want to die let me go” it’s just “please i don’t know how to do a kickflip”

“I DON'T KNOW HOW TO DO A KICKFLIP”

“WELL YOU BETTER LEARN IN THE ONE MINUTE LEFT ON THE CLOCK”

“PLEASE DON'T MAKE ME DO A KICKFLIP”

“DO IT, DO IT SKATER BOY GO ON SKATE YEAH”

*sobs while doing skateboard tricks*

—

The original concept for the ending of Depression chapter! I really liked this scene, sad we couldn't end up using it. 

“CHARLIE? CHARLIE-”

More Showfall employees held him down as he struggled, trying desperately to reach his friend-

Silence.

Ranboo let out a choked sob, still fighting the masked guards as they dragged him out of the SUB A, catching a glimpse of Security looming over Charlie’s mangled body in the corridor before something hit them in the face and the world went dark-

—

“Hello Ranboo.”

Fuck. Fuck.

“Welcome to the Game.”

No, no not this again. They’d already done this.

“Seems like you’re in quite a precarious position here.”

If the helplessness wasn't there before, it crushes them now.

“You find yourself strapped to a chair, don’t you?”

Oh. Oh shit please no.

“Did you know, the amount of chains on there would hold every single bicycle for a million years?”

They’d let them all down again -

“That’s a very long time, Ranboo.”

How could he have been so stupid .

“Now there is a bucket below you, isn’t there?”

He was supposed to get up. To fight it.

“In one hour, 65 MILLION volts are going to go through your brain.”

But Charlie was dead again , and they were tired.

“Killing you instantly.”

It wouldn’t matter. Charlie’s plan was ruined.

“If you can find the key to open up that chain around your body, well you’ll get out.”

Who even cared anymore. Charlie had trusted them not to fuck up, even after everything they’d done , and it still didn’t matter.

“And just to make sure you know it’s not fake, why don’t we give you a little bit of juice and see how you feel about THIS.”

The pain radiated through their body, agony shattering through every nerve and splintering into their veins like lightning.

Ranboo passed out.

Woke up.

He continued to stare at the wall behind the TV screen.

“What the- did it work? Did the juice work? Hello? Ranboo?”

They could fight all they wanted and it would never work.

“Maybe it wasn’t strong enough- hello? Ranboo? Ranboo? You’re uh- you’re supposed to be escaping right now.”

He wasn’t going to go along with their games anymore.

“Did you hear me? We uh- we kind of put a lot of effort into this, I mean… There’s- well I don’t want to spoil the surprise, but there are a lot of people next door counting on you to live.”

Charlie had counted on them. Over, and over, and over again.

But he’d screwed it up every single time.

“Is my screen frozen? Is that it? Helloo? Ranboo, if you can hear me, say something! Move! Do anything! Just cough, like really loudly if you can hear me. A real smoker's cough really feel the tar in your lungs. Ranboo?”

They deserved to die.

“Ok, well- I’m going to go get a technician, or something. You just- you stay right there! No, actually, you’re supposed to be escaping, uhhhh- you need to find the right key! Clock’s ticking, Ranboo! I’ll, uhh, I’ll be right back with you in a minute.”

Hetch’s words echoed again in their mind.

“ Tick tock, Hero!”  

How was he going to save his friends now?

He didn’t even want to save himself.

50 minutes until electrocution.

45.

40.

At 39 minutes and 15 seconds, the Puzzler’s TV came back online.

“Helloo? Ranboo? Are you still there or is my screen just frozen? Hello? This is really awkward, I had this whole plan too it was going to be really cool- have you ever seen Saw? Fuck it, where’s that technician gone-”

35 minutes.

They were supposed to save Charlie.

30 minutes.

This had all happened before.

Back when they were both determined to make it out.

They had run, and Charlie had died, and he always made it back here.

To this fucking chair.

But they couldn’t care less anymore.

25 minutes.

20.

15.

“Ranboo can you- can you see or hear me? Hello? For GOD’S SAKE GARY I’m trying to TORTURE SOMEBODY HERE can’t you DO YOUR JOB and FIX THIS FUCKING TV SCREEN?”

10 minutes.

Unknown to them, a man in a hospital gown is tugging desperately at the door upon realising Ranboo hasn’t escaped when they usually do.

5.

4.

3.

2.

1-

—- A line meant to be used in the Freedom chapter —

For a moment, Ranboo relishes the feeling of being alive. He doesn't jolt awake.

—- A scrapped concept. Ranboo and Charlie escape, but without Ranboo’s mask on. This causes Ranboo to have to be mute for the whole chapter due to bandaging their face. Would’ve paralleled Charlie losing his sight in chapter 2. I found the metaphor interesting. —

The bandages are constricting. That's the only word that presently comes to mind, as Ranboo stumbles through insignificant foliage with Charlie’s hand in theirs. Or maybe it was freeing, or lightweight. It was different . When you’ve had a metal cage attached to your face for all your waking memories, going without it feels like losing a limb. Their balance feels perpetually skewed now because of compensating for a weight that's no longer there. The bandages on the other hand are just that, constrictive. The mask had been more of an oppressive weight than a tightly wrapped one. If the mask was a ball on a chain, the bandages are the shackle around his ankle. A surrounding pressure on the entire bottom half of his head making him feel like someone getting chloroformed and kidnapped or something. The mask made him feel more like a muzzled dog. 

Neither of them let Ranboo speak.

Charlie claimed he had no memory of how to do simple first aid, much less stop blood loss, but damn if he didnt know how to tie knots. These bandages were not coming off if they came at them with a knife, Ranboo muses. Charlie says he remembers how to do knots from boy scouts. Neither of them bring up the fact Charlie has never been to boy scouts. 

—-- Scrapped first draft version of writing Ranboo under mind control in chapter 5, back when we weren’t sure how to format it. —

A filing cabinet is in front of him. Shredded paper is on Ranboo’s hands. A filmy layer is covering their eyes. The script should be returned to.

Get up, ranboo.

There is no voice. 

Get up, Ranboo.

The voice does not sound like Charlie.

—----

–More crack memes from the depths of the google doc. We were going through something. –

They locked me in a mall, and abandoned mall an abandoned mall with kidnappees and kidnappees make me the founder, the founder? I was the founder once they locked me in a mall, an abandoned mall, an abandoned mall with kidnappees-

Cheesecake? I was cheesecake once. They locked me in a man. A silly man. A silly man with a detonator. And detonators make me cheesy. Cheesecake? I was cheesecake once. They locked me in a man. A silly man. A silly man with a detonator. And detonators make me cheesy. Cheesecake? I was cheesecake once. They locked me in a man. A silly man. A silly man with a detonator. And detonators make me cheesy. Cheesecake?

