Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

ARMY DREAMERS THEY NEVER SLEEP

Do you fear whats after?
When suddenly you're home and in a moment.
You are somewhere you don't reconize.
The Sounds in the background Screams in your ears.
You open your eyes , you're in a dream.
Little Army dreamers , they never sleep.

♦-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-♦

HEYYYYYY

IM BACK WITH ANOTHER FANFICTION

I HOPE YOU ENJOY THIS ONE

I WANTED TO DO THIS ONE FOR A LITTLE DIVERSITY!

AND I ALREADY HAVE A COUPLE CHAPTERS PREPARED! <3

this takes palce in an alternate timeline DO READ THE TAGS CAREFULLY!

Chapter Text

The hideout was alive with chatter, the low murmur of voices blending with the occasional laughter of survivors sharing stories of past rounds. It was one of those rare moments of peace—where the looming threat of the next trial wasn’t weighing down on them just yet.

Elliot was sprawled out on a makeshift couch, tossing a small glowing star between his hands. Shedletsky and Builderman, however, were huddled over a strange contraption—one of Builderman’s latest “safety measures,” as he liked to call them. Shedletsky poked at the buttons with curiosity while Builderman grumbled under his breath, fine-tuning something only he seemed to understand.

The calm didn’t last long.

A sharp, unnatural distortion cut through the air, like a radio struggling to tune into the right frequency. The entire room flickered, walls dissolving into static before reforming into a different, much darker place. The hideout was gone—replaced by the harsh, metallic walls of a dimly lit facility. The air was thick with the scent of rust and something electric, like ozone after a storm. The round had begun.

And the killer?

The unmistakable hum of static filled the room, accompanied by a chilling, mechanical chuckle. Glitching into existence, hovering just a few feet off the ground, was 1x1x1x1. Their long, white hair floated as if suspended in water, their body shifting between solid and corrupted code, eyes glowing like fractured lightbulbs.

“Not them again,” Guest 1337 muttered under his breath.

The survivors sprang into action. Elliot immediately bolted across the map, weaving between the rusted structures, his visor reflecting the dim lighting as he called out instructions. "Stick together! If you need heals, let me know!" His energetic movements left a faint trail of golden sparkles behind him, a stark contrast to the eerie, corrupted environment.

Meanwhile, Builderman and Shedletsky had taken refuge near the machine Builderman had constructed, their voices a tense whisper as they tried to determine if it was functional.

But Guest 1337 had no time to worry about them. His attention was locked on 1x1x1x1, whose glitchy form flickered in and out of sight, searching for their first target.

And beside him? Chance.

They were leaning casually against the rusted wall they had taken cover behind, flipping a coin between their fingers with practiced ease. The dim light reflected off the silver disk as it twirled through the air, before landing neatly in their palm.

"Tails," Chance murmured to themselves, smirking slightly. They spun their revolver open, loaded a bullet, then snapped it shut with a flick of their wrist.

Guest 1337 clenched his jaw. "Can you stop playing around for two seconds and focus?" His voice was sharp, low enough to avoid detection, but edged with frustration.

Chance glanced up, their star-shaped sunglasses slipping down the bridge of their nose just slightly. "Oh, come on, soldier boy. Where’s the fun if I don’t add a little thrill to it?"

Guest 1337 exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples. "This isn’t a game, Chance. If we don’t get this right, we’re dead. Or worse."

Chance tilted their head, feigning deep thought. Then, with a smirk, they leaned in ever so slightly. "Y’know, if you wanted to be this close to me, you could’ve just said so. No need to use the ‘life or death’ excuse."

Guest 1337’s eye twitched. He took a slow breath in, exhaled, then chose to ignore them. He had learned quickly that engaging with Chance’s flirtations only made them worse.

Instead, he peeked around the corner of the wall, his sharp gaze scanning the environment. 1x1x1x1 was moving erratically, their glitched form flickering in and out of existence as they searched for a target. Guest 1337 had seen this before—this was the moment before they picked someone to chase. They had to act fast.

"We need to distract them before they lock onto someone," he murmured. He glanced at Chance, who was still twirling their revolver absentmindedly. "You’re faster than me. Can you get behind them and fire a shot? I’ll hit them with a stun right after."

Chance grinned. "Finally, you’re giving me the fun jobs."

Guest 1337 sighed, but there was a flicker of amusement beneath the exasperation. This gambler was going to be the death of him.

Without another word, Chance slipped into the shadows, moving with surprising grace for someone so reckless. Guest 1337 took position, their fist ready, watching their movements.

Chapter Text

One shot. One distraction. One chance.

They had done this a thousand times. Slip behind the killer, fire a shot, and let Guest 1337 land the stun. It was a simple strategy, a calculated risk—one that had worked before.

But tonight, something felt different.

Chance positioned themselves behind 1x1x1x1, fingers curling around the handle of their revolver. Their star-shaped sunglasses reflected the dim, glitching glow of the killer’s form.

They smirked, lining up their aim.

Click.

The moment their finger brushed the trigger, 1x1x1x1 snapped their head around.

Chance barely had time to register the movement before venomsharks—jagged, corrupted daggers—appeared in the killer’s hands.

Then they lunged.

Cold steel plunged into their torso.

The world tilted.

Chance’s breath hitched, eyes going wide as they felt the searing, unnatural pain spread through their body. They had been stabbed before. Died before. Respawning back at the lobby was routine by now. Death was temporary in this game.

Except—

Something was wrong.

Their vision blurred, and a sickening distortion rippled through their body. A sensation unlike anything they had felt before—a sensation that dug beneath the surface of the game itself.

Chance’s form glitched.

Their entire body began to flicker, limbs warping as if reality itself was rejecting their existence. Their outline fractured like shattered glass, breaking apart into jagged, pixelated fragments.

They staggered, their revolver slipping from their fingers and clattering to the ground.

A broken, garbled noise escaped their throat, static invading their ears. The world around them trembled, colors bleeding into one another in an unnatural haze. The metallic walls of the facility pulsed as if they were alive, distorting like a corrupted file struggling to render.

The others had seen it too.

From their position near the machine, Builderman and Shedletsky froze, eyes wide with shock. Elliot, mid-sprint, skidded to a halt, his usual cocky confidence replaced by a look of horror.

And Guest 1337—

Guest 1337’s breath caught in his throat.

The moment he saw Chance glitching out, he ran.

He didn’t think. He didn’t hesitate. He just ran.

The distance between them felt infinite.

"CHANCE!"

He reached out, arm outstretched as if he could grab them—as if he could pull them back.

But it was too late.

Chance’s distorted form flickered violently, consumed by the broken fabric of reality itself. Their sunglasses shattered into fragments of code. Their black fedora flickered like a corrupted asset.

And then—

Blackness.

Total, utter darkness.

The last thing Chance heard before the void swallowed them whole was Guest 1337 calling their name.

Then, everything ceased to exist.

Chapter Text

Pain throbbed through Chance’s skull as they stirred, blinking sluggishly against the golden hues of an unfamiliar sky. Their limbs felt heavy, as if they’d been yanked through something beyond their understanding.

Where… were they?

With a groggy groan, they pressed a hand against their temple, willing the dizziness to fade. The soft rustling of grass beneath them and the scent of damp soil told them they were lying on a field—a vast, war-torn wasteland.

As their vision adjusted, the devastation around them became clearer.

Craters.

Endless, gaping holes scarred the earth, some still smoldering as if they had only recently been carved out by explosions. The air carried the lingering scent of smoke and ash, mixing with something metallic—blood? No… this was something different.

Chance's stomach twisted uneasily.

Before they could dwell on the thought, a thunderous explosion rocked the ground.

Their breath hitched. A distant fireball bloomed against the sky, the impact of the detonation sending shockwaves rippling through the land. The force nearly knocked them off balance, their body lurching instinctively as they scrambled backward.

They had to get out of here.

Adrenaline surged through their veins. Ignoring the splitting headache, Chance pushed themselves to their feet and ran.

Each step sent sharp jolts through their legs, but they didn’t dare stop—not when the sky was filled with the roar of distant gunfire, not when bombs rained from the heavens like vengeful gods punishing the earth.

They sprinted toward the nearest cover—a dark forest looming at the edge of the battlefield.

Upon entering, their boots crushed fallen twigs, the scent of burning wood filling their nose. The trees here bore scars of war—trunks split in half, bark scorched black, deep claw-like marks carving into their surfaces.

Chance staggered to a stop, pressing a hand to their chest to steady their breath. Their heart pounded like a drum, sweat slicking their palms.

"What the hell is going on…?" they muttered under their breath.

Before they could make sense of anything—

Click.

The cold barrel of a gun pressed firmly against the back of their head.

Chance went rigid.

"Who are you?"

A deep, commanding voice cut through the silence like a blade.

Chance’s body stiffened as their hands instinctively twitched toward their gun—only to realize they had nothing.

Slowly—very slowly—they turned around.

A man in a military uniform stood before them. His grip on the firearm was steady, unwavering, his expression carved from stone.

A soldier.

The name embroidered on his uniform read "Matt."

Chance’s mind raced. They didn’t know him.

Which meant—

They really weren’t in their world anymore.

Chapter Text

Chance didn’t flinch, even with the barrel of a gun still aimed at their head. If anything, they tilted their head slightly, an easy smirk curling on their lips as if Matt hadn’t just threatened their life.

"Wow, straight to the gun, huh? You always greet strangers like this, or am I just special?" they quipped, their voice smooth with amusement.

Matt’s expression didn’t change. His piercing eyes—dark, calculating—narrowed suspiciously as he took in every detail of the stranger before him.

No uniform.

No weapons.

Nothing that marked them as part of the Bacon Clan.

Which meant they weren’t an enemy—or at least, not one he recognized.

But then… what the hell was someone like them doing in the middle of a battlefield with no equipment whatsoever?

"You gonna answer me or just stand there grinning like an idiot?" Matt’s voice was sharp, his grip on his weapon tightening. "What are you doing out here, unarmed?"

Chance shrugged. "Just taking a little stroll, enjoying the scenery. Y’know, the craters, the smoke, the imminent danger—real peaceful."

Matt’s scowl deepened. They weren’t taking this seriously.

Was this person deliberately messing with him or just too reckless for their own good?

But before Matt could question them further, he noticed something—Chance’s gaze had shifted.

Not toward him.

Toward his uniform.

Chance’s playful smirk faltered. Their eyes scanned the familiar design, recognition flickering across their face. Then, with a spark of realization, they pointed at him.

"Hey, you have the same uniform as my friend—Guest 1337!"

Matt’s entire body stiffened.

His breath caught in his throat.

Did he hear that right?

This reckless, smirking stranger—who had no place on the battlefield—just casually dropped the name of his best friend.

Matt’s grip on his weapon tightened. This was bad.

Who the hell was this person?

Chance seemed oblivious to his sudden change in demeanor. "Yeah, I mean, the color scheme’s a little different, but the design? Pretty damn close. Man, I should introduce you two." They chuckled, completely unaware of the sheer tension in Matt’s stance.

Matt didn’t laugh.

His mind raced.

Guest 1337 was not someone just anyone could know. He was a high-ranking soldier, and his presence wasn’t widely advertised. This wasn’t common knowledge.

So how—how the hell did this person know him?

Matt didn’t lower his gun. Instead, his mind worked fast, and he did what any good soldier would do—test them.

A simple question wouldn’t cut it. No, he needed something specific.

Something that only someone truly close to Guest 1337 would know.

He squinted at Chance, searching for any sign of deception. Then, keeping his voice level, he asked:

"Alright. If you really know Guest 1337…" He paused, choosing his words carefully. "Tell me what’s his favorite dessert?"

For the first time since their encounter, Chance’s face lit up with certainty.

"Oh, that’s easy!" they grinned. "Eclairs! He likes the white chocolate ones especially."

Matt’s blood ran cold.

That was correct.

Chapter Text

Matt exhaled through his nose, lowering his gun just slightly.

Maybe , just maybe he could drop his guard a bit.

This person Chance—seemed harmless. At least, from what he could tell. No weapons, no uniform, and no sense of self-preservation if they were really wandering a battlefield alone.

Still, the fact that they knew Guest 1337 unsettled him.

He studied them for another long moment, then finally let out a sigh. "Alright, you’re lucky I don’t think you’re an enemy. But seriously what the hell are you doing in the middle of a battlefield, man?"

Chance grinned, as if none of this was as serious as it was. "Well, you see," they said, flipping a coin between their fingers. "It’s a long story , i got uhh teleported here by a glitch after i was stabbed by 1x1x1x1?..." They caught the coin with a little flick. "Not exactly the wake-up call I was expecting."

Matt narrowed his eyes. "A glitch?"

"Yep. One minute, I was doing my usual thing and the next? Boom. Reality decides to spit me out here."

Matt stared. What kind of nonsense was that?

"You know what? I don’t even wanna ask," he muttered, shaking his head. "Look, whatever your deal is, you shouldn’t be out here. It’s not safe."

Chance raised an eyebrow. "Oh, you think so? I don’t know, the bombs, the bullets, the screaming—real welcoming atmosphere."

Matt shot them a flat look. "You think you’re funny?"

"I don’t think—I know," Chance smirked.

Matt sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Yeah. You’re definitely gonna be a problem."

He took a step back and gestured behind him. "Come on. We need to get back to the trenches before you get yourself killed."

Chance tilted their head. "And what happens if I don’t?"

Matt deadpanned. "You get shot."

Chance laughed. "Alright, fair point. Lead the way, soldier boy."

Matt didn’t respond, just turned and started walking.

Chance followed, taking in their surroundings. The battlefield stretched out in all directions, filled with deep craters, burnt-out vehicles, and the lingering scent of smoke and blood.

It was pure chaos.

And yet, Matt navigated it like he had done it a thousand times before. Because he had.

Eventually, they reached a more fortified area—a set of trenches dug deep into the earth, lined with barbed wire and sandbags. Soldiers moved back and forth, some carrying weapons, others tending to the wounded.

Matt stopped, turning to Chance.

"Welcome to camp," he said simply, motioning around them.

Chance looked around, whistling softly. "Damn. Real cozy spot you got here."

Matt rolled his eyes.

Chance then leaned in slightly. "Alright, since I’m obviously new to this whole… ‘war’ thing, what exactly is going on here?"

Matt crossed his arms. "We’re in the middle of a war against the Bacon Clan. We’re trying to stop them. Simple as that."

Chance blinked. "Wait, wait, wait—you’re telling me this whole thing is about bacons?"

Matt frowned. "Yeah. What’s wrong with that?"

Chance grinned. "Nothing, just… not the first time I’ve fought a bacon before , in the frying pan."

Matt sighed. "You’re gonna be a headache, aren’t you?"

Chance winked. "Only the fun kind."

Chapter Text

The atmosphere in the camp had settled into something almost bearable, a false sense of normalcy in the chaos of war. Chance had been keeping up their usual bravado, exchanging quips with Matt, when a deep, unmistakable voice cut through the air.

"Matt! There’s a new supplies truck that just arrived. Can you lend a hand?"

Matt immediately turned toward the source of the voice, and Chance followed his gaze—only for their stomach to drop.

Guest 1337.

Standing there in full military gear, his uniform crisp but dirtied from battle, he looked exactly the same as the person Chance knew the same sharp posture, the same confident stance, the same unwavering expression. But something was wrong.

Chance felt their breath hitch as Guest 1337's gaze flickered to them, studying them briefly before dismissing them entirely.

"Your friend is here too," Matt said, motioning toward Chance. "They can help us while we’re here."

Guest 1337’s eyes landed back on them, but there was no recognition. No flicker of familiarity. No confusion. Just cold, detached indifference.

"I don’t know them." His voice was sharp, unwavering. "Matt, you brought a stranger here."

Chance’s heart stopped.

What?

What?

Their whole body tensed as they stared at him, wide-eyed, mouth slightly open. He was joking, right? This was some weird test, right?

But the way Guest 1337 was looking at them—it was real. There was no humor in his stance, no hint of familiarity in his expression.

Chance tried to speak, forcing their voice to stay steady, "Guest, what are you talking about? It’s me. We—"

Click.

A gun was aimed straight at their head.

Guest 1337’s eyes were cold, his grip steady, unwavering. "I don’t know who you think you are, coming here and pretending. Whether you mean trouble or not doesn’t matter to me." His tone darkened, his voice sharp and commanding. "Get out."

Chance froze. Their breath came short and uneven, their hands twitching at their sides. No. No, no, no ,this wasn’t happening. This wasn’t real. He had to be messing with them.

"Guest," Chance’s voice cracked slightly, "come on, man, it’s me. We’ve fought together, we’ve—you know me!"

Guest’s expression didn’t change. If anything, his grip on the gun tightened.

Matt, standing beside them, looked between them both before his face darkened. Slowly, his own gun was drawn.

"So you lied to me?" His voice was lower now, edged with something dangerous. "You dare to lie to a soldier’s face?"

Chance’s heart pounded violently.

Everything was going wrong.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. Guest 1337 wasn’t supposed to not know them. Matt wasn’t supposed to be aiming a gun at them. Their hands itched toward their coin, as if flipping it would magically decide a way out of this, but they knew better.

Their mind raced, trying to come up with a way to talk their way out, but nothing was working.

Matt was angry. Guest 1337 was cold.

And Chance? Chance was panicking.

Chapter Text

Chance barely had time to process the suffocating weight of the situation before a firm hand gripped their chin, forcing their head upward.

Their breath hitched as Guest 1337’s sharp, calculating gaze bore into them. His fingers weren’t rough, but there was an unspoken threat behind them, a quiet dominance that sent a shudder down their spine.

"You're lucky," Guest 1337 muttered, his voice low, dangerous. "Lucky that I see you're clearly not one of them. Or, God forbid, I would have ended you right here."

Chance’s stomach twisted violently.

There was no hesitation in his words. He meant it. The Guest 1337 in front of them, the one holding their chin like they were nothing but a nuisance, would have pulled the trigger without a second thought if they had been just a little more suspicious.

The coldness in his tone—the complete absence of recognition made their chest ache. How?

How could he look at them like they were just some nameless outsider?

"Get them to the military truck," Guest 1337 ordered, finally releasing their chin as he turned to Matt. "They will be departed to the nearest town."

Matt gave a short nod. There was no hesitation, no argument.

"Got it."

Chance barely had time to react before Matt’s grip locked around their arm, tight and unyielding.

"Let’s go."

Chance didn’t fight it. What was the point? They had already lost. Their mind was still trying to catch up, to make sense of this horrible, sick joke of a reality, but the rough pull of Matt’s grip kept them grounded in the worst way possible.

With every step toward the military truck, their body felt heavier. Their heart pounded against their ribs, yet their limbs felt slow, weighed down by an emotion they didn’t want to name.

Matt didn’t say anything as he practically shoved them onto the truck’s worn-out seating.

It was empty, cold, isolating.

A pit formed in their stomach as Matt stepped back, his expression a mix of frustration and something more unreadable.

His next words hit harder than the gun ever could.

"I'm disappointed."

The words were clipped, but they carried weight.

"Just go. And don't come back. You're never welcome here again."

Chance’s throat tightened.

They wanted to say something.

Wanted to argue, wanted to scream that this wasn’t right, that they weren’t lying, that Guest 1337 was their friend, that they had fought side by side, bled together, survived together—

But nothing came out.

Instead, they watched as Matt turned his back to them, walking away without looking back.

And then the truck started moving.

Chance barely registered the sound of the tires grinding against the dirt road, barely felt the vibrations beneath them.

Their gaze remained locked on the two figures standing in the distance.

Matt, standing rigid, his hands clenched at his sides.

And Guest 1337.

He stood tall, composed, unmoving.

His stare was emotionless, empty.

It reminded them of the first time they had met him in the hideout—when he had been distrustful, guarded, a soldier before anything else.

Back then, they had managed to chip away at that cold exterior, to find the friend beneath the soldier.

But now?

Now it felt like they were staring at a stranger all over again.

Chapter Text

The military truck’s tires groaned against the uneven dirt road, each bump jostling Chance where they sat. Their body rocked slightly with the movement, but they barely registered it. Their mind was elsewhere, slipping beyond the confines of the present.

Beyond the cold rejection. Beyond the sting of Guest 1337’s words.

Instead, a memory surfaced, warm and familiar.

The first time they had met him.

_________________________________________________________________

The round had been chaotic—as always.

Chance had been reckless the entire time. Running into danger, taunting the killer, barely dodging by a hair’s breadth. The usual. It was part of the thrill, the gamble they always made. A high-stakes game with their life on the line.

But now that the round was over, the hideout was alive with casual chatter and laughter. Survivors were chatting, leaned back in their chairs, and took the moment of peace before the next round would inevitably pull them back into hell.

Chance stretched their arms above their head, rolling their shoulders as they scanned the room. Their gaze landed on Builderman, who stood near one of the couches,. But he wasn’t alone.

A new face stood beside him.

The first thing Chance noticed was his posture—rigid, controlled, commanding. Even at ease, he held himself like a soldier on duty. The second thing was his expression: calculated, cold, untrusting.

Oh? A tough guy, huh?

Grinning to themselves, Chance made their way over.

“Hey, Builderman, who’s the new—”

Before they could even finish their sentence, they were suddenly airborne.

A sharp force collided with them, knocking the breath from their lungs. Before they knew it, they were on the ground, pinned beneath a heavy weight.

Pain shot through their back as strong hands pinned their wrists down.

