-A twisted Fate?- An Art The clown x Fem!Reader

The Hunt Begins

The cold night air bit at your skin as you staggered outside, the overwhelming scent of decay clinging to your clothes. You had no idea where you were. The dark alleyway stretched ahead of you, with old, crumbling buildings looming on either side. The only sound was your own ragged breathing and the distant hum of the city beyond.

Your legs felt weak beneath you, the lingering effects of the drug still clouding your senses, but fear drove you forward. You stumbled down the alley, your heartbeat thundering in your ears, your mind racing with panic.

Art had let you go. He had cut the ropes and given you a head start. But this wasn’t an act of mercy. This was part of his twisted game. You weren’t free- you were prey, and the predator was watching.

You couldn’t help but glance over your shoulder, half expecting to see his black and white silhouette lurking in the shadows. But the alley behind you was empty. The silence was suffocating, too quiet, too still. Art was out there somewhere, stalking you. Waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

You had to get away. But where could you go?

As you rounded the corner, you found yourself in a larger, more open street, dimly lit by flickering streetlights. There were no cars, no people. The isolation weighed heavy on you. A sense of helplessness crept in as you realized how truly alone you were.

You pressed forward, trying to focus on finding an escape. Your mind raced, scanning for any sign of a safe haven, a building, a store, anything. But every door you passed was locked, every window dark and empty.

Then you heard it.

A soft, metallic scraping sound.

Your heart leapt into your throat as you spun around, searching the shadows, but there was no one in sight. The sound had come from behind you, somewhere near the alley. You backed away slowly, your entire body trembling as you strained to listen.

The scraping grew louder, more deliberate. The familiar, sickening noise of metal on concrete sent a chill down your spine. You knew that sound. You’d heard it in the movies...

Art dragging his weapon across the ground, signaling his presence, savoring the fear it created.

He was close.

Panic surged through you as you turned and sprinted down the street, your breath ragged and your legs burning with the effort. You didn’t know where you were going, only that you had to keep moving, had to keep running. Every corner you turned felt like a trap, every shadow a potential hiding place for him.

The scraping noise followed you, slow and deliberate, echoing through the empty streets. He wasn’t rushing. He didn’t have to. He knew you were terrified, knew you couldn’t escape. This was part of his sick ritual, the anticipation, the chase, drawing out your fear until you were completely broken.

Your legs were beginning to give out, the adrenaline fading as exhaustion set in. You could barely think straight, the haze of terror clouding your mind. But you couldn’t stop. If you stopped, he’d catch you.

As you rounded another corner, you spotted something up ahead, an old, abandoned warehouse. The windows were shattered, the brick walls crumbling, but the door was slightly ajar. Without thinking, you ran toward it, your lungs burning with every breath.

You slipped inside, slamming the door shut behind you, and collapsed against the wall, gasping for air. The warehouse was dark and eerily quiet, the air thick with dust. You could barely see two feet in front of you, but at least you were hidden. For now.

You leaned back, trying to steady your breathing, trying to calm the frantic pounding of your heart. The scraping sound was gone, replaced by the oppressive silence of the empty building.

Maybe… just maybe, you had lost him.

But deep down, you knew better. Art didn’t give up that easily. He was out there, somewhere, watching you. Waiting for the perfect moment.

As your eyes adjusted to the darkness, you glanced around the warehouse, searching for any way to defend yourself. There was nothing—just piles of old, rusted metal and broken crates. Your mind raced, trying to come up with a plan. You couldn’t just sit here and wait for him to find you.

Suddenly, the sound of footsteps echoed from the other side of the room. Slow, deliberate footsteps.

Your blood ran cold.

He was here.

Your body tensed as you pressed yourself against the wall, trying to make yourself as small as possible. The footsteps grew louder, closer, and your heart threatened to burst out of your chest. You could hear the faint sound of something dragging across the floor, metal scraping against concrete.

He was toying with you. He knew exactly where you were.

Tears welled up in your eyes as the footsteps stopped, the room falling into an unbearable silence. The darkness felt suffocating, your own shallow breathing the only sound cutting through the tension.

You waited. Listened. Every second felt like an eternity.

Then, from the shadows, Art emerged.

His black-and-white figure loomed in the doorway, framed by the faint light from outside. His face was half-obscured by shadow, but that sickening grin was unmistakable. The blade in his hand gleamed faintly in the dim light, and his eyes were locked on you, filled with that same twisted glee.

Your heart pounded in your chest as he stepped forward, his movements slow and deliberate. He was in no rush. He knew you had nowhere to go.

“No… please…” you whispered, your voice barely audible, your body trembling uncontrollably.

Art’s grin widened as he raised a finger to his lips—shhhh.

Your breath hitched in your throat as he took another step closer, the blade glinting in his hand.

But just as you were sure he was going to strike, something unexpected happened.

A loud crash echoed from the far side of the warehouse, the sound of glass shattering. Both you and Art froze, your eyes darting toward the noise. For the first time, Art’s attention wasn’t fully on you. His head tilted slightly, as though he were listening for something.

Your pulse quickened. Was someone else here?

Art’s grin faltered ever so slightly as he glanced back at you, his black eyes narrowing with something like irritation. He took a step back, his grip on the blade tightening, but his attention was now divided.

It was a chance! an opportunity, no matter how small.

Without thinking, you scrambled to your feet and ran, your legs protesting with every step as you bolted toward the back of the warehouse. You heard Art let out a breathy, silent chuckle behind you, and the sound of his footsteps quickened...

The chase was on again.