What if mr.beast was the founder

Next mr beast video TODAY, WE FILLED AN ORBEEZ POOL WITH KIDNAPPED CHILDREN AND WE’RE GOING TO BE JUMPING IN AND KILLING THEM ALL FOR ENTERTAINMENT,

Ranboo joking about the functions of the wires inside of his skin while Charlie takes them out:

Hey man you never know, don't cut my life support machine or something

YOUR WHAT 

I was joking- 

Sobs loudLY

BREAKING NEWS: American Teenager performs surgery on himself with a letter opener

—------

The mask removal scene was sort of inspired by you’ll thank me later - chemicalbunz - Generation Loss (Web Series) [Archive of Our Own] go read it its great

—-- The following are skits written during Glastonbury Festival, that we sent to each other via terrible phone signal –

its a few months since the escape, both are in masks and Ranboo's had a hair cut.

In a bakery, browsing the cakes and cookies.

Charlie, laser focused and mumbling all the options: carrot cake over there....those are brownies  ooo

Ranboo, having a mini crisis: i can't remember what any of them taste like, what if i don't like them, what did i used to like?

Charlie, nudging him: hey it's alright. We saved money for this, we can try a few different options. We get to try them all for the first time again! I would love to eat pizza for the first time.

Ranboo: ummm a chocolate chip one then? And also a gingerbread guy

Charlie, the guy in charge of the money: Oh I'm absolutely getting a matching gingerbread man with you

Ranboo: but i though we were saving money? It's not easy to get jobs that pay a lot, man

Charlie,waving him off: Nah this is worth it

—----

Healing the inner child:

faint music in the background

Ranboo: sits bolt upright

Charlie: What happened what's wrong?

Ranboo, in a stage whisper: There's an ice cream truck.

Charlie, confused: ...whereee is the ice cream truck?

Ranboo: The music is the truck driving around outside. We could get ice cream.

Charlie: joyous whimsy we could GET ICE CREAM

they both immediately get up while discussing ice cream orders

Ranboo: what do you think my favourite was? 

Charlie: Can't remember, i bet you'll like the mint one.

Ranboo: I'm betting on an orange ice lolly, or chocolate. Think you'd be the more mint guy

Charlie: Nah I'm getting a strawberry one 100% you just give me mint vibes.

Ranboo, already halfway out the door: Mint chocolate? Compromise? 

Charlie: Hell yeah let's go

—---

The Sillies repairing their childhood by making a Lego set:

Ranboo: actually following the instructions

Charlie: pretends his hand is a mouth if you don't finish it in 10 minutes I'll eat it

Ranboo: what the heck no dont eat my star wars Lego

Charlie: hungry hand puppet motions gimme 

Ranboo: shuffles away with a half finished spaceship oh my god don't

—------

Slushies:

Charlie: gets a brain freeze immediately

Ranboo: spending ten minutes trying to manoeuvre the straw past the mask

Sneeg: drinks the slushie normally

Rats: freeze the slushie into an ice block and licks it the whole time

—------------

browsing films to watch and trying not to find something traumatising

Charlie: So Sneeg said I shouldn't watch Finding Nemo?

R: What, the fish one? 

C: Nor am i allowed Finding Dory. squints at long list * And YOU can't watch *squints again ummmmm

R:

R: Sneeg can't spell Charlie.

C:

C: oh.

C: i just thought his handwriting was a bit off or something.

R:

R: HOW DID YOU MANAGE TO READ ANY OF THAT?

C: He got some of it right? squints 

R: i do not understand you.

Sneeg: gibberish writing

Charlie: uummmm i think i saw a word in there

Ranboo: 

Charlie: I'm never letting him writing shopping lists again

—---------

at a theme park

C: hey it's ok, we can leave it's loud anyway

Ranboo, upset he's too tall to go on the Disney princess ride: sniff yeah ok

Sneeg, carrying Frank Jr (another plastic skeleton he won): Sucks to suck /supportive

—----------

C: RANBOO, RANBOO HELP

R: WHAT

C: i don't know how to tie shoelaces.

R:

R: what.

C: awkwardly Showfall always gave me velcro shoes

R: are you. Are you kidding me.

C: currently wearing light up velcro shoes

R: 

R: do i have to teach you how to TIE YOUR SHOES

C: LISTEN MAN, WHEN YOU DON'T HAVE A CHILDHOOD-

Sneeg, in crocs:

—-----------------------------

A cut version of the hallucination of Kid Charlie seeing Ranboo die:

A soft gasp pulls them from their dizzying descent into unconsciousness, and they look up. The kid stands in front of them, mesmerised by the gore in the slightly disgusted curious way most children are.

“Whoa. Are you, like, dying?”

They open what used to be their mouth to speak, gasping for air as they choke on blood-soaked scraps of words. The kid looks at them curiously, and they settle for a nod.

“Coooool. Are those wires in your mouth? That’s so epic.”

Ranboo tries to smile at Charlie, but the fragments of torn skin constrict painfully around the mask-shaped crater in their face, and more tears carve rivers of agony into their tortured flesh.

The kid walks closer and sits cross-legged in front of Ranboo, tilting his head curiously.

“What’s dying like?”

Charlie is being ripped apart by Security, over and over and over again.

Charlie is strung up by wires with a box around his head.

Charlie screams, and Ranboo is helpless-

They don’t reply, because how could they, and the kid starts to draw stick figures in the dust coating the floor. He doesn’t comment on the blood pooling nearby, only squints at his artwork and then grins at Ranboo.

“Look! I drew us together!”

He leans forward a fraction, ignoring the nauseating wave of pain that threatens him with unconsciousness, and inspects the drawing. It’s no masterpiece by any means, just two stick figures in the dirt, but the wobbly smile on the taller figure’s face brings a warmth that blooms through their cold, bloodstained body. 

Ranboo blinks, and Charlie is gone, leaving behind no trace in the dirt that slowly becomes tinged with red. Their vision wavers, breath coming dizzyingly fast as their blood thickens and congeals slowly on the icy concrete.

The last thing they register is a ringing in their ears as the pain fades to quiet oblivion, and then silence.

-I was going to write a whole over running Laika The Dog/Ranbooo comparison for Acceptance pt2! -

—----------------

Ranboo and Laika planning/research note dumpSOBBINGFHGH:

With a pounding heart and rapid breath, Laika rode a rocket into Earth orbit, 2,000 miles above Moscow streets she knew. Overheated, cramped, frightened, and probably hungry, the space dog gave her life for her country, involuntarily fulfilling a canine suicide mission in the name of science.

They expected Laika to die from oxygen deprivation—a painless death within 15 seconds—after seven days in space. Cathleen Lewis , the curator of international space programs and spacesuits at the Smithsonian's National Air and Space Museum doubts that a few ounces of food would have made a difference, and she recalls reports that a female physician broke protocol by feeding Laika before liftoff.

The Soviet canine recruiters began their quest with a herd of female stray dogs because females were smaller and apparently more docile. Initial tests determined obedience and passivity. Eventually, canine finalists lived in tiny pressurised capsules for days and then weeks at a time. The doctors also checked their reactions to changes in air pressure and to loud noises that would accompany liftoff. Testers fitted candidates with a sanitation device connected to the pelvic area. The dogs did not like the devices, and to avoid using them, some retained bodily waste, even after consuming laxatives. However, some adapted.