What the hell just happened?

Chance blinked rapidly, trying to make sense of what just occurred.

Above them, a pair of sharp, cold eyes bore into them.

The man had moved like lightning , not even a moment’s hesitation. His knee was firmly pressed against their chest, a practiced pin to keep them from moving.

And those eyes.

Chance had been stared at before. Had been given the side-eye, the unimpressed look, the raised brow.

But this was different.

This man wasn’t just looking at them.

He was analyzing them , Dissecting them ,Calculating their every move.

And just like that, Chance understood ,He thought they were a threat.

Well.

That was new.

“Nice to meet ya too,” they wheezed, flashing a sharp grin despite their current predicament.

The soldier’s eyes narrowed slightly , He didn’t move, didn’t ease his grip.

Chance saw the moment of consideration in his eyes, the gears turning in his head as if deciding whether or not they were worth letting go.

The tension hung thick between them.

Then—

“Guest, let them up.”

Builderman’s voice broke through the standstill.

Guest 1337’s grip didn’t loosen immediately. He kept his gaze locked on Chance for a moment longer, as if searching for any hint of deception.

Only when he found none did he finally pull back.

Chance sucked in a breath, rolling their sore shoulders.

Damn, he was strong.

They climbed to their feet, shaking off the sting of the impact before dusting themselves off.

Builderman crossed his arms, shaking his head with mild exasperation. “Guest 1337, this is Chance. They’re one of the survivors here.”

Guest 1337 didn’t react immediately. He merely stared.

And Chance felt it.

That piercing gaze, like he was still trying to figure them out.

Chance shifted slightly under the intensity.

They weren’t easily rattled, but something about being under his scrutiny made them feel oddly small.

Still, they weren’t one to let a first impression shake them.

Chance stuck out their hand, flashing their usual grin.

“Nice to meet you, soldier boy. Try not to throw me around so much next time, yeah?”

Guest 1337’s gaze flicked down to their hand.

Then, slowly, he reached out.

His grip was firm as he shook their hand.

Not too tight. Not too loose.

It was an unspoken acknowledgment.

Not trust. Not yet.

But a start.

And Chance, despite themselves, found that they kind of liked the challenge.

Chapter Text

Chance had barely registered the fact that the truck had come to a sudden stop until the jolt knocked them out of their thoughts. Their stomach twisted as they were ripped from the memory, their breath hitching for just a moment.

The gruff driver barely spared them a glance, his voice dry and impatient. “Out. Now.”

Chance blinked.

For a second, they hesitated—as if stepping out of the truck would truly make this real ,But there was no other choice ,So, they hopped down, feet hitting the cracked pavement beneath them ,Before they could say anything, before they could even look around—

The truck was already pulling away.

Chance barely had time to take a step back before a gust of wind kicked up dust in their face, forcing them to turn their head and shield their eyes ,By the time they turned back, the vehicle was already disappearing into the distance.

Just like that, they were alone.

Chance let out a long breath, ruffling their hair as they finally took in their surroundings.

The town felt... off.

It wasn’t abandoned, not entirely. But there was something unsettling about the way it stood—like it was barely holding itself together ,Buildings were old, worn down, paint chipping at the edges. The streets were cracked, and not many people were walking around. Those who were seemed to keep to themselves, heads low, movements quick.

It was quiet. Too quiet.

And Chance?

They had no clue where the hell they were.

"Great," they muttered under their breath, rubbing their temples. "Real helpful, guys. Just dump me in a ghost town and call it a day."

Chance had to think.

First priority: find shelter.

No telling what kind of people lurked in a place like this, and sleeping out in the open? Not an option.

So, they started walking.

The streets stretched out in winding paths, the town seemingly built with no real order. Signs were faded, some missing letters altogether. There were shops—small ones, some barely still in business. Bars, run-down stores, a few houses lined in the distance.

Chance wasn’t sure how long they wandered before they finally stumbled upon a small, cheap-looking hotel.

It was… well, it was better than nothing.

The sign out front flickered weakly, the neon light barely hanging on.

Chance checked their pockets.

Nothing but a handful of coins and crumpled bills. Not much. Barely enough for one night.

They sighed, muttering, "Of course."

Still, they pushed forward, stepping inside.

The moment they entered, a musty scent of rust and aged wood filled their nose. The air was thick, stale, like the place had barely seen fresh air in years.

At the front desk sat a receptionist—middle-aged, slouched over, barely looking up from an old newspaper.

The guy barely acknowledged them, eyes flicking up lazily as Chance approached.

“Room?” he grumbled.

Chance nodded. “Yeah. One night.”

The receptionist scoffed like he found that amusing.

"That’ll be what you got in your pocket."

Chance scowled but dug out the cash anyway, slapping it on the desk.

The man barely counted it before grabbing a rusted key from a hook behind him.

He didn’t hand it to them.

He just tossed it.

Chance caught it—barely. Narrowed their eyes at him but didn’t say anything.

The guy clearly didn’t care.

So, they turned and walked off.

The hallway leading to their room was dimly lit, flickering bulbs casting uneasy shadows against the peeling wallpaper. Each step they took, the floor creaked beneath them.

By the time they reached their room, Chance felt like they had stepped into a relic of the past.

The door groaned as they pushed it open.

Inside, the room was... well. It was a room.

The bed was somewhat clean, if not a little stiff-looking. The walls were stained, the small window covered in dust.

Chance shut the door behind them, throwing the key onto the bedside table.

And finally ,, finally they let themselves fall onto the bed.

For a moment, they just lay there.

Not moving. Not thinking.

Just... processing.

Today had been a mess.

Thrown into another world. No way back. Guest 1337 not even remembering them.

And now, they were alone.

Chance let out a long breath, staring at the ceiling.

What now?

What the hell were they supposed to do now?

Chapter Text

The night passed faster than Chance expected, and when they woke up, they almost believed it had all been a dream. Maybe they had imagined everything—Guest 1337 not remembering them, being tossed into this unfamiliar world, left alone in some run-down town. But as their eyes adjusted to the dim, musty light of the hotel room, reality set in like a punch to the gut. They were still here.

Chance groaned, rubbing the sleep from their eyes, muttering curses under their breath as they sat up. Their limbs felt stiff, their mind sluggish. What the hell were they supposed to do now? They had no plan, no weapons, barely any money left. The military camp was out of the question. Guest 1337 had made it clear they weren’t welcome. That thought made their stomach turn, but they pushed it aside.

Their gaze landed on an old TV sitting on a dusty wooden stand across the room. The thing looked ancient, but at least it was still functional. With nothing better to do, they grabbed the remote, clicking it on. The screen flickered to life, static briefly covering the display before switching to the news.

"Breaking news." The reporter's voice was sharp, steady, yet tense. "More than one thousand soldiers have died yesterday due to the ongoing nuclear bombings ravaging the battlefield. Emergency medical staff have been deployed in full force to assist the overwhelming number of injured soldiers. However, with the destruction reaching unprecedented levels, the situation continues to grow dire."

Chance stared, their breath catching in their throat as graphic images flooded the screen. Charred corpses, soldiers lying in pieces—headless, armless, bodies torn apart beyond recognition. The battlefield looked like hell itself had swallowed it whole, a wasteland of blood, fire, and smoke.

They turned away, swallowing the bile rising in their throat. Fuck. This was worse than they thought.

A nuclear war? Guest 1337 was out there, fighting in that? Their hands clenched into fists, nails digging into their palms. How the hell were they supposed to just sit here and do nothing?

Chapter Text

The images still burned in their mind. Bodies torn apart, soldiers reduced to nothing but scattered limbs, the land itself blackened and broken beyond recognition. Chance’s stomach twisted painfully, a sickening nausea creeping up their throat. They had seen death before, sure. It was an inevitable part of survival, especially in the rounds they fought in. But this? This was war in its ugliest, most brutal form. The sheer scale of destruction was overwhelming. They had no idea how Guest 1337 could even look at something like that and not flinch.

Not wanting to see any more, Chance hastily grabbed the remote and slammed the TV off, the screen flickering into darkness with a sharp click. Silence swallowed the room, but it did nothing to ease the unease curling inside their chest. They sat there for a moment, running a hand down their face, exhaling a breath that felt heavier than it should.

They needed to get out of here.

Pushing themselves up from the stiff hotel bed, they grabbed the room key and made their way downstairs. The lobby was just as miserable as the night before—dusty, dimly lit, and reeking of old wood and cigarette smoke. The receptionist, the same dead-eyed man from before, was slumped over the desk, half-asleep, barely paying attention to anything around him. Chance tossed the key onto the counter, not bothering with a goodbye. The man didn’t even react, just muttered something incoherent under his breath and continued dozing off.

"Good riddance," Chance muttered, stuffing their hands into their pockets as they stepped out onto the street.

The world outside was just as bleak, if not worse. The morning air was thick with a haze of smoke, the scent of burning metal and something acrid stinging their nose. Red and blue ambulance lights flashed across the road, their sirens a piercing wail that sent a cold spike of dread down their spine. They watched as paramedics rushed in and out of buildings, their uniforms smeared with blood as they hauled injured soldiers into emergency vehicles.

Chance’s breath hitched. What if Guest 1337 was one of them?

Their pulse quickened, a creeping panic seeping into their chest. They hadn't seen him since yesterday—had no idea if he had made it through the night unscathed. What if he was hurt? What if he was dead?

They clenched their fists, shaking their head. No. Guest 1337 was strong. He wouldn’t go down that easily. He had survived worse. Hell, he had fought through death matches before, had taken on some of the most terrifying enemies they had ever faced. A war like this wouldn’t kill him.

At least, that’s what Chance told themselves.

They exhaled slowly, forcing the tension out of their body as they continued walking. The town was eerily quiet, save for the occasional passing car or the distant murmur of voices. Shops were closed, windows boarded up, and the few people they did see looked just as out of place as they did.

A group of men stood huddled near an alley, speaking in hushed tones, their eyes darting around warily. Further down, an elderly woman sat on the sidewalk, a weathered expression on her face as she clutched a bag of meager belongings.

Chance kept their head low, moving quickly, avoiding unnecessary attention. They already stood out enough as it wasno uniform, no affiliation. Just a lone stranger in a war-torn town where trust was scarce. The last thing they needed was trouble.

Chapter Text

Chance stayed low, pressing their back against the rough brick wall of a crumbling storefront. More ambulances roared past, their blaring sirens mixing with the distant hum of military chatter. The town wasn’t big just a small, war-torn settlement meant to serve as a temporary base for recovering soldiers. That’s probably why Chance found themselves standing face to face with the military base far sooner than expected.

Their heart pounded in their chest. This was it.

The massive, barbed-wire-topped fences stretched across the perimeter, armed guards stationed at each entry point. The base was alive with movement—soldiers patrolling, supply trucks coming and going, and medics rushing to tend to the wounded.

This was their only shot.

Chance knew they shouldn’t even be thinking about this. They had been kicked out. Exiled. Guest 1337 himself had told them to never return. But screw that. They couldn’t just sit around while the war raged on, not knowing what had happened to Guest 1337 and Matt. If they couldn’t get back in the normal way, then they’d just have to sneak in.

They crouched lower, pressing their fingers against their temples as they thought. Think, think, think...

Then, a lightbulb went off in their head.

“Genius. I’m a genius,” they muttered under their breath.

If they could sneak into a supply truck, they could slip back into the military camp unnoticed. The trucks were constantly coming in and out, transporting supplies, medicine, and rations. No one checked them too thoroughly. If they could just hide inside one, they could ride it straight back to camp.

Risky? Absolutely. But Chance was known for taking risks.

They swallowed their nerves and peeked around the corner, scanning the area. Soldiers were scattered around the yard, too busy with their own tasks to notice a lone figure skulking around. Their eyes landed on a supply truck parked near the gate, the back open and filled with crates of medkits and bandages. A medic was overseeing the loadout, but the driver wasn’t in sight yet.

This was their chance.

Moving swiftly but quietly, Chance darted toward the truck. Every step felt like a gunshot in their ears. They could hear their own breath, their own pulse hammering in their skull. If even one person turned their head at the wrong moment—if one soldier spotted them—it’d be over.

But luck was on their side.

Reaching the truck without anyone noticing, they grabbed the edge and hoisted themselves up, slipping between the crates. They burrowed into the supplies, tucking themselves deep inside the stacks of medkits, making sure they were completely hidden. Just in time, too ,the sound of boots crunching against gravel made them freeze.

The driver had arrived.

Chance held their breath as the engine rumbled to life, the truck lurching forward. They were in.

Chapter Text

Chance’s body ached with exhaustion as they sat nestled between the stacks of medical supplies, the rough texture of the bandages pressing against their back. Surprisingly, it was comforting. It wasn’t a proper bed, but after everything that had happened, it was the closest thing to comfort they had. Their body felt heavy, their eyelids drooping as sleep crept up on them.

The truck rumbled beneath them, the steady vibrations lulling them into a drowsy haze. Maybe just a few minutes… Their muscles relaxed, their breathing slowed.

Then—

CRASH.

The world flipped.

The truck lurched violently, the sound of twisting metal and shattering glass filling the air. The force of the impact sent Chance slamming against the crates, their breath knocked from their lungs. The sickening crunch of the truck’s body crumpling against the ground rang in their ears, mixing with the sound of rushing water.

Chance’s instincts kicked in immediately.

Shit. Shit. SHIT.

They forced themselves upright, fighting off the wave of dizziness. The truck had gone off the road, tumbling down into a forested ravine, landing sideways in a shallow stream. Cold water pooled around the metal, the tires half-submerged in the mud.

This was bad.

Chance knew they had only seconds before someone came to check the wreckage. If the military found them stowing away in the back, they’d be done for.

Their eyes darted around, searching for something—anything—to help. Then, luck struck.

A military vest.

Still untouched, clean, and folded neatly in a crate nearby.

Jackpot.

They wasted no time, grabbing the vest and shoving it over their head. It was a little big, but it would do. If they could blend in, maybe they could get away without anyone questioning them.

The sound of grunting and scraping metal caught their attention. The driver.

Chance peered over the wreckage, spotting the driver trapped inside the cab, struggling to push the crushed door open. The windshield had completely shattered, glass shards littering the dashboard and seats. Blood dripped from the man’s forehead as he coughed, trying to move.

The truck had landed on its side, blocking the only door. He wasn’t getting out alone.

Chance hesitated. If they helped, they’d be risking exposing themselves.

But leaving him here?

They cursed under their breath and moved.

They climbed over the wreckage to the opposite side, finding a small gap where the metal had buckled. Chance shoved their hands into the opening, using all their strength to wrench the crushed door loose. It barely budged.

The driver groaned, his breathing ragged.

"Hang on," Chance muttered, adjusting their grip. With a sharp breath, they yanked as hard as they could, the metal shrieking as it finally gave way, creating just enough space for the man to crawl out.

The soldier stumbled, panting heavily. His uniform was soaked from the waist down, his face smeared with dirt and blood. But he was alive.

Chance stepped back, trying to look as casual as possible.

"You alright?" they asked, voice steady.

The man blinked at them, disoriented, before nodding. "Yeah... yeah. Damn truck hit something—lost control."

Chapter Text

Chance grabbed a medkit from the scattered supplies as they steadied David, his breathing still labored from the wreck. His arm was bleeding, a deep gash running from his elbow to his wrist. It wasn’t life-threatening, but it needed to be wrapped before he lost more blood.

"Hold still," Chance muttered, already pulling out a roll of bandages.

David hissed in pain as Chance pressed a disinfectant wipe against the wound. The sharp scent of alcohol filled the air as they cleaned the cut, then quickly wrapped it with practiced precision. Their hands worked fast, tightening the bandage securely.

"You’ve done this before," David noted, watching them carefully.

Chance didn’t look up. "Yeah. Once or twice."

Satisfied with the bandaging, they pulled the straps of the medkit shut and slung it over their shoulder, stuffing more supplies into a bag they found nearby. If they were going back, they needed to be prepared.

David, now able to stand properly, flexed his arm and gave a grateful nod. "Thanks. That would’ve been a lot worse without you." His eyes lingered on Chance for a second before he tilted his head. "I don’t think I’ve seen you around before. You a new recruit?"

Chance’s blood ran cold.

Shit.

They had been so focused on helping, they hadn’t thought about what to say when questioned. Their heartbeat quickened. If David got suspicious ,if he realized they didn’t belong here ,it would all be over.

Chance forced their expression to remain neutral, gripping the strap of their stolen vest tighter. They couldn’t hesitate.

"Yeah," they lied, trying to keep their voice steady. "New recruit. Just got stationed recently."

David studied them for a moment, then to Chance’s relief ,he grinned and clapped them on the shoulder.

"Thought so. You’ve got the look of a fighter." His voice carried an approving tone. "You’ve got courage , most rookies would’ve panicked back there, but you didn’t. That’s what makes a damn good soldier."

Chance’s heart fluttered at his words, a strange warmth filling their chest. It had been so long since anyone had praised them like that.

They swallowed, their throat suddenly dry. "Well… thanks. I—"

Their words caught in their throat as a sudden image flashed through their mind—

Guest 1337.

His sharp gaze watching their every move. His precise corrections during training. His firm voice when he spoke. "Again. You’re too slow. If you hesitate, you’re dead."

Chance blinked, shaken for a moment. They had learned from the best.

Guest 1337 was the one who made them strong.

Their grip on the bag tightened. They had to get back.

"I...i learnt from the best.."

Chapter Text

As David scanned the wreckage around them, he let out a tired sigh, running a hand through his short, dust-covered hair. "Looks like we’re gonna have to walk back to the camp," he muttered. "Didn’t think the roads would be this messy, but I should’ve figured." He gestured for Chance to follow. "C’mon. We’ll head there on foot and call for backup when we get in."

Chance nodded, forcing a neutral expression. Their mind was already racing. They were so close to the camp now, but that was the problem. If Matt or worse—Guest 1337 saw them, it wouldn’t be a warm reunion. It would be a gun pressed to their forehead.

They had to think. They had to be careful.

The walk back to camp was strangely calm, almost peaceful. The forest surrounding them rustled with the soft sound of wind brushing against the trees, and despite the looming danger, Chance found themselves relaxing.

For a moment, it felt like before everything went to hell.

David walked ahead, humming an old tune under his breath. Chance followed silently, eyes constantly scanning the area, half-expecting an ambush. But no attack came. Just quiet. Just the sound of their boots crunching against gravel and twigs.

When the military base finally came into view, Chance’s stomach twisted. This was it.

Their next move had to be perfect.

David stopped at the entrance, rolling his shoulders with a grunt. He turned back to Chance and patted them on the back. "Alright, kid. I gotta go call for backup, let ‘em know about the truck. You good from here?"

Chance swallowed the lump in their throat and nodded. "Yeah. Thanks for the help."

David grinned. "No problem. Good luck on your first day."

Then, before Chance could even process what they were doing, their body moved on instinct.

They raised their hand in a salute.

David blinked, surprised at first, then chuckled before saluting back with a proud smile.

"That’s the spirit."

And with that, he turned and walked toward the camp, leaving Chance standing there, their heart hammering in their chest.

Fuck. Now what?

Chapter Text

Chance’s breathing was shallow as they surveyed the military camp. Every movement had to be calculated. They couldn’t just walk inside—not after everything. If anyone had seen them sneaking in, if anyone remembered their face from earlier, they were dead.

They had to think smart. Guest 1337. That was their priority. But how the hell were they going to get him alone?

Chance scanned the camp with sharp, darting eyes, searching for any sign of him. Nothing. Not in the watchtowers, not among the patrolling soldiers, not even at the supply posts.

Their stomach twisted. He had to be on the battlefield.

It was a death wish, but Chance had never been the type to back down from a risk.

Sticking close to the shadows, they moved quickly along the edge of the camp, avoiding the main roads. Soldiers passed by, some in groups, others alone, their faces hardened with exhaustion and war. Chance kept their head down, their posture straight but unassuming. Just another soldier. Just another body in the chaos.

When they reached the outer trenches, the distant roar of gunfire filled the air, followed by the sharp whistling of bullets.

Chance’s stomach clenched. They needed to hide fast.

Their eyes darted across the terrain until they spotted it—a dense patch of forest just beyond the trenches. It was risky, but it was the best cover they had.

With a deep breath, they darted toward the trees, slipping between them like a shadow. The moment they reached the safety of the foliage, they dropped low, pressing their body against the damp earth. From here, they had a clear view of the battlefield without being seen.

And that’s when they saw him.

Guest 1337.

He was in the middle of the battlefield, gripping his shoulder, his uniform stained dark with blood. He’d been shot.

Chance’s breath hitched. Even from here, they could see the tension in his posture, the sharp rise and fall of his chest as he gritted through the pain.

Then another gunshot.

Guest 1337 jerked into motion, dodging just in time before another bullet could hit him. His survival instincts kicked in as he sprinted toward the treeline, toward safety.

Chance didn’t hesitate.

As soon as Guest 1337 broke into a run, Chance followed, sticking low, feet silent against the ground. They kept their distance, just enough to track his movements without being noticed.

The battlefield roared behind them, but Chance didn’t look back. Their focus was on him and only him.

Chapter Text

Guest 1337’s breaths were ragged, shallow, and unsteady. His pulse pounded in his ears, almost drowning out the distant gunfire and shouts from the battlefield. The sharp, throbbing pain in his shoulder refused to fade. Blood trickled down his arm, soaking into the fabric of his vest as he leaned against the rough bark of a tree, trying to steady himself.

