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

A New Player Enters

The catwalk groaned beneath your feet as you sprinted toward the far end, your mind racing, your heart hammering in your chest. Art was behind you, but the noise from the depths of the warehouse, whatever had caused that glass-shattering crash, seemed to hold his attention as much as you did now. It was unsettling to see him distracted, his focus split. He was always so singular in his sadistic games, but something had changed.

You could hear his footsteps behind you, quickening as he closed the distance. Panic surged through you, your body screaming at you to move faster, but your mind was already fixating on the noise. Who or what was out there? And why did it feel like you were no longer alone in this nightmare?

You reached the end of the catwalk and descended the narrow, rusted staircase. Below, the warehouse floor stretched out before you like a graveyard of twisted metal and broken machinery. Shadows loomed large, cast by the few flickering lights that still sputtered overhead.

Another crash rang out, louder this time, closer. It sounded like something heavy being pushed over, the groan of metal scraping against concrete. Whatever, or whoever, it was, it was coming toward you. The noise echoed through the warehouse, filling the silence that had once been suffocating.

Art stopped his pursuit for a moment, standing still at the top of the stairs, his head cocked to the side. His grin had faltered slightly, and for the first time, you saw a flicker of curiosity in his eyes, something different from the gleeful malice that usually fueled him.

You didn’t have much time. Your legs trembled as you made your way down the last few steps, your eyes darting around the dimly lit warehouse floor. The noises were coming from somewhere beyond the maze of machinery, in the far corner where the shadows were thickest.

Art, however, wasn’t looking at you anymore. His eyes were fixed on the source of the sound, and for a moment, you saw his grip tighten on the scalpel in his hand. It was almost like he was sizing up the new situation, trying to figure out what this unexpected intruder meant for his twisted little game.

And then, without warning, he moved.

But not toward you.

He bolted in the direction of the noise, moving with unnerving speed, his lanky figure weaving through the maze of broken machines and piles of debris. You stood frozen for a second, trying to process what was happening. He wasn’t chasing you anymore. He was chasing it.

Whatever was making the noise, it had become the new center of his attention.

Your breath caught in your throat as you realized you had an opening, an opportunity to escape. But instead of running, your legs remained rooted to the spot. Something kept you there, a morbid curiosity, perhaps, or maybe it was the strange connection you had moments earlier.

You had to see what was happening.

As quietly as you could, you followed Art, keeping a safe distance as he wove his way toward the source of the commotion. His footsteps were eerily quiet, his movements fluid and purposeful.

The noise grew louder, more frantic. You could hear metal clanging, and what sounded like footsteps, human footsteps, shuffling through the debris. Someone was in the warehouse with you, someone who hadn’t been there before.

And then you saw them.

In the far corner of the warehouse, beyond the maze of machinery, stood a figure, a man, disheveled and panicked, holding what looked like a crowbar. He was dressed in a torn jacket, his face pale and streaked with dirt, his eyes wide with fear. He must have been a drifter, or maybe someone who had wandered into the wrong place at the wrong time. He was muttering to himself, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he knocked over crates and boxes in his frantic search for an exit.

Art’s eyes lit up with amusement, that predatory grin returning in full force as he zeroed in on the man. He was toying with him, just like he had toyed with you. But now, it seemed, you were no longer the primary target.

The man spun around as he heard Art approach, his grip tightening on the crowbar. “Stay back! I swear, I’ll-”

His voice broke off into a strangled gasp as he caught sight of Art’s grinning face emerging from the shadows. The man stumbled backward, his eyes widening in terror. “What the hell-?”

Art didn’t give him a chance to finish. He lunged forward, moving with an unnatural speed, his scalpel flashing in the dim light. The man swung the crowbar wildly, but Art ducked beneath it with ease, his movements almost playful, like a predator toying with its prey before going in for the kill.

For a moment, you thought about running, about leaving the warehouse entirely while Art was distracted. But something made you stay. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from the scene unfolding in front of you. There was something mesmerizing about the way Art moved, the way he played with his victims.

The man swung the crowbar again, his movements desperate and panicked, but Art was always a step ahead, dodging with ease, his silent laughter filling the air. And then, in one swift motion, Art lashed out, slashing the man’s arm with the scalpel. Blood sprayed across the floor as the man let out a howl of pain, dropping the crowbar and clutching his wounded arm.

Art’s grin widened, his eyes gleaming with delight as he stepped closer, ready to finish his twisted work.

But then, something unexpected happened.

The man, bleeding and desperate, lunged forward, grabbing a large piece of broken metal from the floor. He swung it wildly, catching Art off guard and slamming it into his side with a sickening thud. Art staggered backward, his grin faltering as he clutched his side, clearly injured.

You gasped, shocked that someone had actually managed to hurt him.

Art’s eyes darkened, his playful demeanor vanishing in an instant. He straightened up, his grin twisting into something far more sinister. For the first time, there was a flicker of rage in his expression.

The man, still clutching his arm, scrambled to his feet and bolted toward the nearest exit, his footsteps echoing through the warehouse.

Art didn’t hesitate. He gave chase immediately, his movements more aggressive, more deadly than before. He wasn’t playing anymore. This wasn’t part of the game.

This was the kill.

You stood frozen, watching as the two of them disappeared into the shadows, their footsteps fading into the distance. The warehouse fell silent again, the eerie quiet settling over you like a heavy fog.

For the first time since this nightmare began, you weren’t sure who would come out on top. Art had been hurt. But the man was no match for him, not really.

The game had changed, and you weren’t sure what that meant for you.