Laika was a small (13 pounds [6 kg]), even-tempered, mixed-breed dog about two years of age. She was one of a number of stray dogs that were taken into the Soviet spaceflight program after being rescued from the streets.

Laika trained for life on board the satellite by learning to accept progressively smaller living spaces. She was spun in a centrifuge to accustom her to changes in gravitation, and she learned to accept food in jellied form that could be easily served in an environment of weightlessness .

Eventually, the team chose the placid Kudryavka (Little Curly) as Sputnik 2’s dog cosmonaut and Albina (White) as backup. Introduced to the public via radio, Kudryavka barked and later became known as Laika, “barker” in Russian. Rumours emerged that Albina had out-performed Laika, but because she had recently given birth to puppies and because she had apparently won the affections of her keepers, Albina did not face a fatal flight. Doctors performed surgery on both dogs, embedding medical devices in their bodies to monitor heart impulses, breathing rates, blood pressure and physical movement.

she wore a spacesuit with metal restraints built-in.

The noises and pressures of flight terrified Laika: Her heartbeat rocketed to triple the normal rate, and her breath rate quadrupled. The National Air and Space Museum holds declassified printouts showing Laika’s respiration during the flight. She reached orbit alive, circling the Earth in about 103 minutes. Unfortunately, loss of the heat shield made the temperature in the capsule rise unexpectedly, taking its toll on Laika. She died “soon after launch,” Russian medical doctor and space dog trainer Oleg Gazenko revealed in 1993. “The temperature inside the spacecraft after the fourth orbit registered over 90 degrees,” Lewis says. “There’s really no expectation that she made it beyond an orbit or two after that.” Without its passenger, Sputnik 2 continued to orbit for five months.

During and after the flight, the Soviet Union kept up the fiction that Laika survived for several days. “The official documents were falsified,” Lewis says. Soviet broadcasts claimed that Laika was alive until November 12. The New York Times even reported that she might be saved

Ironically, a flight that promised Laika's certain death also offered proof that space was livable.

Let me just

Ironically, a show that promised Ranboo's certain death also offered proof that it was livable.

HER REMAINS BURNT UP AND SO SHE NEVER TRULY GOT TO GO BACK HOME

—-----------------------------

—--

The working draft of the beginning of chapter five that we used when blocking out the events that was then discarded after we made the decision to split that ‘loop’ into two chapters. (The loop from Charlie's POV and then the next chapter flashbacking the rest of the loop from Ranboo’s POV.) 

Ranboo wakes up. 

Ranboo knows this because his back is no longer pressed against hard tile but rather scratchy cushions. Ranboo knows this because their hands are no longer warm with blood, rather deathly cold. They know that if they open their eyes they’ll be greeting with the Cabin, the set’s perfectly smooth non textured ceiling because no one was meant to look up there anyway. 

Their head hurts. They should be used to it. It just makes them want to cry. 

He knows he doesn’t have much time before Charlie bursts through the door. Normally he would wait the 7 minutes, but it doesn’t work anymore. Not since they got Charlie executed. He didn’t know what to do. Just when he was finally feeling like he had the hang of how this place worked, he’s fucking it up again. 

Ranboo methodically clenches and unclenches his fists. Think about anything else. Anything else than what you saw back there. Their body aches, and the pain drags the memories up with it. 

—Stupid meme #8—

Deleted scene where Ranboo’s tired so they just plug some headphones into Security's still twitching corpse.

*rummages around in a dead body* hm one of these wires has to be headphone cord

----

Originally Tommy was going to literally lead Ranboo to the storage room, whether Ranboo wanted to follow or not.

Ranboo has about ¾ of a mind to lie down on the floor and let nature reclaim him when one of the distant footsteps registers as approaching. No, no, not again. He’s so tired of this. He can't go anywhere without those damned methodical footsteps always in perfect rhythm- hold on. Ranboo pauses. The footsteps coming towards him lack the normal clack clack of dress shoes. 

The footsteps, muffled like someone trying badly to be stealthy, round a corner and… it's not Staff. Words don't describe the relief that fact brings. Words also don't describe the confusion of the realisation of who it is. 

One of the Puzzler’s Rats stares at him. Even more strangely, it's the annoying one from the loop where he killed Charlie.  His blonde hair is askew and rat costume in bad enough condition that it became clear he wasn't meant to be here. Huh. 

The rat looks up from where his eyes were previously glued to the scrap of paper clutched in his hands. Recognition sparks in his eyes (Ranboo notes that they’re blue) 

and the paper is hastily shoved in a back pocket. 

“What are you doing here- woah!”

Ranboo isn't allowed to finish his question as the person- kid?- surges forward and drags him by the arm in a seemingly random direction. 

—stupid meme #9 + Assorted conversations documenting our descent into insanity —

SEETHE + COPE+ WET + BONELESS + WIGGLY + SAD

SEETHE + COPE WEATHERBOY (derogatory) + NO STABLE RELATIONSHIPS

HEY HEY NOW MY RELATIONSHIPS ARE SO STABLE YOU COULD PARK A HORSE IN THEM *sound effect of a building collapsing, smoke billows in the distance* *sound of an injured horse* *it was not parked* *it was just leaving rehab too* *distant cry* *script writer deadpans to the camera* *die* *how about YEAH* *I HOPE YOU FALL OFF THE FUCKING EMPIRE STATE BUILDING* *I HOPE THE LONELY FUCKING GETS YOU BRO* *SHUT UP JON* *OOO IM PARANOID AND LONELY AND GAY STFU* *YOUR GONNA TAKE MY STATEMENT ALRIGHT THIS STATEMENT IS THESE FUCKING HANDS BITCH GET OVER HERE* *WANNA SAY THAT TO MY FACE* *KISS MY FUCKING ASS BRO OMG SEETHE+COPE+LITTLE BITCH* *OH YOU GONNA HATECRIME ME JON?? CALLS COMING FROM INSIDE THE HOUSE* *NOTHING TO BE PROUD ABOUT WHAT IM ABOUT TO DO TO YOU* * IDK KISS MAYBE* *MWAH MWAH MWAH MWAH* ENEMIES TO LOVERS <33* *MWAH MWAH MWAHM  MMMMHWAMM*

*HOW ABOUT NO*

*HOW ABOUT YOUR MOTHER*

*I HOPE THE SKIN TEQUILA MAN COMES AND LIQUIFIES YOUR SKIN AND PUTS IT IN HIS TEQUILA* *THE FUCKING LONEY?? OH MY GOD NOT THE LONEY IM SHIVERING IN MY FUCKING TIMBERS* *CEASELESS WATCHER CAST YOUR GAZE UPON THIS PATHETIC WENCH YOU SEE BEFORE YOU* *FUCKING LONEY* *OOOOOO IM GOING TO DIRECT A SCRIPT ABOUT HOW I AM GOOD AT INSULTS WHOOPEE* *YOUR FUCKING MOTHER TOOK MY STATEMENT LAST NIGHT AND IT WAS A LONG ONE * *I WOULD IF I COULD GET WITHIN A METRE OF YOUR FACE WITHOUT THROWING UP* *KISS YOUR ASS?? FUCKING GAY ASS BITCH GET OVER HERE* *GAY ON GAY CRIME YOU BASTARD SUCK MY BIG FAT MAN TITTIES* *OH YEAH?? WHAT ARE YOU ABOUT TO DO TO ME HUH GO ON SAY IT* *WELL NOW YOUVE SAID IT NEITHER OF US CAN BACK OUT NOW CAN WE* *OH MY GOD THIS IS MUCH BETTER THAN BEING RIVALS MWAH* *YOURE THE ONLY ENEMIES ID LOVER ANYDAY <3333* *MMMMHWAMM TO YOU TOO MY LOVE