He had to stop the bleeding.

His fingers clawed at the torn fabric of his vest, trying to rip off a piece to use as a makeshift bandage. His hands were slick with sweat and blood. Every movement sent fresh jolts of pain through his nerves, but he gritted his teeth and endured it.

Then a shift.

A sound.

His instincts sharpened immediately.

Someone was watching him.

Guest 1337’s body tensed, his grip tightening around his pistol as his gaze snapped towards the source of the sound.

Behind a tree, partially obscured by shadow , Chance.

That idiot.

They weren’t even being subtle. Their stance was off, their breathing too loud, their gaze locked onto him as if he wouldn't notice.

Guest 1337 narrowed his eyes, irritation flaring through his chest. How did they even get back here? More importantly, why?

Without hesitation, he raised his gun.

“I can see you.” His voice was sharp, commanding. The words carried a deadly weight, a warning. His finger rested just above the trigger, ready. “You’re not as sneaky as you think you are. Come out.”

For a moment, Chance didn’t move.

Then, slowly—**cautiously—**they raised their hands and stepped out from behind the tree. Their expression was hard to read, but Guest 1337 didn’t miss the way their throat bobbed when they swallowed.

Guest 1337’s gaze darkened. He should shoot them. He should end this here and now before they dragged themselves into something worse.

But he hesitated.

Instead, his voice came out cold, laced with restrained fury. “What the hell are you doing back here?” He took a step forward, his boots sinking into the damp earth. His body ached, his muscles protested, but his rage burned hotter than the pain.

Another step.

Chance didn’t move.

“I thought Matt and I made it clear,” Guest 1337 continued, his tone dropping lower, dangerously quiet. “You’re not supposed to come back here.”

His chest rose and fell heavily. “Do you have a death wish?”

Chance opened their mouth, probably to give some half-assed excuse, but Guest 1337 wasn’t interested.

Before they could even get a word out, his hand shot forward.

A rough grip on the front of their shirt—a single sharp pull—and Chance’s back slammed against the nearest tree. The impact shook the branches above, loose leaves drifting to the forest floor.

A strangled gasp escaped them, but Guest 1337 wasn’t finished.

His fingers curled around their throat.

Not tight enough to cut off their air completely—not yet.

But tight enough to make them struggle.

Tight enough to remind them who they were dealing with.

His grip pressed harder against their skin, his voice like ice. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill you right now.”

Chapter Text

Chance’s vision blurred for a moment, their lungs burning as they struggled against the iron grip around their throat. Their hands clawed at Guest 1337’s wrist, desperate for relief. Their heartbeat pounded in their ears, their chest heaving as they tried to push out words.

“W-Wait—” they stammered, their voice hoarse, strained. “Please—let me explain!”

Guest 1337 didn’t move.

His grip didn’t loosen.

His expression remained cold, unreadable—dangerous.

Chance could feel it—the weight of his hesitation. He should’ve killed them already. He should have pulled the trigger, snapped their neck, done anything but hesitate.

And yet—he was hesitating.

Finally with a heavy sigh Guest 1337 let go.

Chance collapsed against the tree, gasping, coughing. Their fingers instinctively went to their throat, rubbing at the bruised skin. Their breath came in short, uneven bursts as they forced themselves to regain composure.

They could still feel it—the phantom grip lingering against their skin, the raw power behind it.

He really could’ve killed them.

But he didn’t.

“Tell me why you’re here.”

His voice was sharp, demanding.

Chance swallowed hard. How the hell were they supposed to answer that?

Their mind scrambled for a response, but their eyes caught something first—the wound.

A gash along Guest 1337’s shoulder. The fabric around it was soaked with blood, fresh and dark. It was deep.

Guest 1337 followed their gaze and immediately stepped back.

“I can take care of myself,” he snapped. His voice was harsher than before, but his movements betrayed him. His body swayed, just slightly. His fingers twitched near the wound, like he was resisting the urge to clutch at it.

Chance rolled their eyes.

“Yeah, sure,” they muttered before grabbing his injured shoulder.

Guest 1337 **jerked back—**his body tensed like he was about to throw another punch, but Chance didn’t let go.

They held onto his shoulder, firm but careful.

“Stop being so on guard 24/7,” Chance muttered. “Learn to relax, damn it.”

Guest 1337 stared at them, completely thrown off.

Chance didn’t give him time to react.

They reached into their bag and pulled out a medkit.

The same one they had taken from the truck.

With a smirk, they held it up. “Take it, soldier boy,” they teased. “Unless you want me to do it for you.”

Guest 1337 glared at them, his lips pressed into a thin line.

Chance could already see it—the way his shoulders tensed, the way his jaw clenched.

He didn’t trust them.

He shouldn’t trust them.

But he was still bleeding.

And they knew something he didn’t.

The Guest 1337 from their world hated rubbing alcohol.

Hated it with a passion.

He’d always try to dodge getting treated, even with serious injuries. He would rather walk around with an open wound than feel the sting of disinfectant.

Chance remembered the complaints.

"It’s stupid." "It stings." "I’d rather die."

Chance always forced him to do it anyway.

This Guest 1337 wasn’t their Guest 1337.

But some things?

Some things never changed.

And Chance could use that.

Chapter Text

Chance soaked the bandages with rubbing alcohol, their fingers working methodically as they prepared to disinfect the wound. The moment the sharp scent filled the air, they caught the way Guest 1337 visibly recoiled. It was subtle—just a brief hesitation, a slight shift in his stance—but it was there. The way his muscles tensed instinctively, the flicker of unease in his otherwise cold, hardened gaze. It was like watching a cat being introduced to water.

Chance nearly chuckled.

Nearly.

They had seen this before, after all. Their Guest 1337 always acted the same way as if the mere concept of antiseptics was more unbearable than the injury itself. It never failed to amuse them how someone so battle-hardened, so ruthless in combat, could be such a baby when it came to medical treatment.

But then Guest 1337’s sharp, icy gaze snapped to them.

Cold. Unforgiving.

Chance’s amusement vanished in an instant. Yeah, maybe now wasn’t the time for teasing.

They cleared their throat and focused back on the task at hand, carefully bringing the alcohol-soaked bandage closer to his wound. This was going to sting like hell, but it had to be done.

Just as they were about to press the cloth to his injury, a strong, calloused hand suddenly gripped their wrist.

“I can do it myself,” Guest 1337 snarled.

Chance raised an eyebrow, their lips twitching with an unimpressed smirk. Of course, he was going to be stubborn about this.

Guest 1337’s grip was firm, almost warning, but there was a strange undercurrent beneath his words. Something almost defensive.

Chance could have fought him on it. They wanted to. They could already predict how this would go—Guest 1337 would claim he could handle it, then do the worst job possible, barely patching himself up, and later, he’d either collapse from exhaustion or infection. They had seen it happen too many times.

But Chance also knew pushing him too hard would only make him more resistant. He wasn’t the type to accept help easily, and trying to force him into it would only make him lash out.

So instead, Chance simply tossed the bandages and alcohol into his hands.

“Do it then,” they said smoothly, crossing their arms as they watched him hesitate.

Guest 1337 didn’t move right away. His fingers curled around the bandages, his grip slightly tighter than necessary. It was subtle, but Chance caught it.

He really didn’t want to do this.

Chance leaned against the tree, watching as the soldier just stood there, gripping the supplies like they were a live grenade. They could practically hear the internal battle raging in his head.

It was fascinating.

He looked at the bandages. Then at the rubbing alcohol. Then back at his wound. Then at the bandages again.

And he still didn’t do anything.

Chance sighed dramatically. “You’re not actually scared of that, are you?”

Guest 1337’s eyes snapped to them in a glare so sharp it could have skinned them alive.

“I’m not scared of anything,” he growled.

“Then why are you just standing there?” Chance tilted their head. “I mean, come on, it’s just alcohol. It’s not like it’s gonna bite you.”

Guest 1337’s jaw clenched. His shoulders squared. His pride was at stake.

Chance knew that look.

He wasn’t going to back down now, even if it killed him.

Guest 1337 took a deep breath and grudgingly unwrapped the bandages, soaking them with the alcohol exactly as Chance had done before. His hands were steady, his movements precise—he was trained for this, after all. But there was a split second of hesitation before he pressed the cloth against his wound.

And then—

“Tch—!”

Chance grinned. “Oh my God, that was the tiniest flinch I’ve ever seen. Are you serious?”

Guest 1337 shot them a glare that could have melted through steel.

“Shut. Up.”

But Chance didn’t shut up. Not when this was the funniest thing they’d seen all day.

Guest 1337 kept working, dabbing the alcohol onto his wound with all the grace of someone being forced to walk through fire. His jaw was locked so tight it looked like he might break a tooth, but he refused to make a single noise of discomfort.

Chance couldn’t resist.

“Hey,” they said casually but worriedly, leaning in. “Are you gonna cry?”

Guest 1337 froze.

His entire body tensed, his head turning ever so slightly toward them.

It was almost imperceptible—almost.

But Chance saw it.

The moment before a storm.

The warning right before hell broke loose.

Chance barely had a second to react before Guest 1337 moved.

Fast.

Too fast.

One second, they were standing there, grinning at him. The next, their back was slammed against the tree, a familiar hand wrapped around their throat once more.

The impact knocked the air from their lungs. The teasing vanished in an instant.

Guest 1337 leaned in, his expression dark. Lethal.

“Say that again.” His voice was low, a whisper lined with unspoken threats.

Chance’s hands twitched, but they didn’t fight back. They didn’t dare.

Not with that look in his eyes.

Cold. Sharp. Deadly.

The playful teasing from before was gone—now it was something else.

Something dangerous.

Chance could feel his fingers pressing into their skin, not quite choking them, but close.

Too close.

Their heartbeat thundered in their chest.

And then—

Guest 1337 let go.

Again.

It was almost frustrating how he kept sparing them.

Chance coughed, rubbing their neck, their smirk returning despite the lingering tension in the air. “Alright, alright. Message received, big guy.”

Guest 1337 turned away, wrapping the bandage around his shoulder with swift, agitated movements. The air between them was thick, charged with something neither of them could quite name.

Chance watched him, curiosity flickering behind their eyes.

For someone so cold, so ruthless—he sure had a habit of holding back.

Chapter Text

Chance rolled their eyes, exhaling sharply before grabbing Guest 1337’s arm again. This time, they didn’t give him a chance to pull away. Their fingers pressed against his skin, steady and firm, as they carefully started wrapping the bandages around his shoulder.

Guest 1337 stiffened at first, but he didn’t move, his cold eyes watching every precise movement.

Chance was quick, efficient. Their hands worked with a familiarity that made Guest 1337 narrow his gaze. Like they had done this a thousand times before. The way they secured the bandages, made sure they weren’t too tight, adjusted them perfectly over the wound—it wasn’t just instinctual. It was practiced.

The silence stretched between them, tense and heavy, but Chance didn’t seem to care. They just worked, muttering something under their breath about “stubborn soldiers and their damn pride.”

Finally, it was done.

Guest 1337 flexed his shoulder slightly, testing the tightness of the bandages, then turned his head away as if he couldn’t stand looking at them anymore.

Without another word, he started walking.

Chance blinked, frowning.

“Hey—”

“Get out.”

Guest 1337 didn’t even glance back. His tone was sharp, dismissive.

“You’re lucky I spared you,” he added coldly.

Chance felt something snap inside them.

They gritted their teeth before grabbing his arm again, pulling him to a stop.

Guest 1337 reacted instantly.

His fist swung toward them, fast, brutal, instinctual.

Chance barely had time to react before jerking their head back—just barely dodging a punch that could’ve shattered their jaw.

“HEY, STOP.”

Guest 1337 froze.

His eyes, sharp and lethal, widened just slightly.

Chance took a deep breath, their chest rising and falling rapidly before their glare locked onto him. Their grip on his arm tightened.

“I’ve been doing NOTHING but run around since I got here,” they snapped. Their voice was shaking not with fear, but with frustration. “I’ve got NO FUCKING CLUE where the HELL I am.”

Their fingers dug into his sleeve.

“I got TELEPORTED here—” They pointed at him, jabbing a finger at his chest. “—With my best friend, who doesn’t even recognize me in the SLIGHTEST.”

Their hands flung into the air in exasperation.

“BUT NOOOOOO,” they mocked, their voice dripping with sarcasm. “I couldn’t POSSIBLY wonder WHY I’m so goddamn persistent.”

They stopped, glaring at him, their chest heaving from the sheer emotion pouring out of them.

Guest 1337 just stared.

Like Chance had just spoken some forbidden language.

Like they had just cursed him with witchcraft.

For a long, painful moment, neither of them moved.

Chapter Text

Chance clenched their fists, staring at Guest 1337 with a mixture of exhaustion and frustration. Their throat felt tight, and their mind was racing, trying to process everything that had happened since they arrived.

“At least have the damn mercy to let me explain…” they muttered, voice strained but determined.

Guest 1337 exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face before finally dropping himself onto a broken log. His shoulders slumped slightly, but his eyes remained sharp as they locked onto Chance.

“Humor me,” he muttered, gesturing lazily for them to start talking.

Chance took in a deep breath.

“Where do I even begin…” they murmured, running a hand through their hair as their thoughts scrambled to find a starting point.

Guest 1337’s gaze didn’t waver. His patience was thin, but for some reason, he was still listening.

“Where do you come from?” he asked flatly.

Chance hesitated. Their fingers twitched as they tried to grasp onto a memory—anything solid, anything real.

“I don’t really remember where I’m from,” they admitted finally. Their voice was quieter now, less biting. “The Spectre erased some of my memories when I got into Forsaken…”

Guest 1337’s eyebrow shot up.

“The hell are you on about? Memories erased? Spectre?” He gave them a skeptical look, arms crossing over his chest. “God lord, you sound insane.”

Chance scoffed. If only he knew.

The silence between them stretched uncomfortably. Guest 1337 finally let out another sigh, dragging a hand down his face before shifting his attention back to the battlefield. The distant sounds of gunfire and shouting filled the air, a grim reminder of the world they were stuck in.

He clicked his tongue, as if debating something internally, before abruptly grabbing Chance’s arm.

Chance tensed on instinct, but he didn’t tighten his grip.

“Okay, listen,” Guest 1337 said, his voice lowering into something more serious. “I don’t know what your deal is, and I couldn’t care less.” He shot them a glare, his eyes sharp and unwavering. “Right now, there’s a war going on. We need to go back.”

Chance blinked. “Wait, back? But—”

Guest 1337 facepalmed.

God, he couldn’t believe he was about to say this.

“Listen… You can come back with me, I guess.” His voice was dripping with reluctance. “But if you try anything funny, you’re next. Got it?”

Chance perked up immediately.

“Okay! Let’s go then!” they said, a little too excitedly.

Guest 1337 shot them a long, exhausted stare.

For the first time, he genuinely wondered what the hell he had just gotten himself into.

Chapter Text

The battlefield was a mess—gunfire, shouting, and the distant rumble of explosions shook the ground beneath their feet. Guest 1337 moved quickly, weaving between patches of cover while keeping his head low. Chance followed behind him, their breath steady despite the chaos surrounding them.

They barely had a moment to process their situation before a figure lunged at them from the side.

The glint of a knife was the first thing Chance saw, the blade swiping through the air toward them. Their instincts kicked in, and they jerked backward just in time, narrowly avoiding the slash. The attacker, a Bacon soldier, snarled as they adjusted their stance, their eyes locked onto Chance with an intent to kill.

Guest 1337 didn’t hesitate. His arm shot up, catching the incoming attack with ease. His muscles tensed as he blocked the strike, the knife barely an inch away from his face.

Chance exhaled sharply, steadying themselves. They glanced at the attacker. “So that’s…?”

They didn’t even get to finish the sentence.

WHAM.

Guest 1337 moved fast.

With a single brutal strike, he slammed his fist against the Bacon soldier’s temple, knocking them out cold. The body crumpled to the ground without a sound.

Chance barely had time to react before they noticed something—movement behind Guest 1337.

“Shit—behind you!”

Chance acted without thinking. Their hand flew to their gun, and with as much confidence as they could muster, they aimed and pulled the trigger.

BANG.

And missed.

Like, completely.

Guest 1337 stared.

The Bacon soldier, who had frozen in place, also stared.

For a second, nobody moved.

The sheer audacity of that missed shot left both of them momentarily stunned.

Guest 1337 broke the silence first.

“How the fuck did you miss that?”

Chance stiffened.

“HEY—I TRIED, OKAY?!”

Guest 1337 groaned. “Try harder.”

Before the Bacon soldier could react, Guest 1337 struck.

His knee drove into their stomach, knocking the air out of them. He followed it up with a swift, brutal kick to the groin, sending them staggering. Then, as the Bacon soldier doubled over in pain, Guest 1337’s boot collided with their head. The force of the impact sent them sprawling to the ground, unconscious.

Chance blinked. “Damn.”

Guest 1337 wasted no time. He grabbed Chance by the arm, yanking them forward.

“We don’t have time for your shitty aim,” he muttered, urgency lacing his voice. “Let’s go.”

As they sprinted back toward the military camp, dodging debris and weaving through the chaos, Guest 1337 kept stealing glances at Chance.

They were fast.

Faster than he expected.

Despite their earlier failure, they were keeping up with him effortlessly. Their movements were fluid, practiced, almost like they had done this before.

Guest 1337’s eyes narrowed slightly.

‘Are you really what you say you are, Chance?’

Chapter Text

By the time Guest 1337 and Chance reached the military camp, the weight of exhaustion finally hit. The battlefield had been relentless—every muscle in Guest 1337’s body screamed for rest, and the dull throbbing of his wound wasn’t helping.

He collapsed onto a nearby wooden bench, exhaling sharply. His head tilted back, eyes briefly shutting as he allowed himself a moment of relief.

Chance, on the other hand, was just standing there awkwardly.

Guest 1337 cracked one eye open, noting the way they fidgeted.

They were out of place.

The camp was filled with soldiers—toughened, battle-worn warriors moving with purpose. Some were tending to their weapons, others discussing strategies in hushed voices, and the medics were busy tending to the injured. Chance, in contrast, looked like they had just wandered onto the set of a war movie and had no idea what role they were supposed to play.

Guest 1337 sat up straight, resting his elbows on his knees.

"We need to make you useful if you’re staying here," he stated, voice firm.

Chance perked up slightly at that. "What then?"

Guest 1337 glanced them over, analyzing every detail.

Soldier? No. They’d be dead in an instant.

Shooter? Absolutely not. They had already proven they couldn’t hit a target standing still.

He sighed internally. What the hell was he supposed to do with them?

His mind worked through the possibilities.

Something simple. Something that wouldn’t get them killed immediately.

A medic.

It was a basic role. Patch people up, wrap some bandages, keep the wounded from bleeding out.

And more importantly, it meant Guest 1337 could keep a closer eye on them.

Yeah. That worked.

Finally, he spoke. "I think being a medic would be a good start for you. At least mine and Matt’s medic from now on."

Chance’s face lit up immediately, and they gave an exaggerated salute. "You got it, Captain!"

Guest 1337 rolled his eyes at the theatrics, but before he could stop himself, he felt the slightest tug at his lips.

A small, nearly invisible smile.

But the moment he noticed, he quickly snapped out of it, clearing his throat and pushing himself up from the bench.

No distractions. No attachments. This was just about survival.

That’s what he told himself, at least.

Chapter Text

Guest 1337 barely had time to relax before he heard a familiar, pissed-off voice cutting through the noise of the camp.

"WHAT THE HELL IS THAT FUCKER DOING HERE?!"

He sighed. Here we go.

Matt stormed toward them, eyes burning as they locked onto Chance like a laser-guided missile. His entire expression radiated disbelief and sheer irritation.

Guest 1337 knew this would happen, so he raised a hand before Matt could get a word out.

"They’re staying with us," he said flatly. "We can’t send them anywhere else, and we’re in need of medics."

Matt stopped in his tracks, expression twisting into a scowl. His gaze flicked between Guest 1337 and Chance before finally settling on the latter with pure contempt.

"And what the hell does that have to do with them?" Matt spat, jabbing a finger in Chance’s direction.

Chance, who had been standing there awkwardly the entire time, blinked.

Guest 1337 ran a tired hand down his face. He really wasn’t in the mood for this argument. "They’ll be your and my personal medic."

Matt looked like he had just been told to drink a gallon of acid. His entire body shuddered at the thought. "Them? Hell no, dude."

Guest 1337 crossed his arms, leveling Matt with a firm stare. "I know it’s not ideal, but as I said, we need medics. Especially us two. All the medics are always taken, and we end up having to do shit ourselves."

Matt huffed, arms crossed tightly over his chest as he glared daggers at Chance. "Yeah, well, I’d rather bleed out than have this dumbass treating me."

Chance frowned, looking mildly offended. "Hey! I’ll have you know I’ve got some medical experience!"

Guest 1337 arched a brow. "Do you really?"

Chance hesitated. "...That’s not the point."

Matt scoffed. "Right. So I should just trust my life in the hands of someone who probably can’t even put on a Band-Aid properly?"

Chance threw up their hands. "Okay, first of all? Rude. Second? How hard can it be?!"

Guest 1337 facepalmed. "That’s not how it works."

Matt groaned, rubbing his temples. "This is a joke. This has to be a joke."

