Nowhere (1p!HetaOni x Gender Neutral!Reader x 2p!HetaOni)

THree PaThs - PaRt 4

Warning: this fanfiction will have many triggers as it continues. Such as mentions of suicide, descriptions of suicide, mentions of domestic abuse, body harm, foul language, etc. If any of these do trigger you, I wouldn't recommend reading any further than the actual gameplay. I don't condone anything in this book that displays harmful behaviour, and I don't want anyone to spiral into an episode from my writing. Therefore, please be cautious and warry when deciding whether to continue. But if you are a masochist and enjoy angst and the behaviour of Second Players and First Players, then continue by all means!

【 D4y 2, Curr3n7 Tim3 L00p - 4lph4 & (F/n) 】

You wake up on your knees, your eyes open wide. You're hot and sticky, heart in your throat. You slowly blink as you look around. It's that room from your dream. So by extension, this must be a dream too. It's changed slightly, with big wooden crates are piled up on the edge of the room where the throne used to be. A chill runs up your spine as you look around, shaking your head. This room feels even more foreboding than before.

"Yo, Beta." Your head snaps toward the voice. Alpha is leaning against the wall; his white shirt pushed up. His arms are littered in scars, pale lines running across each inch of skin as he crosses his arms over his chest. His gaze is unwavering, but in mild curiosity rather than a blank uninterested stare as he peers down at you. You scramble away on your behind, adding to the already twenty feet gap, and stare at him in horror. It's all flooding back to you. how he taunted you, ordered you around and killed you! maybe the adrenaline from the piano room is still coursing through your body but you feel dark energy brewing.

"You-You shot me!" You yell. He glares at you before shifting forward. His movements are slow and precise; taking agonisingly slow steps towards you, his shoes hitting the cobblestone with a thump.

"Are you shouting at me?" Alpha asks, eyebrows raised in disbelief. It's not even in an angry tone, yet you cast your gaze to the floor. "It's your dream. You wanted me to shoot you." You scowl at the ground before rising off the floor. The room wobbles, feet shifting to spread your weight. You take a moment, fists tightening as you raise your gaze, face blank of any expression.

"No," You say. Alpha rolls his eyes at your pathetic attempt to look strong. At least it is a transformation he wants; it would be a waste if you backtracked and turned to your former self. All this effort he put in, and finally the results he wants.

"So... When are you going to kill them? And where are the rest of my weapons?" He asks, fingers idly pulling at his cuff, refolding it neatly. You raise a brow, confused. He seems more calm, almost approachable as he looks away from his cuff. He folds his arms so his fingers curl around his biceps, a simmer of a smile playing on his lips. The question sinks in.

"Kill them? Weapons?" You repeat, eyebrows creasing. "They're my friends. I'm not killing any of them." You scrunch up your face in disgust, body squaring up. "What have you even got against them so badly that you want them gone?" It is a reasonable question when you think it through, yet his countenance changes immediately.

"They're not your friends." He glowers, taking a quick step that makes you jump back. "If it were up to me, I wouldn't let you see them. You should understand why they can't have friends like you, or what they have done to others. The people they have ruined. They are so selfish. What makes you think they're not the same when it comes down to you?" Alpha stops a couple of paces before you. His face is set in a firm frown, a prominent crease on his forehead. "They only care about their own people."

"Because-" He cuts you off, raising his voice.

"No." He jabs his finger in your face. "You aren't hearing me." The voice is like gravel, your entire body breaking out in goosebumps. His head tilts down, glowering. You freeze, unsure if his anger is aimed at you or the thought of the personifications. "This is your fault, anyway." He lowers his arm, lifting his head. He looks down his nose at you, his wicked smile spreading on his face as he holds his hands behind his back, beginning to pace around you.