—-----------

My love you cant hold my hand in sky and then rip my heart out on the google doc

Oh but what about my medical bills

AKJFHDFH

HEY IM AZIRAPHALE IN THIS RELATIONSHIP THANK YOU VERY MUCH

REALLLL

Dont worry i will never leave you for super heaven

MHM MHM

:sunglasses:

Im sorry youre what 

But like

I was gonna say my thing

PLEASE PLEAS EPLEASE PLESASLE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASEE PLELASE

MWAH

LEPASEP PELASE  DONR BOTEH RIMMA GO CRY NOW IM GONA GO CRASH MY CAR MY CAR WELL IST NOT OUR BOOKSHOP ANYMORE IS IT 

SOBBING CRYING COMFORT ME

MWAH this si teh s3 script being written rn

Hhhhhhhhmnmmmmmmmmmmnnmnnmnnnnnmmmnnmmn yes anything for you

Whats wrong with it tho

IT IS????

— An (unfortunately) cut line from Acceptance 1 —

Charlie makes an attempt at pretending his voice doesn’t waver, and Ranboo tries not to hit the griddy. 

-Raw uncut brainstorming for the files and documents Ranboo finds in storage, both our typos included:-

The angst just keeps going oh my god

Hm ok ojk hear me out

I will add a wedding photo for someone but i want austin to eb alone HEAR ME OUt

Listening to everyones backstories on that carosel NONE OF THEM make any reference to actual people waiting for them at home

And ive been thinking that showfall stalks people to check if they have anyone who would look hard enough to find them again

Prey on teh lonely bitches

Practicing social distancing by placing our guys in solitary confinement!!

OR/AND

I WRITE IT IN THE NOTES FOR HIS FILE

Im already gaining so many ideas for these files hehehheheheheeeeeeeeeeeee

Yippee ok

So lets divide and conquer

I’ll do the chase scene and you continue the dfiles hehehehe

BYEEE

OH????? OH MY GOD YES HEHEHEHHEHEH

OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD

SORRY IDEA

SO I KNOW CHARLIE DOESNT HAVE MEMORIES OF SHOWFALL UNTIL BEING UN MIND CONTROLLED

BUT IN ACCEPTANCE 2 OR MAYBE FREEDOM LOOP

CAN WE HAVE SOME MEMORIES OF TINY CHARLIE BEING PUT IN SOLITARY CONFINEMENT 

AND RANBOO SAYS “DONT WORRY YOURE NOT ALONE ANYMORE”

OK OK SO.

What order are documents found meres my preposition

-bribes lawsuilts all that good stuff

-frank & sneeg 

-tommy

-leaflet

-ranboo charlie 

-MAHYBE cryptic emails we’ll see if they fit in anywhere

I will try and continut=e where left off

Ok i can try and get the charlie document fragments into one cohesive section but do i have permission to cut some stuff if it doesnt fit

How it do

The current list of papers to rummage through includes:

Tommys file, franks file, briberies and law suits, ranboo and charlies file paperclipped together, janes files, an instructions leaflet for the social media representative stating to throw all complaints in the bin under the guise of customer service, and possibly cryptic hecth and founder conversations

"Go find us, bitch boy"

THERES ONE MORE

I COULD ALSO HINT AT A SEQUEL THAT WILL NEVER HAPPEN AND HAVE RANBOO DISMISS A CABINET LABELED THE LOSTFIELD INCIDENT

hiraeth (welsh) 

the homesickness for a home to which you cannot return, a home which maybe never was; the nostalgia, the yearning, the grief for the lost places of your past. 

— Showfall files content, with the placeholder black out text revealed (i had to do so much searching to figure out how to blackout on AO3 formatting)—

RANBOO BOOB MAN BALLS LIGMA PISS FILE SCENE<delete this or i end you <i guess you’re ending me

If ghosts were real they decide they might find Charlie's here, sitting in storage like it's a Lost and Found.

Ranboo studies the documents again as if the words aren't already burnt into his memory. What would Charlie have looked like without Showfall taking him away?

MISSING: [Dudebro], Charlie

Age: 10

Where would Ranboo have been? Would they still have been friends?

Charlie would be on the swings, grinning with a missing front tooth and muddy velcro trainers. Ranboo would probably be in the sandpit, maybe the slide. Were they neighbours? Childhood friends? Did they even live close to each other?

Missing Since: [18],[10], 2008

What would he think of Ranboo now, saddled with decades-old survivors' guilt for a brother he never truly lost?

"Ha," the 10 year old that isn't in the room would say, "you got old!"

"So did you," Ranboo would say back. 

If Found, Call: [  :]  0800 1111 ]

The kid would only laugh disbelievingly and stay waiting, cross legged on the floor, for his parents to come back.

MISSING: [Ronald] "Ranboo" [Boober]

Age: [69]

The kid that isn't there eyes him up and down. He clicks his tongue in the obnoxious way kids do.

"Who are you?" The kid would say.

"Your brother," Ranboo replies. 

10 year old Charlie giggles. 

"But you're a grown up."

Missing Since: [14],[7],[4200]

"So are you."

The kid sticks his tongue out and grimaces.

"Nah, I'm staying young forever."

"Not to me."

Charlie’s grin is back, showing off his missing tooth. Ranboo wonders if he ever got his tooth fairy money. 

"What am I like? Funny?" The kid that isn't there strikes a stupid pose from where he is on the floor, "Handsome? Charming?"

"Yeah, you'll entertain a lot of people."

"Well now you’ve made me look forward to it!"

"I… remember it."

Ranboo trails off, because he's alone in the room.

If Found, Call: [ghostbusters]

They thumb through the pages again, trying to mask their increasing desperation at answers that simply don’t exist . The files were rather innocent looking when he first saw them, as innocent as illegal papers with the Showfall logo stamped on the front could look. Ranboo's whole life, Charlie's whole life, reduced to a few censored documents. Junk to Showfall. Worthless.

If he could at least get a date they went missing, perhaps he could search the missing persons directory if he gets out. When. When he gets out. 

"What are you doing?" The 10 year old would say. 

Ranboo would ignore the paper cut on their thumb and keep searching the same sentences over and over again. 

"Looking for you," Ranboo would respond.

The kid would frown.

"But I'm here. Am I lost?"

MISSING BOY. HAVE YOU SEEN ME?

Ranboo cannot respond to the ghost in his head.

"I'm not lost." The kid in his head repeats. 

"I know you're not."

"You know I'm not here."