Guest 1337 could already feel a headache forming. He had expected resistance from Matt, but he wasn’t about to let this turn into an hour-long argument.

"Look, you don’t have to like it. Just deal with it."

Matt scowled, clearly still not on board with this whole arrangement. But after a long pause, he finally let out a sharp exhale.

"Fine. But if they fuck up, I will rub it in your face."

Chance beamed. "Great! Glad we’re all on the same page."

Matt shot them a death glare. "I hate you already."

Guest 1337 pinched the bridge of his nose. God, this was going to be a disaster.

Chapter Text

Guest 1337 turned to Matt. "Get them a medic vest."

Matt grumbled but complied, disappearing for a few minutes before returning and tossing a white and red medic vest at Chance. "Here. Try not to get blood all over it too fast."

Chance grinned, catching it with ease and quickly putting it on. "Sweet! Now I actually look the part."

Guest 1337 barely acknowledged them, his attention already shifting toward the trenches. The distant booming of artillery rattled the ground beneath them, sending shockwaves through the air. Missiles and explosions painted the horizon in flickering orange and gray, a constant reminder of the warzone they were in.

Chance followed his gaze, watching the battlefield with a sense of unease. "Jesus... this is chaotic."

Guest 1337 barely reacted. Instead, his lips moved in a quiet murmur. "Daisy... Charlotte... I hope you're doing alright..."

Chance blinked, about to ask what that meant, but before they could open their mouth, Matt cut in.

"It's... it's his wife and kid," Matt muttered lowly, voice lacking its usual bite. "If you were gonna ask, don’t. He’s already got enough on his plate."

Chance felt their stomach sink a little. They glanced at Guest 1337, whose face remained as stony and unreadable as ever, but there was something... different. A weight in his gaze. A heaviness he wasn’t showing outright.

Matt sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "C’mon, we’re heading to the medic tent."

Chance nodded, glancing at Guest 1337 one last time before following Matt.

The medic tent was chaotic but organized. Stretcher beds lined the walls, medical supplies stacked in neat piles, and a few soldiers already being tended to by the available medics. The smell of antiseptic and blood lingered heavily in the air.

Matt gestured to a nearby table where various medical tools were laid out.

"Alright, since you’re stuck with us, you better learn how to do this right."

Chance rolled up their sleeves. "Let’s do this."

Matt watched them carefully, explaining each tool one by one. Bandages, antiseptic wipes, syringes, sutures, morphine, splints. He went through each item, expecting Chance to struggle or at least mess something up.

But to his utter shock, Chance picked up on everything fast.

They nodded along, correctly identifying each tool, demonstrating proper bandaging techniques, and even answering some questions before Matt could explain.

Matt squinted at them. "Wait a damn second. You actually know this stuff?"

Chance shrugged. "Yeah. Had to patch up some people before."

Matt crossed his arms, watching them suspiciously. "Huh. So you’re not completely useless."

Chance grinned. "Gee, thanks for the confidence boost."

Matt shook his head, but deep down, he was a little relieved. Thank God they’re actually competent at something.

As Matt continued to explain more advanced procedures, he kept a close eye on Chance, partly to make sure they didn’t screw up, but mostly out of curiosity.

Chance, however, was... well, Chance.

At one point, they picked up a syringe and started twirling it between their fingers like it was a stress toy.

Matt mentally facepalmed. How can someone be smart and dumb at the same time?

Chapter Text

Chance slumped against the wooden bench, arms crossed as they tried not to groan out loud. They were bored out of their mind.

Matt was supposed to be watching them, but at this point, it felt like Matt was just dragging them around to keep them from wandering off. And now? Now they were being led to the cafeteria.

Or, well, what passed as a cafeteria.

The room was massive, built underground like a large wooden basement, the walls lined with dried-up dirt and thick logs that kept the ceiling from caving in. It was dimly lit with a few oil lamps, casting long shadows across the tables and benches where soldiers sat. The air was stale and dry, carrying the faint scent of sweat and old rations.

Chance was seated between Matt and Guest 1337, both of whom were engaged in conversation. Not that Chance was listening.

Their attention was focused straight ahead—toward the front of the cafeteria counter, where nothing was happening.

No one was standing behind the counter. No movement. No food. No smell of cooking. Nothing.

Chance tapped their fingers against the table impatiently, waiting for something—anything—to happen.

Guest 1337 was the first to break the silence.

"Did the cook get themselves killed again?" he asked flatly. "I don't want Mars to be cooking again."

Matt visibly shuddered.

"Ugh… not to sound rude, but I’d rather eat the dirt my feet are on right now than their cooking."

Chance blinked, finally turning their attention back to the two men.

"Wait. Who the hell is Mars?" they asked.

Guest 1337 sighed, rubbing his face with one hand. "A soldier. Tries to cook sometimes. Fails every time."

Matt groaned. "I swear to God, last time they tried making soup, it looked—and smelled—like fucking engine oil."

Chance snorted. "That bad?"

Guest 1337 shot them a dead-serious look. "I’d rather take my chances eating rations from a hundred years ago."

Matt nodded grimly. "That or just starve to death. Both are better alternatives."

Chance laughed, leaning back on the bench. "Alright, now I have to see how bad it is."

"Oh, you will." Guest 1337 muttered, glancing back at the empty counter.

Minutes passed.

Then more minutes.

People were starting to get restless, some soldiers grumbling under their breath while others kept glancing toward the kitchen door like they were waiting for something to explode.

Then—finally—the door creaked open.

And out walked a soldier.

A tall, wiry man with unkempt hair and an apron that looked like it had been through war itself.

Chance instantly knew—this had to be Mars.

Mars clapped his hands together, grinning. "Alright, folks! Today’s special is—"

Silence.

Chance leaned forward, waiting.

"...Mystery stew!" Mars declared proudly.

The entire room groaned.

Guest 1337 shut his eyes like he was mentally preparing for death.

Matt physically recoiled. "Oh, for fuck’s sake, Mars—"

But Mars was already ladling some thick, black sludge into bowls.

Chance stared. "What the fuck is that?"

Mars grinned. "Protein-packed nutrients!"

Guest 1337 muttered under his breath, "That’s what a war crime looks like."

Chance couldn’t stop laughing.

Chapter Text

Chance stared at the thick, black sludge sitting in the bowl in front of them, the acrid smell wafting into their nose. It was vile. Almost offensive. But more than anything—it was...

Familiar.

Their fingers twitched as a memory resurfaced.

A Flashback.

A dimly lit kitchen.

The sound of oil sizzling too aggressively. The faint scent of something burnt lingering in the air.

Guest 1337 was standing by the stove, arms crossed, glaring at a ruined meal with the intensity of someone planning a full-scale revenge mission.

The food was charred beyond recognition. Completely unsalvageable.

Chance chuckled, stepping into the kitchen. "Failed at trying something new again?"

Guest 1337 sighed heavily, his shoulders slumping. "I can’t seem to get it right no matter how hard I try…"

His voice was filled with frustration.

Chance watched him for a moment before stepping forward, gently grabbing his hands. "Let’s do it together, alright? I’ll teach you—like always."

Guest 1337 stiffened slightly at the touch, his fingers twitching in Chance’s grasp. His ears burned red, but he quickly covered it up with a huff.

"Yeah… I wouldn’t mind that," he muttered.

Chance just smiled.

Back to the present.

The memory lingered as Chance stared at the Guest 1337 sitting next to them now.

It wasn't his Guest 1337.

It was someone different. Someone colder, rougher—more distant.

But… maybe. Just maybe.

Chance grinned to themselves. Maybe they could change that.

Chapter Text

The dimly lit cafeteria buzzed with the low hum of exhausted voices, the sound of metal spoons scraping against battered tin bowls, and the occasional cough from a soldier who had inhaled too much dust from the battlefield. The room was underground, reinforced with thick wooden beams that groaned under the weight of the structure above. The dirt walls were dry and cracked, the air heavy with the mixed scent of sweat, damp earth, and whatever that sludge-like meal was supposed to be.

Guest 1337, Matt, and Chance sat at a worn wooden bench, their bowls in front of them. Chance poked at the dark, glue-like substance with their spoon, watching how it barely moved despite their prodding. It had a foul, bitter smell, like something that had been left to rot before being boiled into a paste. Chance wrinkled their nose.

Across from them, Guest 1337 ate with a straight face, barely reacting to the taste, his focus elsewhere. Matt, on the other hand, just ate the food with a disgusted face , trying not to cringe at the taste. The contrast was almost comical. Chance grimaced, their appetite evaporating completely.

Guest 1337 finally spoke, his voice a low warning. "Stop playing with your food."

Chance looked up at him, raising a brow. "Why? It’s the most entertainment I’ve gotten all day."

Guest 1337 exhaled sharply through his nose, his version of a chuckle. "Just eat it."

Chance sighed, deciding to at least try a bite. They scooped up a small portion with their spoon and hesitantly brought it to their mouth. The moment it touched their tongue, they immediately regretted it.

The taste was awful. Bitter, salty in all the wrong ways, with a strange, metallic aftertaste that made their stomach churn. It was like chewing on burned rubber dipped in seawater.

Chance’s face twisted in disgust, and Guest 1337 smirked knowingly. "Told you to eat it, not enjoy it."

Chance coughed, swallowing the bite with effort before pushing the bowl away. "Yeah, no. I’d rather starve."

Matt rolled his eyes. "Picky eater, huh? You better get used to it. We don’t have luxury meals here, princess."

"I’d rather eat my own boots than that," Chance muttered, still trying to get the aftertaste off their tongue.

Guest 1337 didn’t press further, merely rolling his eyes before finishing off his own meal. He knew better than to cause a scene over something as simple as food. But internally, he couldn’t help but note how out of place Chance still seemed here.

When the meal was over, soldiers began filing out of the cafeteria. Guest 1337 grabbed Chance’s arm—not harshly, but firmly enough that there was no room for argument. He wasn’t about to let them get lost in the mass of people pushing toward the exits.

Chance glanced at his grip. "You know, I can walk without being escorted like a child."

Guest 1337 didn’t let go. "Then keep up."

Matt, walking beside them, snorted. "Good luck with that. He walks like he’s got somewhere to be twenty minutes ago."

Guest 1337 ignored them both, his grip remaining steady until they finally reached the outside. The air was thick with the scent of gunpowder. Distant gunfire echoed from the battlefield, the occasional explosion lighting up the night sky like deadly fireworks. The sight was almost surreal beautiful in a horrifying way.

Chance followed Guest 1337’s gaze as he surveyed the distant trenches. His posture tensed slightly, his hand hovering near his rifle’s holster, always on edge, always prepared.

"You’re gonna get used to that sight real fast," Matt said, gesturing to the battlefield. "Or you won’t, and you’ll lose your mind. Either way, it doesn’t stop."

Chance swallowed. The thought of getting used to war, to the constant sound of death, felt wrong. It made their skin crawl. How many people had died today alone? How many more would die tomorrow?

Chance felt a lump in their throat and quickly shook the thought away. "So, uh… medical tent?"

Matt nodded, motioning for them to follow. "Yeah. Let’s go. You’ve got a lot to learn."

The medical tent was tucked away behind layers of barbed wire fencing, protected as much as possible from the direct line of fire. The inside was overwhelming.

Rows of injured soldiers lay on cots, groaning in pain as medics worked tirelessly to patch them up. The air smelled of antiseptic, sweat, and blood. Lots of blood. It stained the sheets, the bandages, the floor. It was almost impossible to avoid stepping in it.

Chance’s stomach churned.

Matt clapped them on the shoulder. "Welcome to hell."

"Yeah, I’m really looking forward to this," Chance deadpanned, eyeing the various medical tools laid out on a nearby table. Scalpels, clamps, syringes—none of it was unfamiliar, but using them under these conditions? That was an entirely different challenge.

Matt crossed his arms. "Alright, let’s get one thing straight. You might be our medic now, but that doesn’t mean we trust you yet. So don’t screw up, and don’t get yourself killed. Got it?"

Chance gave a mock salute. "Aye, aye, Captain."

Matt rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. Instead, he gestured to a pile of supplies. "Start organizing those. I need to make sure we’re stocked up."

Chance nodded and got to work, hands moving with practiced efficiency.

Despite the chaos around them, they found a strange sense of focus in the task. Sorting bandages, checking for clean syringes, setting up IV bags it was all familiar. Comforting, even.

Then, from the distance , a gunshot.

Chance’s head snapped up. Through the tent’s entrance, they could see Guest 1337 and a group of soldiers taking cover behind sandbags, firing into the dark. Enemy fire.

Another explosion shook the ground. The medics barely flinched. They were used to this.

Chance, however, felt their hands tremble slightly.

They clenched their fists. No. They weren’t going to fall apart now.

Instead, they flipped a syringe between their fingers, focusing on the movement, steadying themselves. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

For now, that would have to be enough.

Chapter Text

Chance exhaled slowly, eyes drifting toward the blank expanse of the sky. The air around the medic camp was eerily still, an unsettling contrast to the distant sounds of gunfire and explosions that echoed from the battlefield. Left completely alone, they sat on the worn-out wooden bench outside the tent, absentmindedly flipping a syringe between their fingers. The silence pressed against them, heavy and suffocating.

The distant cries of wounded soldiers had faded for the moment, leaving only the occasional shuffle of dirt and rustling canvas of nearby tents. Chance found their mind wandering—memories creeping in, unbidden. They had faced worse injuries, treated deeper wounds, survived battles where their own blood mixed with the dirt beneath their feet. Compared to those fights, this quiet lull felt unnatural, almost deceptive.

Then, the quiet was shattered.

A soldier stumbled into the tent, his breathing ragged. His uniform was torn, and his arm was coated in crimson, blood steadily dripping down his fingertips. His face was contorted in pain, yet he still forced himself to stand straight. His other hand clutched at his wounded limb, trying to stop the bleeding.

"Medic—" he gasped. "Need—help."

Chance was on their feet before they could think. "Sit. Now."

They guided him toward the worn-out table, their hands steady despite the rush of adrenaline. Their mind shifted into focus—no hesitation, no wasted motion. The cut was deep, jagged, likely from shrapnel or a stray blade. If left untreated for too long, infection or blood loss would make the injury even worse.

"Hold still," Chance muttered, grabbing the stitching kit and bandages. Their fingers moved quickly, snapping on gloves, cleaning the wound with antiseptic. The soldier hissed, his body trembling from the sting.

"I've had worse," the soldier muttered through clenched teeth.

"Sure you have," Chance replied, not missing a beat as they threaded the needle. "And you're still an idiot for not getting help sooner."

The soldier chuckled weakly, but it was short-lived as Chance began stitching the wound. They worked efficiently, every movement precise. This was nothing new to them. They had treated their own wounds before , back when they had no choice but to push through the pain, when hesitation meant death. The only difference now was that this was someone else’s life in their hands.

The soldier winced, his breathing uneven, but he remained still. "You're good at this."

"I know."

Chance wasn’t in the mood for modesty. They didn’t need to be reassured about their skills. They knew they could do this—knew they had to do this. The battlefield didn’t care for hesitation, and neither did they.

With a final stitch, the wound was sealed. Chance reached for the bandages, wrapping the soldier’s arm tightly. Blood still seeped through the gauze, but the bleeding had significantly slowed. Satisfied with their work, they grabbed a clean cloth and wiped the excess blood off his skin before stepping back.

"You're patched up. Don’t go getting yourself killed five minutes from now."

The soldier looked down at his arm, flexing his fingers slightly. He let out a relieved sigh, exhaustion settling into his features. "Appreciate it. Didn’t think medics were this fast."

"I’m not most medics."

The soldier smirked at that, shaking his head before slowly standing. "Lucky to have you, then."

Chance said nothing, simply watching as he nodded in gratitude before leaving the tent. As soon as he was gone, they exhaled deeply, rolling their shoulders. Their hands were still stained with drying blood, a reminder that their job was far from over.

Stepping outside, they glanced toward the battlefield again. The sky had darkened, clouds rolling in as if sensing the weight of the war below. The scent of gunpowder and burning debris lingered in the air, carried by the wind. From a distance, they could make out the figures of Guest 1337 and Matt, fighting alongside the other soldiers. Bullets ripped through the air, smoke rising from explosions that shook the ground.

For a moment, Chance simply watched.

It felt wrong. Standing here, waiting, while others bled out on the field. They had spent so much of their life running toward danger, never away from it. And yet, here they were stuck on the sidelines, only stepping in when someone dragged themselves back, barely holding on.

Their grip tightened around the bloodstained cloth in their hands. They could hear their own heartbeat pounding in their ears, their body itching to do something, anything. But this was their role now. The battlefield wasn’t their place anymore.

With a deep breath, they forced themselves to turn away, stepping back into the medic tent. They wouldn’t stand still. They wouldn’t be useless.

They just had to keep moving.

Chapter Text

The sky outside the medic tent shifted slowly into deep hues of purple and gold, the day winding down with tired groans and the quiet scuffle of boots across dry, cracked soil. The air had stilled in that almost reverent way, when even war seemed to pause for breath. Chance remained seated inside the tent, bathed in the fading light as it filtered through the tent's canvas flaps. Their gaze was distant, heavy-lidded, almost contemplative as they stared at the bloodied floor, then the shifting sky beyond the open flap. It was quieter now. Soldiers were retreating to their corners, some laughing in low, exhausted murmurs, others dragging themselves wordlessly to bed.

Outside the tent, not far from the fire pit where the last embers of supper smoke drifted lazily into the dusk, Matt leaned against a crooked wooden post beside Guest 1337. They both looked ragged tired, covered in the residue of dried mud and smoke, their armor scratched in places where too much had been asked of them.

Matt exhaled slowly and crossed his arms. "Okay, so... who the hell is going to look after him tonight? We can't really stay awake all night just to see if they'll do a peep."

Guest 1337 didn’t answer immediately. His eyes followed a soldier carrying a lantern through the camp, the light bobbing like a lost star in the dimming dusk. He grunted softly, unsure.

"Well... I don't know," he finally said, scratching at the back of his head.

Matt side-eyed him, then gave a long, knowing sigh. "We don’t have any tents left, not any beds either, so..."

Guest 1337 turned toward him slowly, already sensing the implication, and his face hardened. "I’m not letting them sleep with me, Matt."

Matt snorted, the smirk already spreading. "I’m just saying... you're the only one paranoid enough to watch him like a hawk. I ain't the one volunteering."

"I have a wife, Matt," Guest 1337 said sharply, his voice laced with pointed warning.

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Matt waved a hand lazily, starting to back away. "Still doesn’t change the fact that we don’t have space. And you're the one who brought him in. Your little pet, your responsibility."

Guest 1337 groaned, dragging a hand down his face in frustration. Matt just chuckled as he turned toward his own corner of the camp. "Goodnight, Captain," he sang sarcastically.

The camp grew quieter as the last bits of twilight fell into shadow. A hush settled over the trenches, broken only by the occasional rustle of canvas or a distant call from a night watchman. Guest 1337 finally turned back toward the medical tent, steeling himself.

Inside, he found Chance slumped against a crate, head tilted back, breath slow and steady. Asleep. Of course. Guest 1337 crossed his arms.

"Fucking idiot," he muttered under his breath.

Still, he stood there for a second too long, staring. The soft rise and fall of Chance's chest, the faint wrinkle of their brow even in rest. He sighed, heavily, before crouching down and slipping his arms under them.

Chance stirred faintly, but didn't wake, their head lolling softly against his shoulder. He carried them with minimal effort, though the movement felt oddly intimate, uncomfortable even. Guest 1337 didn’t like that. He’d carried fallen comrades, bleeding allies, civilians with shattered legs. But this? Carrying Chance, even like this, felt... different.

He shoved that thought aside.

The path to his tent was a short walk but every step felt drawn out. A few soldiers glanced his way, eyes narrowed in confusion, but no one spoke. The unspoken rule of the camp: don't ask questions you don't want the answers to.

Inside his tent, it was small, dimly lit by a faint, battery-powered lamp resting on a crate. His cot took up most of the space, layered with a stiff pillow and a thin blanket. He laid Chance down carefully, adjusting the blanket around their shoulders. For a second, his hand lingered near their cheek. Their face looked less... annoying when relaxed. Still tired, still worn from travel and stress, but not as sharp-edged as when they were awake.

He blinked and quickly drew his hand back.

"Don’t get weird," he scolded himself under his breath.

He grabbed his own gear and unrolled a sleeping bag on the floor with a grunt. The ground was hard and the air colder now that night was full, but he was used to discomfort. What he wasn’t used to was sharing a space, especially not like this. Especially not with someone he didn’t trust.

He laid down slowly, eyes on the ceiling of the tent for a long moment before flicking toward the figure on his bed. Chance didn’t move. Still asleep, peaceful, like they belonged there.

He hated that.

Or maybe he didn’t.

He rolled onto his side, facing away from them, forcing his eyes shut.

But sleep didn’t come easy.

Chance had curled up slightly, one arm outstretched across the mattress. They murmured something, incoherent, twitching faintly.

A nightmare, maybe?

He sat up slowly, the sleeping bag rustling as he rose. He walked over to the bed, rubbing his arms to stave off the cold, before crouching near them.

"Hey," he whispered. "You good?"

Chance didn’t respond. Their face twitched again, a frown forming.

Guest 1337 hesitated, then reached out, placing a firm but gentle hand on their shoulder. "You're safe. Get some rest."

