Unknown Territory [Creepypasta Reader-Insert]

| E i g h t |

| "Contrariwise," continued Tweedledee, "if it was so, it might be; and if it were so, it would be; but as it isn't, it ain't. That's logic". - Lewis Carroll, Alice's Adventures in Wonderland / Through the Looking-Glass |

Toby [10:11]

As soon as he was able, he picked himself up and moved away to find refuge in one of the rooms—if he was lucky enough, EJ might've still been awake to patch him up, but for now, he needed to collect his thoughts and rest for a while. At his current state, he may just do more bad than good to his body if he pushes it any further. Reluctant as he was to admit it as well, he was made painfully aware of how close he was to being murdered by the only other person he considered near 'familial' in this decrepit excuse of a syndicate.

That encounter was a little too close for his liking.

Trying to hide evidence that he'd chased her as far as the other side proved to be difficult, especially with his injuries. Trying not to bleed around and immediately compromise oneself was easier said than done when his leg constantly caved in on him everytime he had to bend over and pick something up.

But it inevitably bought him time before Jeffrey sought to outright kill him—which for a moment back there, felt like he was seconds from doing so.

"There you are, you piece of shit!"

Just his luck.

He forgot he sent Hoody on that false run. That was technically supposed to be his job, but he couldn't risk the woman getting slaughtered in the maintenance room before he could've worked his plan—not that it seemed to have gotten far.

It was beginning to look susceptible to failure before he could've properly executed it, if he were to break the events down in hindsight.

Jeffrey was growing even more distant. Facing him earlier felt like he was in a place that he couldn't reach anymore. And he loathed it. Because looking at him and searching for the person he damn near grew up with, only to find some stranger staring right back, stung more than having his limbs be torn apart bit by bit while someone stuck a branding iron down his throat to keep him from screaming out.

What had happened to him? What made him change so damn much?

It was like he was losing people again, and he didn't like how that wrought a wave of ickiness all over his insides. Like a sickness that liquor could only do so much to numb, but never really wipe away.

His thoughts were jarred as he felt a black gloved hand shoving him against the wall—twice in a row for one night is two too many, he thought irritably as he leveled Hoody with an unamused stare.

"You better have a good excuse for sending me out there to do your fucking job." Undeterred by Toby's state, he only continued to pin him against the wall by the shoulder, free hand threatening to pull out something from his pullover jacket's pocket to beat him with should he answer in a way that'd aggravate him further.

Toby's sight was beginning to blur as he stared at the red stitches that adorned Hoody's ski mask, tracing each fiber mindlessly as he didn't even bother trying to think of an explanation that'd placate the fuming man.

Not entirely certain of what came over him or why he thought giving Jeffrey an even harder time would bring him any closer to his usual senses from when they were teens, he'd let loose a tip that had the potential to start an irreversible stir in their 'peaceful' little organization.

Grunt. Crack. "She's in the east wing." Crack! Crack.

But any reasoning he could've pieced together for it was all as good as trash.