The kid would gesture in the direction of where Ranboo left Charlie, the real one, the dead one, as if he were lazily giving directions with no care in the world. 

"Yeah. I guess you’re not." Ranboo responded to nobody. 

The room seemed to press in on him, the thick concrete foundation of this whole fucked-up organisation breathing dust down his neck. The blood on their hands was congealing, seeping slowly into the papers they clutched like a lifeline. Reddish-brown obscures Charlie’s name, and Ranboo has to fight the urge to either laugh hysterically or break down sobbing. 

Their arm throbs, a deep-seated pain that he’d managed to block out over the past few minutes with the pretence that he might find anything that could save them. Ranboo is just so , so tired.

“You look sad.” 

The kid fiddles with a loose thread from his jumper. He doesn’t make eye contact with Ranboo.

“My parents said I had to be a good boy and not make a fuss while they were gone. Do you know where they went?”

Charlie is looking at him now. Ranboo can see the tears gleaming in his eyes, hear the lump in the kid’s throat.

“They’ll be back soon.” 

The lie slips from his throat smoothly, like he’s done it a million times before. 

“Don’t worry. There should be a button in the heart of the facility that- that turns this whole place off. If we get to that, we can make it out.”

The kid’s face brightens momentarily, and he shuffles towards Ranboo slightly.

“Will you look after me until my parents get back?”

Bile rises in his throat at the innocent, trusting face that shines up at him.

“Sure thing, buddy.”

END

• stupid meme #10 -

*fade in*

*the room is dark*

*Ranboo is strapped to a chair*

[Oh god, it’s the puzzler all over again, Ranboo thinks.]

*A single spotlight clicks on and illuminates Ranboo’s chair*

*Ranboo tugs at his restrains*

[I hope there isn’t enough chains on here to hold every bicycle]

*Ranboo shivers*

[for a _million_ years]

*Ranboo pulls on his chains again, dismayed, for it looks to be so*

R: Hello? 

*silence*

*a beat*

*footsteps*

[Oh fuck]

*Ranboo continues unsuccessfully with his escape plans*

*as the seconds tick by the viewers and Ranboo alike become aware that the approaching footsteps sound…*

[The metaphorical lightbulb turns on then promptly shatters to the floor in Ranboo’s mind.]

*squelchy.* 

[Oh Fuck.]

*Agonising moment of anticipation*

[Aside, offscreen]

Slimecicle: Hello Rengus.

[Ranboo is distraught.]

*Slimecicle steps into frame. He tracks an ominous trail of goo along with him in the way a serial killer drips with the blood of his enemies. Or the way a slug excretes slime. The likeness rather depends on the situation.*

*Ranboo sheds a single tear*

[Happily]

S: The chains on there is enough to hold every single bicycle-

*Slimecicle leans forward, infront of Ranboo now, in such a way that he bends at the waist and socks his head into the spotlight illuminating Ranboo’s despair.*

Slimecicle, cont: for way more than a million years.

[Ranboo’s spirit is broken. They do not respond, merely weep.]

*Slimecicle attempts to reach for the breast pockets of his suit.*

*An awkwardly long moment ensues of Slimecicle peeling his pockets open and extracting the object from said pocket, all while Ranboo mourns his freedom.*

*The object is retrieved, Slimecicle grins. It’s a stained and ratherslimey pocket watch. Despite the goo encrusted and embedded into the metal, it continues to work correctly. *

[Ranboo wishes he had enough strength as the pocket watch, and simultaneously pities its goopy existence.]

*Slowly, Slimecicle swings the pocket watch- now a pendulum for all intents and purposes- and grins as Ranboo’s eyes unwillingly follow the motion.*

[Back and forth]

[Back and forth]

[In whisper, repeated chant]

S: You are silly :3 

[Ranboos resolve weakens.]

*Slimecicle continues chanting, and the pendulum swings. Back and forth. Back and forth.*

*Ranboo has long since gone slack in all physical movement, only his eyes track the pendulum, back and forth, back and forth.*

[Something in Ranboo’s mind breaks.]

[Voice full of misery that slowly gives way to monotonous acceptance]

R: I am silly :3

S: You are silly :3

*This exchange is repeated for another minute. All hope is lost.*

-A oneshot crackfic that was never finished that I wrote off hand when out of ideas for this one, an Au where Ranboo is a normal guy and the Cabin episode is real. As in there is in fact a cabin in the words inhabited by the slimiest demon unknown to society that Ranboo accidentally breaks into and can no longer leave. Here are some disconnected scenarios from that universe that I found again while digging through our planning. -

-Crack fic, this is HUMOROUS. It may however develop angst because that's how things go over here. 

-Follows Ranboo, just a normal person, accidental home intrusion.  Charlie is very much a slime demon, and there's a guy talking to a skeleton downstairs. Enter: shenanigans. 

-Follows Ranboo getting used to the bullshit over idk a week?

-Each chapter can start like a journal entry Ranboo’s keeping?

-Use the dimension door to shamelessly and continuously reference other universes and fandoms.

Dear diary,

I have made a large and illegal mistake. 

Did you have a bad day? I'm having a bad day. Are you having a bad day? Why, what are you doing? Did you just drop a plate? Are you trying to finish an essay due at midnight? I’ll tell you what I’m doing. 

I’m hiding in some deranged weirdo’s cupboard. 

Ranboo snaps their notebook shut, abruptly cutting off their entry, as footsteps sound from the next room over. Be quiet and maybe you won't get done for breaking and entering. In his defence, he thought the place was abandoned. That however still does not excuse him of a trespassing fine and Ranboo is absolutely broke and so staying as hidden as possible until he can leave this stranger's house he accidentally broke into is the only plan of action. 

Ranboo fidgets with their pen as he listens to the footsteps meander about the house. This may be the most mortifying situation they have ever ended up in. Even counting that time they took a volleyball to the face in p.e and managed to fall and break someone else’s wrist. 

They are sitting in someone's cupboard. Cupboard! Like a serial killer! Just because they thought the house looked abandoned? Who even does that?! Come to think of it, who would even live in a house that looks so dilapidated from the outside? They should definitely be questioning the strangeness of this house, probably its owner by extension. In a slight haze of ‘oh my fucking god what have I done’, Ranboo takes out the notebook again and starts making a list under the diary entry. 

Weird Stuff About The Person Who’s House I’ve Broken Into:

(WSATPWHIBI for short)

1.Looks like they haven’t fixed any damages since the 1600s.

Ranboo recognises how ludicrous the action of judging this person while actively trespassing in their house is but sue him it's not like anyone’s reading this diary anyway. 

2.Footsteps don’t seem to line up with each other.

Ranboo notices the owner’s footsteps in question switch from stomping around the next room to muffledly moving around upstairs. Ranboo underlines the previous bullet point. 

They believe the phrase goes: “curiosity killed that cat, but satisfaction brought it back.” Ranboo disagrees because he is definitely so incredibly dead, and they are not satisfied with the situation at all.

A voice interrupts Ranboo’s panicking. They can't quite catch all of it through the wall, but what they do hear is enough to make them question every decision ever made to bring them to this point.