Whether they heard him or not, their body gradually stilled. The tension in their brow relaxed slightly. He waited a moment longer, then stood up and returned to his sleeping bag.

Laying back down, he exhaled slowly.

Tomorrow was going to be another long day.

Chapter Text

The soft hum of morning lingered quietly in the medic tent, its canvas walls swaying gently with the early breeze. Guest 1337 lay still, for once at peace, his heavy arms tucked under the stiff pillow while a slow exhale escaped his lips. Beside him, Chance slept soundly, their smaller frame curled on the far end of the cot. The room was filled with the low rustling of breath and shifting fabric. Outside, the world remained quiet—at least for the moment.

Then, all at once, the silence was shattered.

"HALT!"

The tent flap burst open, flooding the room with a rush of bright daylight. Guest 1337 jolted upright with a sharp inhale, instincts kicking in as he shot a look toward the entrance, expecting an ambush or a surprise attack. For a few, frantic seconds, his body was stiff with alertness, chest heaving.

And then he saw the culprit.

Matt, leaning half inside the tent, doubled over in a fit of laughter.

"You should've seen your face!" Matt wheezed between snickers.

Guest 1337 scowled, running a hand down his face in frustration. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

Chance stirred behind him, groaning quietly as they sat up and blinked in confusion. Their hair was tousled and eyes still foggy with sleep. "What's going on..."

Matt just grinned like a child who had successfully set off a prank.

Guest 1337 stood up, glaring murderously at his so-called best friend. Without saying a word, he lunged.

"Oh no, no no no—!" Matt yelped, stumbling backward from the tent as Guest 1337 gave chase.

Left alone for a moment, Chance blinked after them, rubbing their eyes and letting a small snort escape their lips. They got out of bed slowly, adjusting their shirt and boots, fingers combing through sleep-messed hair.

When they stepped outside, they were met with the early warmth of the sun and the familiar chatter of the encampment waking up. A few tents away, Matt was running in circles, laughing his lungs out while Guest 1337 stalked him with a scowl and clenched fists.

"Get back here!"

"You looked like you were going to throw hands with God himself!" Matt cried out through his laughter.

Chance folded their arms as they watched the chaos, an amused smile tugging at their lips. For a moment, it didn’t feel like they were at war.

Eventually, Guest 1337 caught Matt by the collar, dragging him back and ruffling his hair roughly.

"Brooo! I just gelled that!" Matt complained, trying to pry Guest 1337’s hand off.

"Gel it? You barely put a fingertip's worth in there," Guest 1337 retorted, releasing him with a snicker.

The brief moment of laughter faded as Guest 1337 reached into his pocket and pulled out a small brass bell, ringing it firmly.

The camp responded instantly. Soldiers all around dropped what they were doing, forming tight, straight lines with the discipline of worn-out but well-trained men and women. The sound of boots clacking and rustling uniforms filled the air.

Matt gave Chance a nudge and gestured them over to stand beside him.

Chance obeyed, quietly slipping into line, eyes watching Guest 1337 as he stood tall before the gathered unit.

His voice carried across the space. "Listen up. We have a problem."

He waited a beat as murmurs died down.

"The food trucks—we believe they were targeted. Bacons. All of them exploded or intercepted before they could reach us."

Groans filled the air like thunder. One soldier even muttered, "Again? Jesus Christ."

Guest 1337's jaw tightened. "I get it. I’m not happy about this either. But until we find a working supply route, we’re stuck with what we have. So that means no complaints, no fights, and rationing everything."

Matt scratched his neck. "Do we even know where they were hit?"

Guest 1337 shook his head. "Nothing’s been found. No wreckage. Not even smoke."

Chance glanced between them, eyebrows furrowed. "Don’t you guys have... letters or something? Where you get things from family? Supplies or food?"

Guest 1337 nodded. "Normally we do. But we haven’t heard from the post office in weeks. No letters, no parcels. Nothing."

Matt let out a long sigh. "How long is this gonna last? We’ve been stuck in this loop for what, years now?"

The silence that followed was heavy. Guest 1337 didn’t respond. He simply stared at the dirt beneath his feet, his thoughts elsewhere.

Chance fidgeted slightly before speaking again. "Was there... any explosion? I mean like, nothing was salvaged from the trucks?"

Guest 1337 looked up, slightly confused. "We haven’t even found the trucks."

"Are you sure they didn’t blow them up from the city?"

The words hung in the air like thick fog.

Matt’s eyes widened.

Guest 1337 went still. For a moment, the wind seemed to still with him.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath.

He turned sharply to Matt. "Contact the city. Right now. Use the radio."

Matt fumbled for the device on his belt, hands suddenly less steady as he crouched and started twisting the knobs. The static buzzed, a loud crackling that broke the morning calm.

Everyone fell silent, eyes locked on Matt and the small, boxy radio that sat between his knees.

Guest 1337 stood over him, hands clenched tight at his sides, heart pounding with a new kind of fear.

Chance stared ahead, not even blinking, waiting.

The radio hissed.

Chapter Text

The moment the static began to ease and the radio crackled into life, everyone in the camp instinctively hushed. The voice that followed was calm and routine, a little too cheerful for the news it was about to deliver.

"Hello, dear listeners. Today it is currently 6 a.m., and we are here to broadcast the news that has happened over the last week."

Another voice—a woman's—cut in, crisp, emotionless despite the weight of her words. "That's right. Several bombs have been attacking the city for the past few days, killing thousands and thousands of people. The parts of the city that were attacked... barely anyone survived. The medical teams are currently understaffed and doing their best to care for the few who lived, but it has proven to be rather ineffective."

A low murmur spread like wildfire through the camp. Soldiers shifted in place, brows furrowed in disbelief. Some muttered soft curses under their breath, others looked toward Guest 1337, whose expression had darkened almost instantly. He and Matt were crouched beside the radio, both frozen in place as the broadcast continued.

"The areas of the city that were mostly attacked included the center the heart of the city. Everything is destroyed. All of the buildings are in debris."

Silence. Thick, heavy, suffocating silence. Then Matt's hand slowly moved to Guest 1337's shoulder, resting there in a quiet show of support.

Guest 1337 didn’t react immediately. His eyes were locked on the dirt below him, but they weren't seeing the camp or the truck tire tracks. They were staring at something far deeper—something more personal.

His voice, when it came, was barely audible. "I need... some time alone."

No one stopped him as he stood and turned toward his tent. Not a single person tried to follow. Even the breeze seemed to quiet as he disappeared into the shadows of the canvas flap.

Chance, who had been watching the entire time from the edge of the group, turned toward Matt. Their expression was unreadable, but their voice broke the silence.

"Daisy and Charlotte?"

Matt’s head snapped toward them, eyes wide. "How the... How do you know that?"

Chance shrugged, casual, but there was a heaviness under their tone. "Oh, I’m totally not saying from the get-go that I’m not from... whatever timeline this fucking is."

Matt stared for a moment, then sighed—deep, long, and filled with a kind of tired disbelief. "You’ve been proving to know more than you let on..."

They both stood there, silent for a moment as soldiers slowly began to disperse, trying to resume some kind of normal routine despite the news. The grief that hung in the air was palpable.

Matt rubbed the back of his neck, then muttered, more to himself than to Chance, "Okay, listen. You and me—we need to go to the center of the city. See if anyone survived. But we have to be careful. Bombs could still be active... or worse."

Chance raised an eyebrow, something close to a smirk tugging at their lips. "So?"

Matt glanced sideways at them, hesitant. "As far as I don’t trust you yet, I would rather not have another person go alone."

"So?" Chance repeated.

Matt rolled his eyes but finally extended his hand. "So... let’s go."

Chance took his hand in a firm shake before flipping it into a high-five. "Let’s go!"

With little else exchanged, they both began to move, not wasting more time. Matt led the way, boots crunching over the gravel of the camp’s main path. Soldiers saluted or nodded as they passed, and Chance kept pace close behind. The weight of the mission ahead pressed against their shoulders, but there was a mutual understanding—spoken or not—that they couldn’t afford to falter.

They reached the motor pool in silence. It was a line of half-broken vehicles, some missing wheels, others covered in rust. Only a few were still deemed functional. Matt approached one of the remaining military trucks—old but sturdy. He unlocked the side and climbed into the driver’s seat, Chance slipping in beside him.

The engine groaned before it roared to life, a deep rumble vibrating through the vehicle. Matt didn’t say a word as he shifted into gear, and the truck rolled forward, out of the camp’s gates and into the open expanse of the dirt roads leading toward the city.

The landscape around them was silent—too silent. There was no wind. No birds. Just the occasional creak of the truck and the faint echo of something distant—something foreboding.

Chance leaned against the window, watching the barren trees and empty fields slip by. Every few miles, charred ruins appeared—hints of small settlements now reduced to ashes and bone.

"You sure about this?" Matt finally asked, eyes focused ahead.

Chance didn’t answer at first. Then, calmly: "Nope. But we’re doing it anyway."

Matt huffed a bitter laugh. "That’s what I thought."

As the truck rolled forward, dust curling behind its wheels, the city’s skyline began to come into view except it was no longer a skyline. It was a jagged horizon of crumbled metal, broken concrete, and black smoke rising slowly into the dawn.

Matt slowed the truck as they approached the outskirts. Roads were torn apart, craters the size of buildings carved into the earth. Entire neighborhoods were flattened, crushed under collapsed highways or buildings turned to rubble.

Chance opened the door and stepped out first, boots crunching onto broken glass and twisted metal. The air was thick with soot, and the distant sound of crackling fire and creaking debris was constant.

Matt followed, grabbing a rifle from the back. "Stay close."

Chance nodded, their usual sarcasm nowhere in sight. The weight of the devastation had stripped it away.

They moved slowly through the streets—if they could even be called that anymore. They were unrecognizable. Places that once bustled with life were now wastelands.

They passed a crushed post office. Letters burned, torn, scattered littered the ground like dead leaves. Chance picked one up, scanning the charred ink. The words were smudged, but they could still make out part of the name: "Charlotte."

Their throat tightened. They folded the letter carefully, slipping it into their coat.

Matt stopped a few feet ahead, staring at something. Chance followed his gaze. A toy. A small stuffed bunny, its ear ripped, stained with soot. It sat in front of a pile of rubble that may have once been a home.

Matt didn’t move. He didn’t speak.

Chance reached out and gently rested a hand on his shoulder.

Matt didn’t brush it off.

And then, from deeper in the rubble, came a sound ,a whimper. A child’s voice. Faint. Fragile.

Both of them froze.

Chance’s eyes widened. Matt’s grip on his rifle tightened.

The whimper came again.

Somebody was alive.

They exchanged a glance ,and then sprinted toward the sound.

Chapter Text

The wind blew ash into the air, grey clouds of dust coating the twisted rebar and rubble-strewn street as Chance and Matt stood amid the wreckage of the city center. The voice they had heard—it had been faint, trembling. Still, it sparked urgency in them both. Without a word, they moved together, a silent understanding driving them forward. Each step was calculated but fast, boots crunching glass and debris underfoot as they navigated the fractured bones of what once had been the city’s heart.

The sound came again. Sobbing. A soft, choked cry from beneath a pile of collapsed concrete and splintered metal. Chance's breath hitched as they dropped to their knees, hands digging through the rubble with careful but desperate movements. Matt joined in, both of them heaving slabs aside until the crying grew louder. Then, all at once, a body emerged.

Charlotte.

Her small frame was curled in on itself, arms hugging her knees as her shoulders trembled. Her clothes were shredded and grimy, skin scraped raw, but her eyes were wide, alive, shining with tears.

"Uncle Matt!" she sobbed out.

Matt didn’t hesitate. He dropped to his knees and scooped her into his arms, holding her tight as if trying to shield her from everything that had already happened. Charlotte clung to him, her voice cracking with emotion as she buried her face into his jacket.

Chance stood a few feet away, breath catching in their throat as they witnessed the moment. Something about the way Charlotte clung to Matt, about the rawness of it all, made their chest ache.

But there was more to do.

"If Charlotte's here," Chance murmured, eyes scanning the rubble around them, "then Daisy can't be far."

Matt nodded tightly, tears shining in his eyes but held back by pure focus. He shifted Charlotte gently into Chance's arms.

"Hold her," he whispered. "I need to find daisy."

Chance cradled Charlotte against their chest, murmuring soft comforts as they watched Matt work. One stone moved. Then another. And there dust-covered, twisted, broken , was Daisy.

She lay on her side, one leg trapped beneath a collapsed beam, her body limp and bruised. Blood matted her hair. Her chest rose and fell in shallow, unsteady breaths.

Matt's hands trembled.

"Daisy," he whispered, his voice breaking for the first time. He reached down, pulling her into his arms with careful precision. Her head lolled onto his shoulder, but she was breathing.

That was enough.

"We need to get to the nearest emergency center. Now."

Chance nodded. They tightened their arms around Charlotte, who was still sniffling quietly, her eyes glazed over in fear and confusion. With hurried steps, they made their way back to the truck, the sky above them dimming as soot blotted out the morning light.

The inside of the truck was quiet. The only sound was the low growl of the engine and the occasional clatter of rubble still falling in the distance. Matt drove, one hand clenched on the steering wheel, the other resting protectively on Daisy's arm, glancing at her every few seconds to make sure she was still breathing.

In the back seat, Chance had settled into the corner, cradling Charlotte gently. She leaned into them, still shaking slightly.

"Who are you?" she finally asked, her voice small.

Chance gave her a soft smile. "I'm Chance. And you're Charlotte, right?"

Charlotte nodded. "Yeah..."

"Your dad was really worried about you. I'm sure he’ll be so happy you're okay."

Charlotte blinked, eyes wide as she looked up at them. "He's okay, right?"

Chance nodded quickly. "Yeah. He’s okay, He's going to be so happy to see you safe."

Charlotte sniffled again. Then, to Chance's surprise, she smiled faintly.

"You're brave, you know?" Chance said, brushing some dirt and hair away from her face. "That must have been really scary."

Charlotte looked down. "It was. Me and Mom... we were going to send a letter to Dad. Then the ground started shaking. There was this loud BOOM, and everything cracked and broke. Mom wrapped her arms around me. And then... then I woke up under the rocks. I couldn't move... I thought I was gonna die."

Chance felt their heart lurch in their chest. They held Charlotte closer, letting her rest her head against their shoulder.

"You're here now. You made it. That means you're strong. Really strong."

Charlotte didn’t say anything, but her fingers tightened slightly around Chance’s shirt.

Up front, Matt was quiet. His eyes stayed on the road, but he occasionally glanced at the rearview mirror, watching the exchange. Daisy was still breathing, but barely. The air in the truck felt tense and thick, heavy with fear and hope tangled together like smoke and fire.

Charlotte looked toward the front seat. Her eyes landed on her mother, her expression changing. Her hands clenched.

"Is Mom gonna be okay?" she asked, her voice quivering.

Chance didn’t have an answer. Not really. But they leaned forward, brushing a hand gently through her hair.

"It’ll be okay, kid," they said, soft but sure.

Charlotte whimpered softly. Her small shoulders shook as she began to cry again, this time more softly, more quietly. Chance pulled her close again, whispering comfort into her hair as the truck rolled on.

The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It was full of the weight of grief and the distant tremors of something terrible still unfurling beyond the city’s limits. Every mile brought them closer to the hospital, but also deeper into something darker.

And none of them knew what would be waiting when they arrived.

Chapter Text

The tires of the military truck groaned to a stop just in front of the shattered remnants of the emergency room entrance. The once sterile white tiles were smeared with dirt, blood, and streaks of ash. Cracks spread like webs along the windows, some shattered completely, leaving jagged edges. Chance carefully climbed down first, arms cradled protectively around Charlotte, her small frame nestled against their chest. Behind them, Matt jumped down with Daisy still unconscious in his arms, her breathing barely noticeable, body limp.

"We need emergency here!" Matt barked as they pushed through the battered glass doors.

Two doctors, both looking exhausted and underfed, rushed over. The male doctor was tall, wiry, his coat stained and sleeves rolled. The female doctor, slightly younger, had her hair tied into a messy knot, sweat and grime clinging to her skin.

"The rooms are full," the male doctor said instantly, voice rushed but apologetic. "I'm afraid we don’t have any rooms to treat them."

Matt's jaw clenched. "You're telling me there's nothing?"

The female doctor raised a hand, trying to ease his panic. "We could let go of one patient," she said. "Miss Rodger , she's been in good condition and can be moved, but..." Her eyes fell upon Daisy and Charlotte. "There is only one room."

Matt froze, his grip on Daisy tightening. The weight of reality sank into his shoulders like boulders.

"Nothing at all?" he asked again, this time a whisper, like he was pleading for the impossible.

"I'm afraid not," the male doctor said quietly.

Before the silence could linger too long, a voice broke it soft but sure.

"Take Mom!"

Everyone turned. Charlotte had pushed herself up slightly in Chance's arms, her eyes wet and red-rimmed, but burning with fierce determination.

Matt turned, crouching near her, his voice cracking. "Darling... nonono. You need this too. Listen, let Uncle negotiate, yeah? Just let me—"

"No!" Charlotte's voice rose, stubborn and clear. "Take Mom! Look at her and then look at me! Mom clearly needs it more than I do. I don't want her to die!" Her little fists clenched against Chance's shirt as she sobbed, body trembling.

The doctors hesitated, glancing at each other.

Matt stared at Charlotte for a long moment. Then he slowly stood, eyes shadowed with conflict and pain. With shaking arms, he handed Daisy to the doctors.

"Go," he whispered.

Without another word, the female doctor nodded and quickly turned, leading the way. The male doctor followed, carrying Daisy with hurried but careful steps.

Chance gently adjusted Charlotte in their arms. "You did something very brave," they said, voice low and warm. Charlotte didn’t speak. She just turned her head into Chance’s chest, hugging them tightly.

Matt stood still for a moment, staring at the emergency doors as they swung shut behind the doctors. Then he turned to the female doctor who had returned.

"Isn't there anything you can give us for her?" Chance asked before Matt could speak.

The doctor sighed. "Not much. Our stock was almost entirely blown up by the bombs. But I can get you some medkits. We have a few left." Without waiting for a reply, she turned and hurried down the dimly lit hallway.

They waited in silence.

The lights above flickered slightly. The distant sound of groaning patients, soft beeping monitors, and hurried footsteps echoed faintly through the halls. Matt's eyes were distant, lost somewhere else.

When the doctor returned, she handed them a cloth bag containing five medkits. "It’s all I could manage. They’re older, but still sterile."

"Thank you," Chance said softly.

Matt simply nodded.

As they exited the hospital, Charlotte looked over Chance's shoulder at the building that faded into the dusty horizon, its broken signs and shattered lights a far cry from safety. The image of her mother disappearing behind swinging doors replayed in her mind like a cruel memory on repeat.

The truck's door creaked as Chance opened it. Gently, they helped Charlotte inside, then climbed in beside her. Matt climbed into the driver's seat, placing the medkits down beside him.

But before turning the key, Matt leaned forward, resting his forehead against the steering wheel. His knuckles turned white as he gripped it hard. A choked sound escaped his throat—not quite a sob, not quite a scream. The weight of it all crushed down on him at once: the war, the loss, the fear, the uncertainty.

Behind him, Charlotte looked to Chance again, her voice barely a whisper.

"Will Mom be okay?"

Chance reached out and gently ruffled her hair. "She’s strong. Just like you."

Charlotte curled up against them again.

And in the front seat, Matt still didn’t lift his head.

Chapter Text

The road back to the base felt longer than usual, as if time itself had slowed down to allow every emotion to steep in its fullest intensity. The engine of the military truck hummed softly underneath the silence inside, the only occasional sound being the rattle of supplies in the back and Charlotte’s faint breaths as she rested in Chance’s arms.

The air outside had the faint taste of ash and metal, the city’s wounds still fresh and bleeding in the distance behind them. The sky was painted in gray hues, the sun buried behind a thick blanket of clouds. It was early afternoon, but it might as well have been evening with how dark and heavy the world looked now.

Matt’s grip on the steering wheel tightened as the base came into view, its trench lines and guard posts rising over the horizon. Barbed wire curled like thorns along the ridges of sandbag walls. Soldiers moved with urgency, yet a weariness hung in their movements.

The truck slowed to a stop. Before the engine even went quiet, Chance gently opened the door and stepped out, adjusting their hold on Charlotte, who stirred slightly at the motion. Her head was still leaning against Chance’s shoulder, but her eyes opened just a little.

"We’re here," Chance whispered, gently brushing her hair away from her dirt-smudged forehead.

Charlotte gave a small nod, her grip instinctively tightening around their neck. Matt stepped out next, his boots landing on the hardened soil with a dull thud. His face was still tight with worry, but some of it softened as he saw the outpost again—familiarity in an unfamiliar chaos.

The three of them moved past the entrance, through guarded checkpoints and cautious eyes. Word hadn’t spread yet no one knew who they carried in their arms, what they’d gone through to get them.

And then, just beyond the central trench line, a familiar figure stood.

Guest 1337.

He stood at the edge of the embankment, staring over the ruined battlefield, a sniper rifle slung over his shoulder, his other hand trembling slightly. There was a crack in the sleeve of his armor an old one, but it widened now with his tense grip. He didn’t notice the trio at first. His entire posture was that of a soldier suppressing every ounce of fear and grief he had left.

Then—

“DAD!!”

A voice rang out, too real to be a dream. Too sharp to be imagined.

