Dead By Daylight [OneShots]

HUNK X (Asthmatic) Reader [P8]

What was left for me? I wondered. I bemoan the loss of something...but what?

Even when the truth stood before me, it was this ferocious tic of mine, somewhere so visceral that I blatantly lied to myself. I remained utterly silent in that room, no word uttered, no sound made so far. Nonetheless, it was the occasional fidgeting of my shivering feet that the friction against my legs caused the little noise to reach to my ears. It was immensely cold outside the building, but inside it was relatively warmer.

Everything seemed minimal, and vaguely plain. It was so clear and pristine to observe that it looked sophisticated. Everything was concrete; gray and geometrical. It was not an ideally big room, not by the standard measurements, but it was so bare to notice that it looked spacious. So spacious that it made no sense why I was still hyperventilating. There was a huge vent behind me, up by the ceiling, so high that I could only fantasize about reaching it somehow. The table and the chairs before me could stack up, but the angles of the process were hard to imagine themselves.

My jittery hands didn't help either. They were so clammy that everything between them could slip. There wasn't much present in the room. It was a wide table, a few shades darker than gray of the walls, and three chairs. Metal chairs. The lights were dim, allowing my burning eyes to rest in the silent moments. Nonetheless, it was the tiny beeping of the camera that kept me occupied. This white camera in the farther corner of the room was concealed by the shade, focused keenly on me.

The mere object of fascination was also my only object of dread.

I had tried moving around, the mode surveillance so lucrative that it tracked every moment of mine, its head moving with a sharp albeit low buzzing sound to track my position. The door was locked from outside, leaving me alone in the room with an inhaler for aid and a bottle of water, now half empty.

I was already anxious with the knowledge of furtive eyes tracking me non-stop, but it was further worsened by lingering paranoia that there might be something in the water that may potentially drugged me. It was almost laughable, because intoxicated or not, I was already in a terrible position. I went on getting stuck in traces again and again. I was weak, craving the taste of grilled fish, and more than that, I couldn't keep my head straight and focused. With that thought, I had swirled water worth half-a-litre down my parched throat. It was so dried and abused that the cold water stung it before I felt any pleasure of relief, leaving me coughing and choking on it for a few seconds.

Vector had refused to bound or gag me, which was both unnatural and perplexing of him. I had fearfully expected of him to tie me to the chair, like an unwilling slave which I had made myself out of his double-sided conversations with me. However, he had nonchalantly walked into the room and put me down onto the chair, leaving me with a bottle of cold water and an equally chilling threat.

Make mistakes at your own expense. He had told me. However, I would love to watch your undoing happen live before my eyes.

I had tried strolling around the room, unable to kill the time that ticked by so painfully slowly. But my legs were no longer supporting me. I had lost my vigour to both live and fight in the moment. My legs were wobbly, my arms felt heavier to rise. The only activity that didn't drain me of my leftover strength was breathing, and waiting.

I had compensated a lot by anticipating as well.

It was only when I had just decided to put my head down onto the table for stealing some sleep when Vector walked through the heavy door. He was slow and deliberate with his moves, but the door was heavy enough to leave some disturbing creaks and screeches echoing through the space. I had to be used to his behavior by now, for I didn't flinch, even when I was half-way drowned into the languorous nap.