“--Ghouls!...Help,...untick me from…chair… I…moisture–”

Silently, Ranboo uncaps their pen again.

3.They might be a raving lunatic. 

—

Dear diary,

I hate this place and everyone in it. I would call it irrational, but I bet if you had to withstand Slimecicle for only HALF AN HOUR you would lose your mind, so i'm doing pretty well. That Sneeg guy (who names someone SNEEG) seems alright but he’s way too weird about that plastic skeleton for my liking. The only exciting thing is what bullshit I'm going to find on the other end of the dimension door at this point. Lord give me strength, and i'm not even Christian.

Ranboo opens the dimension door, more out of routine habit and the Sunk-cost fallacy by this point, and steps through onto solid ground. (One time it had straight up been outer space, which wasn’t a good time).

Ranboo connects with solid flooring.

And is immediately yelled at. Oh God please don’t tell me I’ve walked into another person's house by accident.

As it turns out, Ranboo has just walked out of an industrial freezer and scared the shit out of some poor employee. He isn’t sure what to do about the situation so he just stands awkwardly in the doorway to the freezer as the woman stares at him. 

She’s short, wearing some kind of uniform and a green apron with no logo. Did he walk into a fucking Starbucks or something? Her name tag reads “Emma, here to help” with the ‘here to help’ scribbled out with Sharpie. 

“Uh, hi?“

“How are you in our fucking freezer.”

Good start. Ranboo was going to just wordlessly shut the door and go back to the cabin, but now the lady -Emma, not here to help at all- has initiated conversation and it would be rude to leave now. Damn.

“Um.” Very elegant, Ranboo. Top notch people skills, really. Solved the problem perfectly. 

Emma senses that he isn’t going to do anything and sighs.

“Can you at least move out of the way? I have a job to do, as much as I hate it.”

Oh. Right. Yeah.

Ranboo shuffles awkwardly to the side and lets Emma root through the freezer for whatever she came here for with the familiar annoyed air that all tired overworked college students naturally have.

Ranboo takes the time to take in the fact that he’s just stepped into the small back room of what appears to be a coffee shop, judging by the various machines. This may be the most normal universe he’s ended up in yet. Coffee shops are the most normal thing ever. He would love to go back to the cabin (and that’s saying something), social interactions with this stranger who clearly dislikes not just him but the world in general isn’t something he wants to do.

Emma emerges from the freezer and shuts it holding a bag of ice cubes. She wordlessly restocks the ice machine and leaves Ranboo to hover near the freezer completely out of place. A good few minutes pass. 

Emma turns around to look at them again, and Ranboo feels intensely like he’s being judged. 

He must pass whatever test Emma was mentally performing, because she doesn’t immediately kick him out of whatever shop he’s appeared in (which is nice of her, because he does need to use the freezer to get back.) 

Emma leans on the ice machine and raises an eyebrow at him. Ranboo gains the impression that if she didn’t have two biology essays to do and it wasn’t this late at night, he would’ve been being yelled at a whole lot more right now.

“Well, are you going to explain why you're here? I'm not going to snitch to Nora, but I would love an explanation.” 

Damn. There’s not much for Ranboo to do at this present moment. There really is no normal excuse for appearing in the freezer of a back room.

Ranboo trips over their words. 

“Uh- another dimension. I came out of one. Yeah. Um. Sorry?” 

The words “another dimension” seem to ring a bell of some kind in Emma’s head and her eyes narrow in suspicion. 

“You stay right there. I’m going to call someone—“ Emma pauses at Ranboos' expression and corrects herself “— it is not the police. They can’t do shit anyway.” 

Emma makes the universal ‘im watching you’ hand motion, before pulling out her phone and dialing someone. Ranboo stays where he’s been standing for the past five minutes, fiddling with their jacket sleeve and wishing Emma would stop staring at him like he was going to sprout an extra head or something if she wasn’t paying attention. Whoever she called picks up admirably quickly. 

Emma elects to take the call in the other room, not before making another more emphasised version of her previous hand motion. Ranboo puts his hands up in surrender, and elects to wait for her to come back. It would just make it worse if the kid you found in your freezer just disappeared when you looked away. 

Ranboo can hear her conversation slightly through the drywall (must be still in America then) and tries to tune it out to give her her privacy. 

“Hey Paul. I need your opinion on something…”

—-

Latching onto the sleepover bit,

Dear diary,

Sleeping in a cupboard is impossible. I don’t know why I thought I would be able to sleep in here. Rage? Spite? Unfortunately neither rage nor spite can make this cupboard any bigger or myself any shorter. There is a limit to how helpful being flexible is when you’re 6’6 in a tiny box.

I fear I might have to come out of the closet again, this time in the literal sense.

Ranboo shoves the notebook shut, checks their glow in the dark watch he got for his 11th birthday, and sees the time is the lovely hour of [ 4:26am]. Sigh.

Ranboo twists his hand around and manages to push the door open and immediately tumbles onto the floor.  Ranboo takes a moment for himself to lie on the floor and ache. Compacting yourself into a tiny space for the night isn’t good for your limbs. 

Ranboo stares up at the ceiling from the limb heap they have created, and is promptly jumpscared by Slimecicle staring directly at him. 

“Hello Rengus! That was a pitiful exit, it looked like my cupboard was giving birth to an ugly baby deer-“

Ranboo sighs. Oh of course he’s awake.

“What do you want?”

“Well i was sleeping in my usual corner-“

“-you were standing up-“

“-and you fell onto my floor so i have taken your invitation to hang out!”

“That was not an invitation to ‘hang out’ , that was my falling out of your cupboard.”

“So we’re having a sleepover!”

Ranboo shuffles further away as Slime sits himself on the floor centimetres away from him. 

“I don’t want to have a sleepover with you, I want to leave. ”

“Stop being so dry and so rude, I even brought nail varnish.”

Ranboo stares at the unidentified green substance.

“That isn’t nail varnish.”

“Fine!” Slime tosses away a previously unnoticed book titled ‘Sleepovers for Idiots’ and glares at Ranboo. “So what do you do on sleepovers? Mr. Oh So Knowledgeable?”

Ranboo shuts his eyes and sighs. 

“You sleep.”

“That’s boring. Not enough slime for my taste.”

“I don’t know what your taste is.” 

Ranboo neglects to tell him about pillow fights in fear of their own safety.

He can still feel Slime staring at him. 

Ranboo opens his eyes again. Slime is hovering inches above his face and looking directly into his soul. Ranboo yelps and rolls over away from him before goop drips onto his face or something. God that man is creepy. 

Ranboo gets up painfully from the floor into a sitting position as Slime continues to look at him. Ranboo is certain he hasn’t blinked in the whole time they’ve been here. He’s not going to let him sleep until this sleepover happens, is he. 

Ranboo rubs his eyes and racks his head for something that will keep Slime entertained enough for Ranboo to pass out on the floor and remain undisturbed. 

“Sometimes people watch films?”

“My TV doesn’t work.”

“Yes it does? You even have some tapes.”