Guest 1337 froze.

He turned, slowly, eyes wide.

And there she was.

Charlotte.

His little girl, her clothes torn, her body scratched and bruised but alive.

In that moment, the world fell silent for him. The sounds of the camp, the distant shelling, the moans of wounded soldiers all of it faded.

His weapon hit the ground with a clatter, forgotten, useless.

He ran.

Charlotte gently slid down from Chance’s arms, her own small legs carrying her forward, hesitant at first, but then with more speed, more certainty. Tears welled in her eyes as she reached for him.

Guest 1337 fell to his knees, arms open wide.

She fell into them, and he caught her as if he would never let her go again.

“Charlotte!!” he gasped, voice cracking with relief and disbelief. “You’re okay—you’re really here.”

He held her so tightly it was as if he was afraid she would disappear again if he loosened his grip.

Charlotte sobbed into his chest, her small arms wrapped around him. “I missed you so much, Dad…”

“I missed you too, darling. So, so much.”

Behind them, Matt and Chance stood quietly, watching the scene unfold. There was a peace in it, something sacred, something too pure for the war-wracked world around them.

Guest 1337 slowly pulled away just enough to look at her face. Dirt streaked her cheeks, and dried blood traced along her temple, but her eyes were alive. She was still his Charlotte.

Then the question hit him.

“Where’s Daisy?”

Matt stepped forward, his voice low and careful. “She’s at the emergency room. The hospital only had one room left. They could only take one.”

Guest 1337’s eyes darted from Matt to Charlotte.

“Charlotte insisted Daisy take the bed instead.”

Guest 1337 looked down at his daughter again, stunned.

“You…?”

Charlotte gave him a small, brave smile through her tears. “Mom needed it more than me… I didn’t want her to die…”

For a long moment, Guest 1337 just looked at her. Then he kissed the top of her head and cradled her closer again.

“You’re strong, darling. So strong…”

Charlotte sighed into his shoulder, the last of her strength melting into the embrace of her father.

As the wind picked up, dust dancing across the dirt paths of the base, Matt stepped back, giving them space.

Chance leaned closer to him.

“They’re going to be okay,” they murmured.

Matt glanced at them, voice thick. “I hope so.”

Chapter Text

The battlefield wind was cold, dust swirling in spirals around the makeshift trenches where soldiers stood like statues, eyes vigilant, bodies worn. Guest 1337, still gripping his rifle with one hand, held his daughter tightly with the other. His armor was cracked, grime smeared on his cheek. Yet, in this moment, he looked more like a father than a soldier.

Charlotte pressed her face into his chest, tears soaking the fabric of his coat. She clung to him like a child afraid of being lost again, her small hands trembling with the aftershocks of everything she had endured. Her breath hitched between sobs, but her presence here, breathing and alive, was everything Guest 1337 had dared not hope for.

Chance, standing a little behind the father-daughter embrace, awkwardly shifted their weight from one foot to the other. Their usual carefree smile was softened by concern.

"Listen," Chance began, voice careful but blunt as always. "I don't wanna be the bearer of bad news, but... isn't it, y'know, kind of dangerous to keep Charlotte here? What with the war and all."

Guest 1337 blinked, his eyes slowly dragging away from his daughter as he processed the words. His jaw tensed. The ever-vigilant soldier in him knew Chance was right, but the father inside recoiled at the idea of being separated again.

He crouched slightly, placing his large gloved hands on Charlotte's small shoulders. "Charlotte... the powers. Do you know how to control them yet?"

Charlotte sniffled and shook her head. "Not really..."

Guest 1337's eyes darted to the side, to the line of his most trusted soldiers. He scanned them with precision, considering who might be the best choice to guide her.

But before he could decide, Charlotte tugged at his sleeve and pointed directly at Chance. "I want Chance!"

Guest 1337 stared, eyes wide. "Chance?"

"Yes!" Charlotte said firmly. "I'm not going with some stranger. I want Chance to be with me. To teach me."

Guest 1337’s mouth opened to object, the protective parent rising in him with alarm. "But he—"

"No!" Charlotte cut in again, her eyes filled with stubborn determination. "I trust Chance. You trust them too, don't you?"

He faltered. Of course, he didn’t fully trust Chance. He barely tolerated their irreverent attitude and unpredictable nature. But he looked into Charlotte's eyes, and the resistance melted away.

With a long, reluctant sigh, he nodded.

Chance, of course, was grinning like they’d just won a medal. As Guest 1337 pulled them aside, a frown etched deep into his face, Chance held up their hands in mock surrender.

"Alright, alright, I get it," Chance said, smirking. "I won’t hurt her. I won’t touch her. I won’t teach her how to swear or blow stuff up. I will protect her with my life. Cross my heart and everything."

Guest 1337 glared for a moment longer, then huffed, crossing his arms. "You better."

A few feet away, Matt watched the whole thing unfold with a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. Guest 1337 was clearly trying not to explode from protective instinct, and it was... honestly kind of endearing.

Guest 1337 finally turned back to Matt, his voice quieter now. "So... Daisy is in the hospital?"

Matt scratched the back of his neck. "Yeah. She was in a pretty bad state. From what Charlotte told us... Daisy shielded her from the worst of the collapse. Took the hit herself."

Guest 1337's face dropped, his expression turning hollow. "And she’s not awake?"

Matt shook his head slowly. "No... sorry."

Guest 1337's gaze sank to the dirt beneath their boots. He nodded once, then again. "It's... okay. At least they were found. Charlotte is safe. That matters more than anything."

While the two men spoke, Chance sat cross-legged near the trench wall with Charlotte beside them. They pulled out a small broken stick and twirled it in their fingers, their eyes glancing over to her every so often.

"So," Chance began in their usual casual tone, "your dad told me you have powers. Something to do with that shiny stone he gave you?"

Charlotte’s eyes lit up despite the weight of the past hours. She nodded eagerly. "Yeah! It's always warm when I hold it, and sometimes... if I focus hard enough, I can feel things. and even move objects. But I don’t really know how to use it."

Chance smiled. "That’s fine. Nobody knows what they’re doing at first. Think of it like aiming, alright? If you try too hard, your hands shake. Your breath stutters. You miss. But if you just breathe... and believe... you hit the mark."

Charlotte tilted her head. "That’s kind of a weird way to see it."

Chance chuckled. "Weird, maybe. But hey, it works. Confidence, kid. Confidence and patience. That stone picked you for a reason, right?"

Charlotte blinked, eyes softening as she glanced at the locket-like gem hidden in her necklace. She placed a small hand over it and nodded.

Guest 1337 looked toward them, his arms still crossed as he watched his daughter listen intently to someone who, moments ago, he thought he couldn’t trust. His eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

Matt nudged him with his elbow. "She's in good hands."

Guest 1337 exhaled slowly. "She better be."

The sun was beginning to set, casting a deep red-orange over the battlefield. And somewhere in the silence that followed, in the heavy weight of everything they had survived, the future was already taking shape in the bonds that had formed and the ones that had never broken.

Chapter Text

The murmur of orders and shouts filtered across the trenches as the call came through: Guest 1337 and Matt were needed back at the frontline. The brief reprieve, that flicker of peace, was already being swept away by the tide of war.

Guest 1337 adjusted his weapon and turned his attention toward Charlotte one last time. His voice was loud and unwavering, the way a father’s concern always manages to carry more weight than any command. "Chance! Take care of my daughter. I'm trusting you."

Chance stood tall, his usual smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth, but his tone was laced with sincerity. "You don’t have to worry, old man. I’ve got her. Not a scratch will touch her without getting through me first."

Guest 1337 narrowed his eyes for a moment as if trying to assess if Chance’s grin was more bravado than truth. But eventually, he turned and marched off with Matt at his side, disappearing behind the rough barricades of the trench.

Now alone, Chance turned his gaze to Charlotte. Without the eyes of the war--hardened soldiers watching, his edges softened.

"Hey, kid," he said as he crouched beside her. "Your bruises and cuts hurt, don't they?"

Charlotte looked at him with a tired little smile, her voice filled with a brave cheer. "Yeah, it hurts really much... but I’m strong!"

She raised her arm proudly, only to instantly flinch and let out a squeaky "ouch!" as one of her cuts stretched.

Chance chuckled under his breath, pushing up from his knees. His eyes scanned the nearest medical tent, catching sight of a few salvaged supplies. He returned moments later with a small bottle of rubbing alcohol and a roll of clean bandages. He knelt beside her again.

"Alright, hold still. This’ll sting a bit."

Charlotte’s smile faded as she saw the alcohol. Her face twisted into a dramatic pout. "That stuff stings! I don’t want it!"

Chance raised a brow. "Seriously? You too?"

"It hurts and it smells bad!" she whined, scooting an inch away.

He laughed. A full, genuine laugh. "You sound exactly like your dad. He did this same dance with me back in the forest. Real stubborn about it."

"I'm not stubborn," she argued, puffing her cheeks. "I'm just... sensitive!"

Chance grinned. "Same thing."

Charlotte’s eyes darted to the side, then she sprang to her feet. "Noooo! No fair! Catch me if you want to put that stuff on me!"

She stuck her tongue out, turned, and bolted.

"Oh, come on!" Chance called after her, clearly amused. "Really? Like father, like daughter, huh?"

And just like that, the war momentarily faded. Chance took off after her, weaving between crates and around tents. Charlotte's laughter rang out, wild and free, the kind of sound that had grown rare around the camp. Her small frame darted between soldiers, her little boots stomping over the dirt with an almost musical rhythm.

"I'm gonna catch you!" Chance declared, grinning from ear to ear.

"Nuh uh!" Charlotte squealed. "You’re too slow!"

A few soldiers looked up from cleaning their weapons or organizing rations, confused at first—but then smiles broke out across the lines. Laughter was catching like wildfire. It was absurd, really. A battlefield, a warzone—and in the middle of it, the lightness of a child and a man chasing her like it was all some grand game.

"Gotcha!" Chance called as he picked up speed. Charlotte squeaked and made a sharp turn, running directly toward the trenches.

"Dadddd! Help me! He’s gonna get me!" she cried with theatrical flair.

From the trench, Guest 1337’s heart jolted as soon as he heard her scream. He turned sharply, gun in hand, only to see Chance scoop her up with ease, lifting her high into the air as she giggled uncontrollably.

"Nooooo!" she cried, squirming playfully. "You cheated!"

"No such thing as cheating when you’re trying to patch someone up, kid," Chance replied, breathless but grinning.

Guest 1337 narrowed his eyes and watched the scene unfold. His body relaxed slightly, and for a rare moment, he allowed himself a small smile.

Matt snorted next to him. "You know, I wouldn’t laugh too hard about Charlotte. Considering I still need to clean your arm wound later."

Guest 1337 groaned audibly. "Don’t remind me."

"Oh, I will. Every second. I even saved the good stuff."

As the sun dipped lower on the horizon, the colors of the war-torn sky mixing with the silhouettes of trenches and tents, there was a strange but welcome peace in the chaos. Charlotte’s laugh echoed once more as Chance twirled her, and for a few precious moments, it felt like things might be okay.

Chapter Text

Night had finally fallen over the camp, casting the war-torn landscape in heavy shadow. Only the dim orange glow of distant fires and the soft glimmer of stars overhead offered any light. Guest 1337, despite the exhaustion pulling at his limbs, had spent the last hour making sure everything was ready. He had managed to pull a few strings and had arranged for two additional sleeping beds one for Chance, and one reserved for charlotte.

"You two, in the tent," Guest 1337 said as he lifted the tent flap, voice low but firm. "I'll put an extra wall between Charlotte's side and ours."

Charlotte gave a small, tired nod, hugging her arms to her chest. Chance followed after her, his usual casual swagger slightly softened by the seriousness of the hour. The interior of the tent was modest, but functional. Guest 1337 took a large, heavy-duty drape and pinned it tightly across the middle of the tent, effectively creating two separate sections.

On the right: Guest 1337 and Chance. On the left: Charlotte.

Charlotte padded over to her side and climbed into her designated cot, wrinkling her nose at the rough, coarse surface beneath her. She shifted her weight and let out a small grumble. "How do you sleep in this, Dad? It’s stiff like a rock."

Guest 1337 let out a small laugh tired, but genuine as he walked over and knelt beside her cot. He brushed a few strands of hair away from her face and placed a soft kiss on her forehead. "I know, sweetheart. But it’s all we have right now. It’s not forever."

He was about to stand when her soft voice halted him.

"Dad... when is the war going to be over?"

He froze in place. The question wasn't unexpected. But it pierced deeper than he thought it would. His eyes lingered on her small, bruised form in the cot so brave, so full of questions, and far too young to have lived through what she had.

He looked down, expression faltering.

"I don’t know, sweetheart," he finally said, voice quiet and heavy with weight. "I hope soon. I really hope soon."

Charlotte nodded and turned her head into the pillow, clearly trying to find a position that made the cot more bearable. Guest 1337 gave her one last, sad smile. "Good night, sweetie."

He turned and walked toward his side of the tent, where Chance had already made themself comfortable.

Or at least, tried to.

Chance was lounging on Guest 1337’s cot, arms behind their head, legs crossed at the ankles, smirking to themself in the dim light.

Guest 1337 narrowed his eyes. "Chance."

Chance didn’t even bother to sit up. "What?"

"That’s my bed."

Chance's smirk widened into a full-blown grin. "I know."

Guest 1337 groaned and walked over without ceremony, flopping face-first onto the bed beside him.

"You're lucky I'm too tired to argue," he mumbled into the cot.

Chance chuckled, swinging their legs off the edge and sitting upright. "Alright, alright. I’ll be merciful. I won't push my luck."

They stood and stretched, joints popping, before ambling over to Their own stiff bed in the corner of their side of the tent. They sat down, kicked off Their boots, and lay back, staring at the canvas roof above.

Silence settled in the tent. Only the distant thrum of artillery, like a heartbeat in the dark, reminded them of where they were.

Charlotte had gone quiet behind the drape. Guest 1337’s breathing slowed beside Chance. And eventually, Chance closed their eyes.

Sleep pulled at them gradually. First came the warm haze, the sensation of the day falling away. Then came the dreams strange, vivid things.

But even in sleep, something in the air remained heavy, uncertain.

The war hadn't ended.

Not yet.

Chapter Text

The air in the tent was heavy with the soft rhythm of breathing. Outside, the chill of the night settled into the earth, but within the fabric walls, warmth lingered. Chance slept soundly, limbs sprawled across the stiff cot, their face relaxed and peaceful for once.

In their dreams, the world was different.

The battered trenches, the scarred earth, and the chaos of war were replaced with the worn leather couch of their home - their world. The Forsaken world, where Guest 1337 wasn’t just a commander or an overprotective father, but… something closer. Someone they trusted.

Chance sat there, breathing heavily, their hand cradled awkwardly against their chest. Blood seeped between their fingers where the malfunctioned gun had exploded, shredding the skin. Pain should have been all they felt — burning, searing pain — but their mind was elsewhere.

Guest 1337 sat beside them, his expression tight with concern, gently wrapping the wounded hand with gauze, his fingers working carefully, methodically. He muttered quiet reassurances under his breath, voice so low it was almost a vibration against Chance's skin.

Chance barely heard him.

Their eyes were locked on Guest 1337, on the furrow of his brow, the way his gloved hands moved with unexpected tenderness.

Then, without a word, Guest 1337's hand lifted, brushing a loose lock of Chance's hair back from their face. The simple touch burned hotter than any flame, and Chance felt their heart hammer wildly against their ribs. Guest 1337’s fingers lingered for a moment too long, and when he pulled back, both their faces were tinted red with a blush.

Before Chance could say anything, do anything —

A noise yanked them from the dream.

Chance’s eyes snapped open, their heart still racing, their body caught somewhere between sleep and waking. For a moment, disorientation reigned. They were back in the stiff cot, surrounded by canvas walls and the faint smell of dirt and sweat.

Another small gasp sounded in the tent.

Chance tensed, looking quickly toward Guest 1337's bed but the sight that greeted them wasn't danger. It was something else entirely.

Charlotte was bouncing on Guest 1337's bed, the mattress creaking under her small weight, giggling uncontrollably. Guest 1337, half-buried under a thin blanket, was dramatically groaning, tossing an arm over his eyes as if shielding himself from the "onslaught."

"Nooooo... five more minutes..." he whined, his voice mock-tired and raspy.

Charlotte laughed even harder, the pure, high sound slicing through the stale air like a bright light. She caught sight of Chance, her face lighting up even more.

"Hi Chance! Good morning!" she chirped, leaping off the bed with the grace only children possessed. She ran to Chance’s cot and threw her arms around them in a quick, warm hug.

Before Chance could even respond, Charlotte leaned up to whisper conspiratorially in their ear. "Come annoy Dad with me!"

The mischievous sparkle in her eyes was too contagious to resist.

Chance smirked and gave a dramatic gasp of their own. "Oh, the horror! Waking the beast!" they teased, slipping out from under their rough blanket.

They tiptoed back toward Guest 1337’s side, Charlotte holding in her laughter with both hands over her mouth. Then, on some unspoken cue, Chance flopped onto the bed, landing squarely across Guest 1337’s legs with a bounce that made the whole cot jolt.

Guest 1337 grunted, jolted out of his fake slumber. "Chance!" he half-yelled, though his voice was thick with laughter he couldn't quite hide.

Chance just stretched out lazily on the bed, a wide grin plastered across their face. "Aww, come on, big guy. I know you can take like three times my weight. You'll live!"

Guest 1337 glared at them, but it was the least threatening look Chance had ever seen him give. His eyes, normally sharp and watchful, were soft, crinkling with barely-suppressed amusement.

With a heavy, overexaggerated sigh, Guest 1337 shoved himself upright, pushing the blanket down. "Alright, you little menaces..."

Charlotte squealed, already trying to make a break for it. But she was too slow.

Guest 1337 snagged her around the waist and hauled her back onto the bed with ease, growling a playful "Rawr!" as he pinned her down and began to mercilessly tickle her sides.

Charlotte's laughter exploded, wild and delighted. "Nooo! Daddd! Hahaha! Stopppp!"

Chance sat back, watching the scene unfold with a wide, genuine smile. For the first time in what felt like forever, there was no war outside these thin canvas walls. There was no blood, no fear, no loss. Only this —

Family.

Charlotte squirmed, trying to escape, kicking her feet helplessly while Guest 1337 grinned triumphantly over her.

Outside the tent, the early morning sun began to creep up over the battlefield. But for now, inside this small space, everything was warm and safe.

Chance leaned back on their elbows, chuckling quietly.

In a voice just low enough that only they could hear, Chance whispered to themselves, "I could get used to this."

Chapter Text

The ruckus from earlier finally settled into a peaceful lull, laughter fading into the warm morning air. One by one, they filed out of the tent, the flap swinging softly behind them. Guest 1337 led the way, his hands loosely shoved in his pockets, Chance and Charlotte trailing behind, chatting animatedly.

The short walk to the cafeteria was filled with easy conversation. Chance, unable to resist, leaned down to tease Charlotte. "You know," they began with an exaggeratedly cheerful tone, "there's tons of yummy vegetables in there. Broccoli and carrots everywhere..."

Charlotte let out an audible whine, scrunching her nose and pouting dramatically. "Nooo! I don't like those!" she protested, almost stamping her foot like a little soldier refusing orders.

Guest 1337 chuckled, ruffling her hair affectionately. "Sorry, sweetie, but that's all we have right now..."

Charlotte's face melted into a theatrical expression of despair. "Ewww..." she muttered, arms crossed, puffing out her cheeks.

Chance laughed, the sound light and genuine as they stretched their arms overhead, joints popping from the rough sleep they'd had. Together, they pushed through the cafeteria entrance, the familiar, slightly damp smell of old wood and rationed food greeting them like an old, unwanted friend.

They quickly spotted Matt already at a table near the center of the room. His head was face down on the table, one arm slung lazily over the top of his head like a discarded towel. He looked completely dead to the world.

Charlotte immediately brightened. "Hi Uncle Matt!" she chirped, waving a hand animatedly.

Matt let out a low, exhausted groan, muffled into the wooden surface. "Mornin'..." he managed, voice scratchy.

Guest 1337 arched an eyebrow as they sat down across from him. "You look like you went through hell and back," he commented dryly, arms crossing over his chest.

Matt smirked without lifting his head. It wasn't just a regular smirk either. It was one of those smirks — the annoyingly knowing, smug ones that Matt seemed to have mastered.

Guest 1337 didn't even wait for him to answer. He pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh. "Don't tell me. I already know."

Matt gave a lazy chuckle, finally lifting his head slightly. His hair was a disaster, dark circles bruised under his eyes , a small blush accross his face. "Gotta relieve myself sometimes," Matt said with a sly wink.

Guest 1337 immediately shushed him, shooting a sharp glare. "Shut up, Charlotte's right there. I swear to god, I'll kick your ass."

Matt threw up his hands in mock surrender, chuckling quietly. "Alright, alright," he said, stretching back until his joints popped loudly. "What's up for the menu today?"

Guest 1337 leaned back too, casting a glance toward the kitchen area where a few tired cooks were shuffling around. "Dunno. Probably leftover rations. Dry cake. Soup. Whatever's still edible."

Matt groaned, head thunking dramatically back onto the table. "Good f-" he started, but Guest 1337 cut him off with a sharp look.

Matt cleared his throat awkwardly. "Good lord..."

