Trapped In Here, With You (Sebastian Solace X Reader)

Forget me not 🌀🩸

:) enjoy. No warning.

You awake on the cold metal floor of the facility, still shrouded in chilling darkness, with nothing but the distant sounds of a CandleBrute to remind you of your depraved circumstances. The room must be large, for the reverberations bounce along metal walls and pipes, each soundwave an assault to your ears. Your eyes squint in the darkness, and mild sensory offense.

"I should head back", you tell yourself, though doubting the hypothetical worries Sebastian might have to your whereabouts. You can't quite fathom that he might concern himself with such a matter. Nevertheless, you squint your eyes at the artificial night, using the point of your tail as a makeshift walking stick to feel for the vents on the ground.

The light of a landmine by the door catches your gaze, and you crawl over to it to disarm the explosive before opening the door. The glow from the overhead lamps were welcome to you. . .

But then, the system shuts down.

The rooms run awry with red illumination, and all door mechanisms are unable to remain closed.

"Once you retrieve the crystal, all power in the Blacksite will shut down, emergency power will restore shortly," the intercom relay you heard time and time before your timely demise recalls in your mind, "make it to the dock, and we'll be able to send a submarine your way, which means less walking for you."

Someone got the crystal.

"Fuck." Maybe you can stop them. "Fuck." Can you get through the vents in time? "God fucking damn it, I just defended you."

You find a vent and follow the direction of the Anglers to the Ridge, frantic in speed, and scratching the insides without a doubt by the way you haul yourself around each bend. You hear hisses from broken pipes, you hear the scream of Pinkie, you hear the sound of doors opening and lockers accompanying it.

Once out the vents, you skulk along the floor, no fear that the misshapen fish will harm you.

You're one of them, after all; a monster.

You sneak around, staying close to the ground, waiting, listening for that Expendable who got too lucky. Perhaps too cocky. "Just like us." You said. How foolish.

The hushed hum you utter bounces off the walls, you crane your ears to hear where it lands. So you try again, a little louder, a little higher, and their heartbeat quickens. Thick and heavy and rapid against the metal of a locker, dread coats their rushed breath, and fear chills their bones.

Silence. Are they safe? Did you leave? They contemplate moving forward, unaware that you lurk by the door for them in the darkness.

But a blaring siren disoriented you. Mind numbing, skull piercing, pain inducing. You try as you might but your hands do nothing to cover the noise or shield you from the auditory intrusion. Vaguely, you register the door open and the Expendable run on. Vaguely, you register a grating screech in the background that you can't place, but it drives you mad. It's organic and inorganic at the same time, the work of a puppet maker who sewed flesh with tendons and bones with hair, the work of an omnipotent being that crafted lungs made of sand so that they shatter like glass, the work of a cruel hand that finds joy in the crack of cartilage and the cease of heartbeats.

Oh, the work of a needle and a button is at play.

You tried to catch up to them, but the splitting headache makes you stumble on the concrete, and dry heave. Your eyes hurt. Everything is too bright, the colors are loud, the sound is saturated, everything hurts. You can taste the acid of your empty stomach, you can feel the thumps of footsteps running down the corridor. Boots. Boots. Boots. One two three, five nine ten. Turn corner, turn corner, hide, run run run run run run run run run run. The blood in your mouth is putrid, one two three, one two ten, the prisoner runs with heart in hand and freedom in chains.