“If you’re thinking about the guy that shows up sometimes I’ve been trying to get him to leave for ages, stupid slimeless telemarketers.” 

“O…Kay.” No films then, great. What else can they do that requires the least effort on Ranboo’s part?

“Do you have anything else in the book of yours?”

Slime’s eyes light up as he regains object permanence and remembers his ‘Sleepovers for Idiots’ book now in the other corner of the room. 

After having to watch Slime extract himself from the floor, gross, and then root around in the dust for his book, also gross, Ranboo is sat on the bed looking at a demon ruffle through the pages of the oldest looking book known to man while accidentally ripped every few pages by sticking to them. There’s also now a substantial amount of dust stuck to his sleeves. 

This isn’t what Ranboo wanted to be doing in life.

Slime starts talking again, ruining Ranboo’s day even more. 

“Talking about boys?” He phrases it like he’s a peasant asking approval from the king to plant wheat in the royal fields or something. 

Ranboo pinches their nose.

“I don’t think we have any boys to talk about, Slime.”

Slime frowns, seemingly uno set he can’t follow the rules of a sleepover. 

“We have Ghoulio?”

“Does ‘Ghoulio’ even count? Or have anything interesting about him?”

Slime looks offended on Ghoulio’s behalf.

“Well lets talk about you then. Number one, you’re dry and cracking like dirt after a famine, number two you’re a tall frail breakable twig-“

“Hey what the fuck hold on now-“

Slime continues to list off things on his fingers.

“Number three you keep slamming my doors and I can’t afford to keep paying Ghouliette to fix the hinges,-“

Ranboo lightly throws a pillow in Slime’s direction hoping he’s shut up.

“Slime, I don't even qualify to be talked about!”

Slime pauses and stares at him. 

“Oh.” 

Ranboo sees the confusion on his face and prays to anyone listening that he won’t have to explain the concept of gender identity to a slime demon.

There is a pause.

Slime opens his mouth to say something. 

Oh god damn it, he does, doesn't he.

After twenty long minutes of “no, genders aren’t really collectibles” and “no, there isn’t a set amount to choose from” Ranboo gets to the end of their impromptu lesson and Slime is still sitting on the floor with a contemplative face. 

Ranboo can practically see the cartoon cogs turning about in his brain.

“Well I don't think I have one of those.” 

Slime immediately goes back to looking through his book again casually as if he just discovered his favourite colour or something and moved on with his day. 

Alright then. Ranboo awkwardly wonders if he should’ve asked for preferred names and pronouns already. But considering all of the events up to this point it’s not very surprising that it hadn’t come to mind. Sometimes your top priority is the biohazard you're cooking. 

May as well ask anyway, Slime didn’t seem to get the concept twenty minutes ago so may as well get it over with now. 

“Do you have a name I’m meant to be calling you? You never introduced yourself.”

Slime doesn’t look up from his book. Apparently he’s gotten his sleeve stuck on the contents page and is trying to unstick it without ripping out the whole page.

“Well what have you been calling me?” 

Would it be weird to admit to calling a slime demon ‘Slime’? Is that the equivalent of calling a person ‘Skin’? Either way he’s addressed Ranboo a million times with ludicrous nicknames so they honestly shouldn’t be caring too much. 

“Slime.”

Slime nods his approval and offers no further explanation, which is rare, and manages to only tear the top half of the page. 

Slime it is, he guesses. Slime seems to sense Ranboo’s train of thought and mentally pulls it off the tracks, looks through it, and answers all the questions. 

“You could refer to me as anything you want, I don't care. Unless you’re insulting me because then buddy we’ll have problems.” 

Slime glares at Ranboo for a moment and they put their hands up in mock surrender. 

Slime returns to his book rummaging.

“What are pillow fights?“

Briefly the fear of the lord runs through Ranboo’s body. 

“Skip past that one that’s a typo.”

—-

You know how people have spiritual revelations that god must exist by looking at how beautiful nature is? Ranboo has a spiritual revelation that God definitely doesn’t exist when they look at the sharpicklester. Occasionally he feeds it unidentifiable food from a tupperware in the fridge labelled “for the abomination”

—-

Slimecicle scrunches his face up and goes incredibly still as if the process of forming an actual thought is causing him physical pain.

This concerns Ranboo, because even though they didn’t ask nor want to be stuck here with the world's most mildly inconvenient spirit, they don’t particularly want the spirit to have a heart attack or something. Then Ranboo would just be left here with no escape and their only companion being the weird guy in a cage downstairs.

“Are you…good?”

Slimecicle stares at the wall with the focus of someone attempting a particularly difficult maths problem.

He glared at a kitchen knife and Ranboo panics for a moment and counts their last days before Slimecicle speaks.

“If it’s called Invincible…”

The…brand name? Ranboo has the urge to study the spirit under a microscope because honestly what’s going on up there?

“…then why can I see it ?”

Are you. Shitting me.

—------

Anyway what was i doing ah yes

Dear Diary,

Do you know where I could hire a hitman? For like $20 tops? Slime chased me around the place with a fork of SOMETHING gross and probably fucking radioactive and i want out. Immediately.

Ranboo is interrupted by the annoyance in question. It’s only 11am, and Slime has managed to badger him nearly the whole day so far.

“What are you doing? Ronald- Ronald!“

Speak of the devil.

“Nothing!” 

How the fuck am i meant to last here. The Ghouls are at least more pleasant company, but that’s more because they don’t do too much on their own and I can't tell if they don’t possess the ability to think for themselves or just don’t like using it. Sneeg is. Weird. He’s not TERRIBLE but i think he has this thing going on with this plastic skeleton he named ‘Frank’ and it’s grossing me out fucking weird to witness.

“Ronald! Ronald McDonald!” Slime calls at him from the other room again. Can’t a man get one fucking minute of peace.

Ranboo gets up off the floor defeatedly.

Got to go, I’m getting harassed again. As is the new way of the world. At least i don’t have to do that essay if I’m considered a missing person.

“What do you want, Slime?” 

There’s an indescribable noise from his direction.

“I’m stuck.”

Fuck sake.

—------------  

Dear diary,

Slime i KNOW you read this, there is green goop on some of my pages and if i was a lesser man i would think it’s gone mouldy. You know you can just ASK me about my day? Let me learn you a thing, a nice helpful thing, called *PRIVACY.* Big bold letters required. You do not go through people's personal possessions. This counts as a personal possession, considering I pour all my thoughts and shit in here and this is like the one object I own. Now, Privacy with a capital P means that you DO NOT READ THIS. So you put this book down, you shut it, and you go and sleep in your corner or something. You are not subtle.

—-------

Dear diary,

At time of writing, it is 1:246p 12:46pm. It’s dark. I don’t know how, there’s no windows. But somehow natural sunlight shines through in time with the normal day/night cycle and I won't look a gift horse in the mouth. It’s actually rather quiet tonight. I mean quiet in the cabin sense that I’m used to, not the normal quiet I’m becoming less familiar with. There’s always some form of noise, loud or not, but at night it’s kind enough to fade into background noise levels. Like I can still hear that horrible mismatched godless creature in the attic doing whatever shark-pickle-lobsters do.