Meanwhile, Chance and Charlotte were utterly oblivious to the adult conversation. Both of them had taken to playing with their silverware, tapping the ends together like they were swords.

"En garde!" Charlotte said dramatically, jabbing her spoon forward.

"You stand no chance against me, brave knight," Chance replied in a booming mock voice, clashing their fork against her spoon.

The soft clatter of cutlery filled the table, mingling with Charlotte's giggles and Chance's muffled laughs. It was a scene so painfully normal that it felt almost out of place here, surrounded by the muted, dreary atmosphere of the wartime cafeteria.

Other soldiers passing by gave the small group sidelong glances — some curious, some smiling faintly at the simple joy of it. It was rare to see something so pure, so untouched by the grime and blood that had seeped into every corner of their lives.

Guest 1337 leaned back, arms crossed, watching them for a moment. Despite himself, a small, tired smile tugged at his lips. He wouldn't say it out loud, but for once, he felt like things might just be okay.

Matt shifted beside him, his voice low, half-grumbling. "They're idiots."

Guest 1337 smirked, not disagreeing.

Charlotte was now standing on her seat to gain the 'high ground,' giggling uncontrollably as Chance exaggerated a fall backward, pretending to be slain by her.

"Ah!" Chance cried, slumping dramatically into their chair. "You've bested me, Lady Charlotte..."

Charlotte puffed out her chest proudly. "I am the champion!"

Guest 1337 shook his head, fondness softening his features.

The noise of spoons and forks clashing continued, their playful battle only growing more intense, while Matt just groaned into his folded arms and Guest 1337 tried and failed  to keep a straight face.

Chapter Text

The warm moment they had shared at the table felt like a distant dream now.

Everyone had just begun eating when Charlotte, quietly and without much appetite, had leaned into Guest 1337's side. Her small body felt warm and heavy against him. She mumbled softly, almost too soft to catch, "I miss Mom's cooking..."

Guest 1337's fork paused mid-air. His expression faltered into a deep frown, sadness etching itself across his face. He placed the fork down, giving his full attention to the little girl cuddled into him. Leaning down, he pressed a soft kiss against her forehead, lingering for a moment longer than usual.

"I know, sweetie," he whispered against her skin. "Mom will be okay, yeah? We'll get through this."

Charlotte nodded faintly, her small fingers curling into the fabric of his sleeve. Chance sat nearby, their head lowered, silent but present, sensing the weight of the moment. Their silverware lay forgotten beside their barely touched food.

Then, chaos shattered the fragile peace.

An earsplitting explosion roared nearby, rattling the walls and sending tremors through the floor. Gunfire immediately erupted outside the rapid, sharp pops of rifles and the heavier, bone shaking thuds of grenades.

"ATTACK!"

Soldiers scrambled from their seats, some overturning their trays and chairs in their panic. Commands were barked across the room, and weapons were drawn in a matter of seconds. Fear gripped everyone by the throat.

Guest 1337 didn't hesitate. He was up on his feet in an instant, scooping Charlotte into his arms, shielding her tiny body protectively against his chest. She gasped, clinging onto him, her face burying into his shirt.

"Matt!" Guest 1337 barked.

"I'm on it!" Matt called back, already unslinging his rifle from his back. His eyes were alert, the tiredness from earlier gone like smoke in the wind.

Guest 1337 turned to Chance, grabbing their wrist firmly, his grip almost bruising. "Move!"

Without another word, the three of them sprinted out of the cafeteria, weaving between soldiers who were rushing toward the source of the noise. The base was descending into chaos. More explosions shook the ground under their boots.

Guest 1337's lungs burned as he ran, Charlotte clinging desperately to him, her body trembling with fear. He cursed under his breath, leading them swiftly to a nearby storage room one of the designated safe rooms meant exactly for emergencies like this.

They barreled inside. Guest 1337 kicked the door shut behind them and shoved a heavy metal bar across the frame.

The world outside became muffled, but the distant gunfire and occasional screams were still audible.

Charlotte looked up at her father, her big eyes wide with terror. "What's happening, Daddy?"

Guest 1337 crouched down, still shielding her with one arm. "Some of the Bacons managed to sneak past our defenses, sweetheart. They're attacking. But we're safe in here."

Chance pressed their back against the door, their heart pounding so loud they could barely hear anything else. Their gun was already in their hand, trembling slightly. Their mind raced, but they stayed silent, eyes trained on the entrance.

Minutes dragged by like hours. Each second was filled with the unpredictable pops of gunfire and shouting.

Then a heavy thud against the door.

Both Chance and Guest 1337 tensed.

Another thud, this one stronger.

Before anyone could react, the door buckled and crashed inward, a battered, mud-covered Bacon soldier forcing his way through.

Time slowed.

Chance didn't think.

Instinct took over.

They raised their gun and pulled the trigger.

The shot rang loud inside the small room.

The Bacon soldier jerked back, a bright bloom of blood spreading across his chest. He crumpled to the ground, dead before he even fully registered the hit.

Chance's hands shook from the recoil, but their aim had been true this time.

Guest 1337, who had thrown himself more tightly around Charlotte when the door gave in, slowly lifted his head. His eyes flickered from the fallen intruder to Chance, a rare glint of pride hidden beneath his usual stoic frown.

"You actually shot right for once," Guest 1337 remarked dryly, his voice low but laced with something bordering amusement.

Chance let out a shaky breath, lowering their weapon slightly. "Aww, c'mon," they quipped weakly, flashing him a strained smirk. "Give me a break..."

Guest 1337 shook his head, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he turned his attention back to Charlotte. She was trembling but otherwise unharmed, still pressed tightly against his chest.

For a moment, inside the small, dim room, there was a fragile peace.

Chapter Text

The air in the small safe room was heavy and tight. Charlotte clung onto Guest 1337's chest, her small hands gripping the fabric of his uniform tightly, like she never wanted to let go. Her voice, soft and trembling, broke the fragile silence. "I'm scared..."

Guest 1337 immediately kissed the top of her head, holding her closer. His voice was low and rough with emotion. "I know, sweetheart... I know..."

Chance, standing nearby, watched the scene with a pained softness in their gaze. Gently, they patted Charlotte's head, offering a wordless kind of comfort. Then, without warning, Chance straightened up and began making their way to the door.

Guest 1337's hand shot out, grabbing their arm roughly. "What the hell are you doing?" he barked, panic flickering in his eyes. "Do you have a death wish?"

Chance just gave him a crooked, reckless grin. "Maybe. I never listen anyway, remember?" Their tone was almost teasing, but the danger was real, buzzing in the air like static.

Before Guest 1337 could react, Chance ripped their arm free, stepped outside, and slammed the door behind them. There was the distinct sound of a lock sliding into place from the outside.

"Chance!" Guest 1337 yelled, banging on the small reinforced window with his fist, his voice ragged with anger and fear. "Get back here, you idiot!"

Through the tiny window, Chance merely gave a casual two-finger salute, their face split into a grin that didn't quite reach their eyes before turning and sprinting away, their gun at the ready.

Guest 1337 cursed under his breath, his hands pressed helplessly against the window. Charlotte hugged his side tighter, burying her face into him.

Outside, the chaos was still raging.

Corpses of fallen soldiers both Bacons and Guests littered the area. Smoke curled into the air, mixing with the metallic tang of blood and the sharp scent of gunpowder. Chance sprinted through it all, adrenaline burning through their veins.

Across the wrecked Battlefield, Chance spotted Matt, struggling to fend off two Bacons at once. Without thinking, Chance lifted their gun and took two quick, clean shots. Both Bacons dropped to the ground, lifeless.

Matt barely had time to catch his breath before more gunfire rang out. He grabbed a fallen rifle and returned fire, finishing off the last few Bacons threatening the area.

Finally, a fragile silence descended. The battle was over.

Matt was panting heavily, one arm pressed against his side where a shallow but nasty wound was bleeding freely. Chance rushed over, their fingers already digging into the pouch on their belt for a medkit.

"You're bleeding," Chance said bluntly, dropping to their knees beside Matt.

"Yeah, no shit," Matt muttered, though his voice lacked any real heat.

Carefully, Chance cleaned and wrapped the wound with practiced efficiency. Matt winced but stayed still.

"You're quick on your feet," Matt said after a beat, sounding almost surprised.

Chance flashed a small, almost shy smile. "Gotta be, right?"

They secured the bandage, and Matt gave a small grunt of approval. But before either of them could say more, a loud, familiar yell ripped across the battlefield.

"CHANCE!!"

Chance’s body stiffened immediately. They turned their head toward the sound and saw Guest 1337 striding out of the safe room, Charlotte safely set down behind him. Guest 1337's expression was thunderous pure fury and panic rolled into one.

"Uh oh," Chance muttered under their breath.

Matt raised an eyebrow, amusement flickering across his exhausted features. "What did you do this time?"

But Chance didn’t have time to answer.

Guest 1337 was already after them.

Chance yelped and bolted, narrowly avoiding Guest 1337’s outstretched hands. Laughter, shaky but real, bubbled up as they zig-zagged across the debris-strewn yard, Guest 1337 chasing them down like an avenging spirit.

Meanwhile, Charlotte ran over to Matt, her small arms wrapping tightly around his leg.

Matt kneeled down to her level, pulling her into a gentle hug. His hands were still sticky with drying blood, but he didn’t care. He buried his face into her hair for a second, letting the moment ground him.

"Is it over?" Charlotte asked, her voice small and uncertain.

Matt squeezed her gently. "Yeah, it's over, sweetie. No more bad guys here."

The smell of smoke still clung to the air.

Chapter Text

Guest 1337 finally caught Chance, grabbing them by the front of their shirt and shaking them roughly, his voice raised in frantic anger.

"WHAT. WERE. YOU. THINKING?!"

Chance just gave a lazy shrug, smirking slightly. "Turned out alright, didn't it?"

Guest 1337 groaned loudly, pulling away to scream into his hands in frustration. "OH MY GOD..." he exhaled sharply, trying to calm the shaking rage in his chest. Slowly, he turned to survey the damage left behind.

The battlefield that had once been their home was smeared in blood and dust. Bodies both their own and the Bacons' lay scattered across the cafeteria and surrounding grounds. Guest 1337's heart twisted as he counted. Five. They had lost five of their own.

His jaw tightened as he called out to Matt, his voice rough. "Matt, could you call emergency services? We have about five soldiers down."

Matt, cradling his still-bandaged arm, gave a hollow, defeated sigh. "I don't think they'll be able to do anything for them, dude."

Guest 1337 clenched his fists at his sides, looking away from the bodies, anger and grief warping his features. "I know..." he said quietly, voice raw. He looked toward the distant, grim cemetery grounds. "We can't leave them here like this."

Charlotte was still clinging tightly to Matt's leg, her small hands trembling. Guest 1337's face softened briefly as he knelt and opened his arms for her. Wordlessly, Matt gently nudged Charlotte back toward her father, and she stumbled into Guest 1337's hug, burying her face into his chest.

Guest 1337 stood, holding her close with one arm, and addressed Matt. "Prepare the holes at the cemetery. We're going to bury them properly."

Matt gave a grim nod before heading off to retrieve a few battered shovels from the supply tent. His movements were slow, burdened by both grief and exhaustion.

Chance stood awkwardly nearby, shifting on their feet. Their hand drifted to the gun still slung on their back, as if needing to feel it, needing to be reassured they could still fight if needed.

"You sure they're dead?" Chance asked hesitantly.

Guest 1337 turned sharply to them, a dark look flashing in his eyes. Without saying a word, he pointed to one of the corpses a soldier whose head was nearly blown off, the blood pooling black under the mid-morning sun.

"Does this look alive to you?" he said, voice low and biting.

Chance's stomach twisted. They looked away, frowning, the weight of the situation finally sinking in.

The air was thick with the smell of smoke, iron, and grief. Matt, now back with two shovels, tossed one at Chance's feet with a grunt. "No standing around," he said gruffly. "Help."

Chance nodded silently, gripping the worn wooden handle. The earth was heavy and stubborn beneath their boots as they began to dig. Every shovel of dirt thrown aside felt like a piece of their soul being torn up with it.

The cemetery stretched endlessly ahead of them—rows and rows of simple graves, hastily dug over countless past attacks. Fresh dirt covered many of them, the white, crude crosses bearing names that were already starting to fade in the elements. Hundreds. Maybe more.

The grim sight was enough to make Charlotte whimper. Guest 1337 crouched down to her level, brushing her tangled hair out of her face.

"You don't have to watch this, sweetheart," he said softly.

"I wanna stay with you," Charlotte whispered, squeezing his hand tightly.

Guest 1337's heart cracked. "Alright, you can stay. But close your eyes when you need to, okay?"

Charlotte nodded bravely, even though her bottom lip trembled.

Together, in heavy silence, they dug the graves. The only sounds were the scraping of shovels against earth, the occasional crackle of a distant burning building, and the soft, broken sobs of the survivors who had come to help.

Guest 1337 laid each body down with careful reverence, closing their eyes if they were open, smoothing their clothes as best he could. He murmured soft, almost inaudible words under his breath, tiny apologies for not protecting them better.

Chance knelt beside a young soldier barely older than Charlotte would be in a decade and swallowed the lump in their throat. It could have been any of them. It could have been them.

When the last body was covered, when the last mound of dirt was packed down, Matt wiped the sweat from his brow and looked up at the grey sky.

"Hope they're somewhere better," he muttered.

Guest 1337 stood, lifting Charlotte into his arms. He held her close, his jaw tense, his heart aching.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 44

The sun dipped low behind the ravaged horizon, a dim red glow barely piercing through the thick smoke that still lingered after the earlier attack. Soldiers returned to their posts with sluggish steps, the weariness of the day weighing heavy on their shoulders. The air was grim, stained with the scent of gunpowder and something far worse loss.

Chance spotted Charlotte sitting alone near the side of the cafeteria's entrance, her small body curled up tightly, knees to her chest. Chance's heart ached at the sight. They walked over, kneeling down beside her so their faces were on the same level.

"Hey, kid," Chance said softly, their voice a soothing murmur. "You scared?"

Charlotte nodded wordlessly, tears still brimming at the edges of her wide eyes. "Yeah... it's scary," she whispered, voice trembling.

Chance nodded too, understanding. "Yeah, I guess it's really horrible for a kid like you to see all this..." they said, their voice dropping lower with empathy.

Charlotte turned her watery gaze up to them, her voice cracking, "Is Dad going to die?"

Chance blinked at her, their heart squeezing painfully. They forced a small smile, ruffling her hair gently. "Your dad's strong," they said firmly. "He won't go down without a fight. Plus, compared to me, he won't do anything reckless."

They chuckled weakly and continued, "He's got you now. He'll fight even harder just to make sure he comes back to you."

Charlotte's lips wobbled into a small, hesitant smile before she lunged forward, wrapping her little arms around Chance tightly. Chance, a bit surprised, blinked before smiling fully and wrapping their arms around her in return, holding her close.

Neither said anything more. They just stayed there in the fading light, comforting one another silently.

Guest 1337 and Matt stood silently before the fresh graves, the shovels still stuck in the dirt. The five fallen soldiers had been buried side by side with makeshift markers. There was no ceremony, no grand farewell just the cold, quiet mourning of those who had survived.

Guest 1337 stared at the graves with empty eyes, his chest rising and falling heavily. His hands trembled slightly at his sides.

"We're losing a lot of soldiers," he finally said, voice cracking under the weight of his emotion. "I don't know... how we're going to last, Matt."

Matt, who was usually the one cracking jokes or keeping the spirits light, couldn't find the strength to be optimistic this time. He stared bleakly at the uneven rows of dirt mounds ahead. "I don't know either," he admitted. "Their Bacon clan keeps getting bigger, and we... we're getting even lower."

The silence between them grew heavy. And then, suddenly, Guest 1337 turned and threw himself into Matt's arms, the dam breaking all at once. He clung to him, sobbing openly now, without shame.

"I... I wanna go home," he choked out. "I-I want this to be over... I want to stop fighting... I want Charlotte to be safe, I want everyone to be safe, I want—"

Matt closed his eyes, his own tears falling freely now. He hugged Guest 1337 back tightly, grounding him.

"I know..." Matt whispered brokenly. "I know... We have to be strong... for them."

The two of them remained like that under the dying light two men, stripped of their armor of duty and bravado, just desperately trying to stay strong in a world that seemed determined to tear them apart.

They stayed there until dawn, until the night surrendered its heavy grief to a fragile, trembling new day.

Chapter Text

The night blanketed the world in cold silence, pierced only by the distant chirping of crickets and the occasional crackle of the wind brushing over the grass. At the edge of the cemetery, beneath the dim light of the stars, Matt and Guest 1337 lay curled up together beneath a worn blanket, the lines of exhaustion finally easing from their faces as they surrendered to sleep. Their breaths were slow, synchronized, and for once, peaceful. The graves before them, freshly dug and lined with makeshift wooden markers, bore silent witness to the grief and fatigue shared between them.

Back in the tent, Charlotte lay asleep, curled in a bundle of patchy blankets. Her small form barely moved, save for the occasional twitch of a dream. The air inside the tent was warmer than outside, yet heavy with the day's memories. Outside, Chance paced.

They had noticed. Guest 1337 wasn't in the tent. Nor was Matt. Panic flickered in their chest for just a moment before they followed the trail of their absence, walking slowly through the chilly air, their boots crunching lightly over the soil. The moon glowed softly overhead, casting pale light across the camp. And then they saw it.

Two silhouettes, slumped together at the edge of the cemetery, unmoving but not alone. As Chance got closer, their steps slowed. It was Matt, his arm loosely around Guest 1337, who was pressed close, their brows still furrowed even in sleep. They looked so tired. Chance exhaled quietly, taking a few steps back.

They ran. Not out of panic, but urgency.

Back at the tent, they grabbed an extra blanket thin, patched in places, but still warm and hurried back. When they returned to the cemetery, they gently draped the blanket over the sleeping pair, careful not to wake them. For a moment, Chance just stood there, watching the rise and fall of their chests, the faint sniffling that still echoed from earlier sobs. The cemetery stretched behind them, a sea of makeshift graves under starlight. And above, for once, the stars were bright.

Chance tilted their head to the sky. So many stars, scattered like silver across a deep black canvas. It was rare. Back at the Forsaken hideout, the skies were thick with smoke and ash, no stars ever broke through that curtain. But here, they shone freely, as if to say: "You're still alive. You made it through today."

The wind picked up slightly. Chance's hands shoved into their pockets as they stood quietly beside the two, lingering a little longer before turning away. The tent was quiet when they returned. Charlotte stirred faintly in her sleep but didn’t wake. Chance sat on the far edge of the room, just close enough to hear her breathing.

Slowly, they laid back. They pulled their coat over their shoulders, blinking slowly as the weight of the day began to pull at their consciousness.

And then, they dreamed.

The world was strange.
Unreal.

The air buzzed faintly with static. Chance stood in the center of a familiar map, the ground beneath them cracked and patched together like broken glass. It was a combat arena, one of the old maps from the early raids. But it was...empty. No bullets. No shouting. Just eerie silence and the sound of their own breath.

And then

"Hey."

That voice. That tone.

Chance turned.

There he was. Guest 1337.

But not this world’s version. Not the one weighed down by leadership and grief, not the one clutching Charlotte with trembling hands. This was their Guest 1337 the one from the old world. THEIR world

He smiled gently, eyes warm, and held a hand out to Chance. "Don’t just stand there. The others need us, Chance."

And Chance , Chance felt their heart break all over again.

They reached out. Fingers barely brushing

and then, he vanished.

Everything cracked.

The silence shattered with a shriek.

Suddenly, the world turned blood-red. The sky ruptured with long black veins, like corrupted roots twisting through the clouds. The ground trembled under their feet, groaning like it was alive and in pain.

"No no, no!-"

Chance backed up, but there, in the distance, they saw him again.

Guest 1337.

Only this time

Thick black vines had him. Coiling around his arms, his waist, his neck tugging him into the air like a puppet on strings. His face was calm, still, as if he had accepted it.

"STOP IT!" Chance screamed, sprinting toward him. They could feel the vines pulsing like veins, oozing some ink-like substance. They reached him, clawing at the vines, tearing them with their hands.

"Don’t do this! Don’t you dare do this!"

Guest 1337 looked down at them, smiling faintly. "It’s okay. I’ll be back someday."

"I DON’T WANT SOMEDAY!" Chance screamed, tears falling. "I want you now! I want you here with me! I-I can’t do this without you please!-"

The vines tightened.

Guest 1337’s image began to fade.

Chance’s hands shook, gripping his face. "Stay. Please. Just stay."

"Be strong for me," he whispered. "And for yourself."

The world cracked.

And then,

Darkness.

Chance jolted awake.

Sweat coated their brow, chest heaving. The tent was quiet, still. Charlotte was asleep. The blankets undisturbed.

The night outside was beginning to fade, stars dimming behind the pale promise of morning.

But Chance couldn’t move.

Their fingers trembled slightly, still half-clenched from the dream. Their chest was tight, filled with unspeakable ache.

They pressed a hand over their eyes, exhaling shakily.

Chapter Text

The world was quiet, the kind of hush that feels heavy instead of peaceful. The sun barely peeked through the forest canopy, casting long, melancholic shadows. Chance stirred beneath the blanket, their body curled slightly, face hidden in the fabric. When they opened their eyes, their breath caught in their throat. Their cheeks were already wet. Silent tears streamed down without warning. They tried to blink them away, sniffing hard, their hand swiping at their face in frustration.

"No," they muttered to themself. "Not now."

But it wouldn't stop. No matter how hard they tried to push it down, it kept coming. Like a dam had cracked in their sleep, and now they were left drowning in the aftermath. The memory of that dream of him, their version of Guest 1337 haunted every corner of their mind. His voice, his smile, his final words.

"Don't worry... I'll be back someday."

Chance sat up, hands gripping their head, a sound caught between a gasp and a sob escaping their throat. They had to breathe. They had to move.

They shoved the blanket off and quietly stepped out of the tent, careful not to wake Charlotte. The morning air was crisp, sharp even, biting at their skin. They welcomed it. Maybe it would help ground them.

They didn’t know where they were going. Their feet led the way, crunching softly over pine needles and damp leaves. The forest surrounded them, immense and deep, its silence almost accusing. Chance shoved their hands in their pockets, hunched forward.

Each breath in felt shaky. Each breath out trembled like glass about to break.

Their vision flicked upward. The sky. It was blue but for a moment, just a moment, it looked red. Pulled and twisted with crawling black vines, exactly like the ones from their dream. Their breath hitched.

"No," they said again, louder this time. "Stop. Not real. Not real."

They clenched their fists, fingernails biting into their palms. Their chest heaved. The sound of their own pulse flooded their ears. Thump. Thump. Thump.

Their eyes blurred. Not from tears this time, but from something else. Something wrong. The edges of their vision turned dark, like ink spreading through water. Their knees buckled.

Thump-thump. Thump-thump.

They gasped, reaching for a tree, missed.

And then nothing.

Their body collapsed into the underbrush, limbs twitching before falling still. Only the wind moved, rustling their jacket.

Matt, curled beside him on the grass, looked peaceful for once. Guest 1337 nudged him with his elbow. "Hey. Wake up."

Matt mumbled something incoherent, face squishing deeper into the blanket. Guest 1337 rolled his eyes.

"C'mon. Morning already."

Matt stirred, stretching dramatically before opening one bleary eye. "Good mornin', handsome," he slurred, smirking sleepily.

Guest 1337 gave him a flat look, then smacked him in the shoulder.

"Ow!" Matt laughed. "That’s no way to treat your "boyfriend"."

"Who said anything about being boyfriends?" Guest 1337 shot back, smirking.

Matt sat up, brushing his hair back. "My ass hurts."

"Damn," Guest 1337 said, playing along, voice faux-casual. "Must’ve been too rough on you last night. Sorry."

Matt’s face turned red. He stared at him. "Wha-  you! YOU-!"

Guest 1337 was already halfway up and running. "Gotta be faster than that!"

Matt jumped to his feet. "You’re DEAD!"

The two of them took off running through the clearing, laughter bouncing off the trees. The soreness, the grief, the exhaustion all momentarily forgotten in that slice of foolish freedom. The game of chase wasn't serious, but for a few minutes, they felt like humans again. Like this war hadn’t stolen every piece of normal life.

Charlotte stepped out of the tent, yawning and rubbing her eyes. She blinked.

There, just a few meters away, Matt was chasing her dad in circles like a cartoon scene, both of them laughing like children. Her face lit up with a giggle.

It was the first real laugh she’d had in days.

Chance’s body lay motionless, a thin line of blood trickling from their nose. Their fingers twitched once. Twice.

Inside their mind, it was chaos. There was screaming , not from others, but from within. The dream hadn’t left them. It had followed. The vines wrapped tighter, the red sky flashed again, and somewhere far off, a voice was calling.

They heard their name.

It wasn’t real.

Chapter Text

Chance still unconscious in the forest, the early morning fog curling around the trees like ghostly fingers. The sun is barely a suggestion on the horizon, casting the landscape in an eerie half-light. The forest is quiet , too quiet, unnaturally still as if holding its breath.

Then, the soft crunch of footsteps slices through the silence.

Two Bacon Clan soldiers are moving through the dense underbrush, weapons slung lazily across their backs. One is tall and lean, with a twitchy sort of energy in his step and a perpetual sneer on his face. The other is burly, almost square in shape, his heavy boots sinking into the soft earth, his breath loud and steady like a snorting bull.

"Yo," the lean one suddenly stops, lifting a hand. His voice is sharp, slicing through the trees. "Who the fuck is this guy?"

The burly one steps forward, eyes narrowing as he sees Chance's unconscious form sprawled out among the leaves like a discarded doll. "I don’t know," he mutters, nudging Chance’s side with the toe of his boot. "But look at this."

He gestures down at Chance’s military vest. The fabric is wet with morning dew and bits of leaf litter, but clearly visible on the shoulder is the symbol of Guest 1337’s camp the mark they all know.

"It’s their vest. Their logo," the burly Bacon confirms.

The lean one whistles, impressed. "You’re kidding me. Just laying out here? This is too easy."

Without care, the burly Bacon kneels, grabs Chance by the waist, and slings them over his shoulder like they weigh nothing more than a sack of grain. Chance’s limbs dangle limply, head bobbing with each step as they disappear into the forest.

The burly Bacon marches through the camp, ignoring the few others milling around, and stops in front of a crooked shed barely holding itself together. With no care, he drops Chance unceremoniously onto a stack of hay that crunches and creaks beneath the weight.

The lean Bacon follows, tossing a thick rope to the ground. "Tie them up."

Within moments, Chance’s arms are yanked behind their back and bound tightly. The rough hemp cuts into their skin. Their breathing is shallow, still unconscious but stirring.

"Hold on," the burly one says with a chuckle. He steps outside for a moment and returns with a grimy metal bucket filled with ice-cold water.

"Wait, wait," the lean one laughs. "You’re not really gonna—"

SPLASH.

A sudden, brutal shock.

Chance jerks upright, sputtering and gasping, eyes wide in panic. Water drips from their hair, their vest clings tightly to their skin.

"OH WHAT THE FUCK!?" they shout instinctively, voice trembling.

Their gaze darts around the dim interior of the shed. Two shadowy figures loom over them—both grinning.

"Umm... hello," Chance tries to say, attempting to sound casual despite the tremor in their voice.

The lean Bacon crouches, his smile turning venomous. "We know you're part of that other camp."

Chance scrambles for composure. "No, no, I ain't! Never seen that place in my life!"

The burly Bacon scoffs, crossing his arms. "Are you serious? There’s literally the logo on your arm, dumbass."

Chance glances down. The mark is there, plain as day. Caught. They offer a weak smile. "Uh... can't blame me for trying."

The lean one’s smile fades into something uglier. In one motion, he grabs Chance by the collar, pulling them close.

"Listen here, you piece of shit. Nothing stops us from taking your miserable life right now."

His face is close, eyes wild, and his breath smells like stale meat. Chance’s heart pounds like a war drum, panic blooming in their chest.

But the burly Bacon steps in, putting a heavy hand on the other’s shoulder. "Wait. We could use them as bait."

The lean one hesitates, then smirks slowly, loosening his grip. "That’s a good idea. Yeah... bait."

Just before standing up, he punches Chance hard across the face. Their head snaps to the side, pain blooming like fire across their cheek. They taste blood.

"Pathetic," he sneers, wiping his knuckles on his pants.

The two Bacons walk out of the shed, chatting and laughing like nothing had happened, the door creaking behind them as it swings shut.

Silence.

Chance lies motionless on the hay. Their wrists are bound tightly behind them. Water drips from their soaked clothes, mixing with blood now trickling from their lip. The walls of the shed feel like they’re closing in, shadows pressing down.

Their thoughts are a blur. Disoriented. Frightened. Alone.

Where am I? What do they want from me? Is anyone even looking for me?

The pain from the punch lingers, pulsing in time with the throb in their chest. Their heart beats wildly, but their breathing begins to slow not from calm, but exhaustion. Their eyes flicker around the shed, searching for any sign of escape. There is none.

All they can do now is wait.

Chapter Text

The scent of mildew and dried hay filled Chance’s nostrils. Rope chafed painfully against their wrists, pinning their arms tight behind their back. They shifted, but every movement made the rough strands dig deeper into their skin. Their breath came in slow, uneven gasps as their senses adjusted to the dim light of the shed. Through the cracked wood, they could hear muffled voices and the distant clang of metal. The Bacon Clan was alive and active, footsteps stomping across dirt and gravel like a war drum that never ceased.

Chance blinked the lingering moisture from their eyes, still damp from the bucket of ice-cold water. Their head ached from the punch, and their jaw throbbed. They leaned back against the moldy haystack and exhaled slowly.

"Good lord," they muttered, eyes scanning through a small break in the shed wall, watching shadowy figures pass by. "How the hell am I going to get out of here..."

They tested the ropes again, twisting their wrists, tugging carefully, but all it did was send a fresh wave of burning friction through their skin. The knots were too tight, the Bacons too thorough. Panic threatened to claw its way into their chest, but they shoved it down.

Not yet. They had to stay calm.

Their eyes shifted upward to the sliver of gray sky they could see through the cracks in the shed roof. The clouds were shifting slowly overhead, and Chance let their gaze fixate on them. Anything to keep their mind from spiraling.

"Please," they whispered, voice barely audible, "Guest... please come soon."

Matt had finally caught up to Guest 1337, cheeks flushed bright red, and was now gripping guest 1337 by the shoulders, giving him a playful shake.

"You're such a dick!" Matt shouted, though there was no malice in his tone.

Guest 1337 was doubled over in laughter. "Oh come on, you set yourself up for that one!"

"Yeah, well, now everyone thinks we actually-"

But before Matt could finish, Charlotte came trotting out of the tent behind them, a soft smile on her lips that slowly faded as she looked around.

"Dad?"

Guest 1337 looked over, brushing dust off his hoodie. "Yeah, sweetie?"

Charlotte pointed toward the tent. "Where's Chance?"

Guest 1337 gave her a puzzled look. "They're probably still in the tent, sweetheart."

But Charlotte furrowed her brow. "I just looked. They're not there."

Guest 1337's amusement faded. His eyes flicked toward Matt, who had gone still. He stepped over to the tent flap and pulled it open wide.

Empty.

The cot was untouched. The blanket had been folded. No sign of movement. The air inside was stale.

"Shit," Matt breathed, immediately turning and scanning the area. "Chance!"

Nothing.

Guest 1337 turned back to Matt. "Language."

Matt didn’t respond this time. He was already walking quickly across the clearing.

They checked the medical tent.

Nothing.

They ran through the trenches, even poked through the abandoned bunkers.

No sign.

The cafeteria? Empty.

The outer perimeter?

Just birds and trees.

They returned to the center of camp, breathless.

"Dude," Matt snapped, his voice cracking. "I can’t find them. Where the hell did they go?!"

Guest 1337 stood still, his chest rising and falling quickly. His eyes flicked toward the forest line, tall trees like silent sentinels stretching across the horizon.

Beyond those trees far, far below the hills was enemy territory.

The Bacon Clan.

His hands balled into fists at his sides.

"No," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. "No way."

But the fear in his gut told a different story.

He didn’t wait.

Matt turned to follow him, but stopped. Charlotte was watching him from the tent flap, her small hands curled around the fabric. He hesitated, torn.

"Go!" Guest 1337 barked. "I’ll bring them back. Stay with her."

Matt didn’t argue. He nodded once.

Then Guest 1337 took off into the woods.

He didn’t have a trail.

Not yet.

But he knew Chance wouldn’t go far without their hat. Or their gun.

And it wasn’t long before he found something.

A black shape, half-buried in wet leaves.

He crouched and pulled it free.

Chance’s fedora.

Right next to it a familiar pistol.

Guest 1337 felt something twist in his stomach, something dark and furious. He picked up the items and turned them over in his hands, jaw clenched.

He looked up, deeper into the woods.

They took them.

"Fuck..." he whispered, closing his eyes. "Those bastards took them hostage."

He rose slowly, stuffing the items into his coat.

"I need to get back."

He turned and sprinted back toward camp, the wind howling through the trees behind him.

Chapter Text

The journey back to camp felt longer than the path Guest 1337 had taken. Every step weighed with urgency, every breath a reminder of how wrong things had gone. In one hand, he clutched Chance's fedora, its brim slightly bent, the edge dirtied from lying on the forest floor. In the other, he held their gun, the handle still warm from the sun. Two silent tokens, eerie in their absence of the person who once held them.

As he stepped back into the clearing of the camp, the sun had just begun to dip behind the trees, casting long shadows across the tents. Matt and Charlotte were by the edge of the infirmary tent. Charlotte was fiddling nervously with her necklace, and Matt paced restlessly, his brow furrowed, hair more disheveled than usual.

Guest 1337 didn't speak at first. He simply walked up and held out the two items.

Matt’s eyes widened. "That’s Chance’s stuff..."

Guest 1337 finally spoke, his voice cold, solemn. "They took them hostage."

Matt went noticeably paler, as if the blood had been drained straight from his face. He stumbled back half a step. "They took them hostage?"

His voice rose in panic, eyes darting between the hat, the gun, and the trees beyond the camp. "What do we do? We can’t just go to the Bacon Clan. That’s suicide! They’d kill us on sight!"

Guest 1337 nodded slowly. He knew Matt wasn’t wrong. Marching into the Bacon Clan territory would be like walking into a slaughterhouse willingly. Their numbers were greater, their tactics ruthless. But leaving Chance there? That wasn't an option.

Matt continued pacing, running a hand through his hair, muttering curses under his breath. "oh god... They must’ve snuck in. Or followed us. Or-or goddammit!"

Guest 1337 was quiet. His eyes drifted toward the forest line again. Somewhere out there, Chance was tied up, scared or hurt or worse. He tightened his grip on the fedora, the fabric crumpling under his fingers.

why did he care that much for them?..

Nearby, Charlotte had gone quiet. Her little hands clenched at her necklace, the one with the softly glowing pink stone. It was faint, pulsing like a heartbeat. She looked between the two arguing adults, their voices slowly turning into muffled noise in her ears. Her chest ached. Chance had made her laugh, made her feel safe. Even though they were weird and silly, she liked them. A lot.

She turned away.

Silently, Charlotte slipped back into her tent. The flap closed behind her with barely a whisper, and the muffled sounds of Guest 1337 and Matt continued outside, unaware.

Inside the tent, the air was still. The bed was stiff as always, but she didn't sit. She walked to the edge and stood in front of the small wooden table where her books and scattered gear lay. Her fingers found the necklace again, and slowly, she pulled it up and away from her neck, holding the gem in her palm.

It glowed a little stronger now.

She stared at it.

"I don't know why I trust them so much," she whispered to the crystal. "But... I want to help them. I need to."

Her heart beat faster. She tightened her grip on the gem.

"I need to control my powers. For Chance."

She took a deep breath and turned toward the table again. A single pistol lay atop it. Not loaded. Old. But heavy.

Stretching out both her small arms, she furrowed her brows, the necklace still clenched in one hand. Her fingers trembled.

Nothing happened.

Then

A faint glow. Pink, soft, barely visible. It shimmered around the pistol like mist caught in sunlight. The gun wobbled. Then slowly, just barely, it lifted off the table by an inch. Charlotte’s arms shook with the strain. Her eyes widened.

It was working.

But not for long.

The glow flickered. The pistol dropped with a heavy clunk onto the table again.

Charlotte let out a gasp and collapsed onto her knees, arms falling limp at her sides. Her lungs burned, her limbs felt like jelly. The drain was immediate, as if every ounce of energy had been wrung from her body.

"How am I supposed to do anything with these stupid powers if I can’t even control them!" she cried out, her voice cracking.

Tears spilled freely down her cheeks. She sniffed, wiping her eyes with her sleeve, curling into herself on the tent floor.

For a long moment, she sat there, defeated.

But then

Her breath steadied. Her small fingers clutched the gem again.

"I will learn," she whispered.

She looked up, eyes glimmering with a mixture of determination and fire.

"For Chance... and Dad."

Chapter Text

It had only been a few hours.

Just a few hours since Chance had been dragged into hell. But in that short span of time, it felt like days had passed every second stretched long and agonizing, every breath like shards of glass in their lungs.

The shed stank of blood, mold, rusted metal, and old sweat. The hay beneath them was stiff and damp, sticky with old stains and something newer something warmer. Blood. Their blood.

Chance’s wrists were bound behind their back with coarse rope, digging deep into their already-bruised skin. The knot was rushed, sloppily tied by someone too lazy or overconfident to double-check their work. It was a small mercy. But for now, it didn’t matter.

Not when the pain was still fresh. Still blossoming like fire under their skin.

There were three of them. Three Bacon soldiers, though calling them that felt wrong. Monsters. Butchers. Men who had long stopped seeing others as people.

The first wore a blue bandana, dirty and torn at the edges. He was the one who stayed closest, eyes gleaming with childlike glee like a boy poking at a helpless animal just to watch it squirm. The second had a ragged grey scarf tied loosely around his neck, leaning against the wall, chewing something slowly, like he was bored. His gaze was distant. Cold. The third had long hair tied tightly at the back of his head. He crouched in the corner, saying nothing, simply watching like a hawk waiting for its turn.

Chance was trembling, lips cracked, face streaked with dried tears and sweat. Their breath came in ragged gasps, each inhale catching in their throat.

"Still conscious, huh?" the blue bandana sneered, his voice mockingly cheerful.

Without waiting for a response, he grabbed Chance’s arm his fingers rough, pressing bruises into their bicep.

"Let’s see how long that lasts."

The combat knife flashed. It wasn’t clean. There were flecks of dried blood on the blade’s edge. Chance’s eyes widened. Their throat closed.

Then the first cut came.

A scream tore from Chance’s lungs, raw and high and desperate. The knife carved slowly, deliberately, across their forearm. Then again. And again. The blade danced a cruel pattern into their flesh, each stroke sending another wave of agony through their trembling frame. Blood welled instantly, spilling down their arm in thick rivulets that dripped from their elbow onto the hay-covered floor.

They writhed. Twisted. Cried. The pain was unlike anything they’d ever felt before. Every nerve screamed. Every motion made it worse.

But the Bacons didn’t care.

They laughed. They joked. They talked amongst themselves like they were playing cards, not torturing a person.

"You hear about that idiot who stepped on our own minefield?"

"Yeah. Blew both his legs off. Dumbass didn’t even see the warning signs."

"Think this one’s crying or bleeding more? My money’s on bleeding."

Another round of cruel laughter echoed around the shed.

Chance’s world was spinning. The pain, the voices, the metallic tang of blood it was all too much. Their body felt like it was floating, disconnected from their mind. A high-pitched ringing replaced the soldiers’ voices. The only sound they could clearly hear was their own heart pounding violently in their chest.

At last, the man with the knife pulled back. He wiped the blade on Chance’s shirt and gave a grunt of satisfaction.

"We’re done here. For now."

He shoved Chance’s arm aside and grabbed the rope again, tightening it roughly. The knots pinched the already wounded skin, and a fresh wave of pain sparked.

Without warning, the one with the grey scarf stepped forward and slammed his fist into Chance’s stomach.

The air left their lungs in a desperate gasp. Stars exploded in their vision. They coughed, choked, and folded inward as far as their restraints allowed.

"Try that escaping shit again and we’ll cut more than your arms," the man growled.

They left. The heavy door creaked and slammed shut, leaving only silence.

Chance collapsed inward. Their head hung low. A low sob escaped them. Not from weakness but from shock. Helplessness. Horror. It felt like their body was no longer their own.

Every part of them hurt.

But...

The knot. The knot was imperfect. Sloppy.

Their heart stuttered. A flicker of hope.

Slowly, shakily, they shifted their hands. A twist. A tug. Each movement lit new fires in their nerves. But they kept going. Gritting their teeth. Pushing through.

Minutes passed. Blood dripped steadily. Muscles screamed.

Then...

The rope slipped.

Their wrists were free.

They didn’t wait. Didn’t think. They got up legs shaking and stumbled toward the door. Each step was agony. But they had to move. Had to run.

Out of the shed. Into the forest.

The cold air struck them like a slap. Their wounds burned, skin raw and soaked in blood. But they didn’t stop. Their feet pounded against the ground. Branches scratched at their skin. Their breath came in short, wet gasps.

Run.

Run.

Don’t stop.

But luck had never been on their side for long.

Just as the trees thinned, a small clearing opened up before them a Bacon camp.

Three tents. A firepit still smoldering. A soldier turning toward the sound.

They locked eyes.

Chance moved. So did the soldier.

The collision was brief. A shout. A flash of movement. Then pain.

A blow caught the side of Chance’s head, sending them crashing to the ground.

The world went black for a moment.

Then pain. Again.

They were being dragged. Across gravel. Across sticks. Their arms hung limp.

The soldier didn’t speak. He just pulled them toward a wooden structure. A makeshift table. Heavy. Solid. Metal restraints bolted to the sides.

He threw them onto it. Strapped them down. Tight. Too tight.

Chance’s vision blurred. Their mouth opened, but no sound came.

Then the soldier turned and left.

The wind blew.

The sun was beginning to rise. Soft golden light filtered through the trees. It was almost beautiful. Almost peaceful.

Chance stared up at the sky. Their chest rose and fell with shallow breaths.

So much for escaping...

Their eyes fluttered.

Their arm still hurt. The bleeding hadn’t stopped.

Their lips parted slightly.

A single tear slid down their temple.

They were still alive.

Barely.