Slime appears to be asleep. It surprises me that he has some kind of sleeping schedule, i just thought he existed purely to instigate chaos and simply had no other functions to attend to. But every night at roughly 11pm he just picks a spot on the floor and stands there with his eyes shut. It definitely feels like sleeping, even if he’s standing up for some reason. (maybe bed sheets would stick to the slime?) but you can never be sure with Slime. He could be standing there telepathically communicating to the mothership or something and I wouldn't know.

I feel like I’m documenting creatures, like those presenters on nature shows. I’m in the kitchen. Slime decided that his sleeping spot for tonight is the middle of the bedroom and he makes a very intimidating  silluette silhouette to sleep with in your peripheral. I think one of the Ghouls is around. They don’t tend to make as much noise as Slime does,  but honestly you could rev a motorbike and Slime could talk over it.

Is this what those adventures felt like when documenting new species and new environments? The cabin is very cabin-like so it’s not exactly a new environment but there is a magically restocking fridge so take that with a pinch of salt. This place is going to give me paranoia. What if I go to sleep and the bed tucks me in by itself? Hell no.

I don’t think that’s an issue old timey explorers had to worry about.

Ranboo looks up briefly into the darkness of the kitchen. It’s not a particularly intimidating darkness like the sort you’d see in a horror film, just the sort you find when the sun goes down. The cabin feels very empty without Slime managing to take up all of the space at once. Faint unrecognisable sounds are coming from somewhere as if someone’s knocking around something metallic. Maybe it’s Sneeg in his cage, or a Ghoul sorting out some issue or another. Ranboo looks back down at their open notebook. They’d dragged a desk lamp out and set it up on the kitchen table in order to not write completely blind. Sure they could’ve gone and sat on the sofa but sue them if they want to write at a table.

Ranboo chews their pen lid thoughtfully and drums their fingers on the table. Why is being held captive so complicated? Ranboo sighs and starts writing again.

I don’t think that’s an issue old timey explorers had to worry about. Is calling this a nature documentary bad? I don’t feel like I’m documenting animals. If anything I’m documenting my descent into insanity. Or the weirdest case of Stockholm Syndrome you’ve ever seen.

Ranboo rakes a hand through their hair.

Ghouliette seems attached to the Sharpicklester. I can tell that it’s Ghoulio in the other room because Ghouliette’s hands shake and she tends to drop plates and bowls for the SPL (Sharpickler abbreviated) while Ghoulio doesn’t. The SPL’s favourite food seems to be something completely unidentifiable, but its second favourite is salmon. Slime hates pickles.

Ranboo sighs loudly and rubs a hand down their face.

They are interesting and multifaceted people.

Ranboo crosses out and rewrites things over and over, but never seems to get the phrasing right. 

When did getting kidnapped become a moral dilemma?

I want to go home

Do you think i would miss them if i left?

I wonder if Slime has a birthday

my family are probably worried about m

do my friends think I’m dead?

I could get used to this

Ranboo shuts the notebook defeatedly. It’s probably time to go to sleep. And remember to make sure their notebook stays shut this time with a lord of rubber bands. Slime can’t get those off easily. (Why does he care about that?)

Definitely time to sleep.

————————

Dear diary,

FUCKING HELP ME THE FRIGDE ONLY GAVE ME PICKLES I SWEAR SLIME I KNOW YOU READ THIS WHEN I GO TO SLEEP I SWEA

“RANBOO.”

Hearing Slime yell his actual name should not be as terrifying as it is.

Ranboo squishes himself further into the corner of the cage and disregards Sneeg’s obvious judgmental look. Ranboo can worry about his honour and dignity when Slime isn’t THREATENING TO SKIN HIM. Sneeg was not happy about Ranboo’s hiding place to begin with, and is looking progressively less happy about it. Something about invading Frank’s personal space. 

“Look man, just because you fucked up doesn’t mean you gotta drag Frank and I into this.”

“Ssshhhhhhut up, Sneeg!”

Sneeg holds up surrender hands.

“I’m just trying to say that this is completely your fault-“

Slime climbs out of a cardboard box he definitely wasn’t in before, and stares Ranboo directly in the eye. 

Oh piss off that man cannot TELEPORT. 

Ranboo hurriedly writes his will.

My diary i leave to Frank Ghouliette can have my pens please dear god spare me and i would like to be cremated and my ashes thrown into

Ranboo doesn’t get to finish their will as Slimecicle doesn’t give him the courtesy of staying in the box. Ranboo pushes past Sneeg, earning an annoyed yell, and slams the cage door shut just as Slime tries to reach a hand in. 

Please God if you’re out there, Ranboo thinks, strike me down where I stand or so help me. 

Ghoulio sits eating pickles in the other room, completely oblivious to the bloodlust he has accidentally created.

—--------------

Ranboo snapped the elastic of his rubber gloves. Today is the dreaded day.

“Slime?”

Slime swivels his head over to him from where he was attempting to play chess with Ghouliette. Neither of the players understood the rules of chess and half of Ghouliette’s pieces are suspiciously missing. The board is also dented as if it had been thrown against a wall quite a few times in its history. 

Ranboo holds up a frying pan. 

“Slime, I'm teaching you how to cook.”

He is met with the blankest stare ever. Slime just looks at him with the same look as those squishy toys with glittery glass eyes. Nothing behind there, completely nothing. 

“Why.”

Ranboo resist the urge to hit themselves on the head with the pan.

“Just get over here.”

Slime decides to humour Ranboo. 

“What are ya making?”

“What are we making.”

Slime waves them off, completely in denial that he would have any part in this. Slime has the attention span of a small dog and immediately starts messing with the microwave. Pressing all the buttons, opening and shutting the door, completely and utterly uninterested in the prospect of not having cooking staff to terrorise.

Ranboo preservers.

“ We are going to make pancakes.”

“Will there be slime?”

“There shouldn’t be.”

Slime frowns disappointedly. 

“You know what Rengus,” Slime rummages in his cutlery drawer (it was actually a 1:4 cutlery:junk ratio if Ranboo had to guess) and selects a fork. 

What the fu-

Slime puts the fork in the microwave.

“NO NO NO-“

Ranboo is convinced that they just became possessed with the spirit of home safety with the speed they turned off that microwave. Slime glares at them.

“Ok. Rule one of cooking. Do not. Explode the kitchen.”

—---------

 Dear Diary,

 It’s the end of day 2 and i don't believe in God. However i didn't believe in demons 24 hours ago, so god if you’re out there do something you son of a bitch. Its not looking good for me and I am in dire need of a miracle. I have a very bad feeling that this is not going to be a short stay and it worries concerns fills me with rage sickens is not a good thing for my mental health. 

Dear Diary, 

its day 6 and i can officially say i've made it past Five Nights At Slimecicle’s and now i have nothing left to label my days with. I think i may be stuck here forever.

 ----

And that's it! This fic has been a wonderful experience, I enjoyed cackling like an evil moustache-twirling villain writing the angst sections.