Symbol of Terror

2.

Wade groggily looked up at a gray ceiling, blinking a few times to adjust to being awake. Turning his head, streams of light fell in through gaps in a boarded up window. Feeling energized again, he wondered how long he'd been out, and he got up to look around to find out where he'd found himself laying on his back on a ripped, old carpet. He was in a house, a bedroom, as a rotted mattress and frame lay in a corner. His shadow on the floor tore the few slivers of white light into pieces. As he observed the dwelling, he wondered what could make someone have an entire room devoted to shades of gray. He peered at the boards on the window, which were gray as well. Raising an eyebrow at the curious planks, he looked at his hands.

The unfortunate find was that they were gray too, as well as his entire person. The whole place, including himself, was in black and white. Even the sun leaking in was just a bleak white, no traces of yellow.

Either my vision is royally messed up, or I don't think we're in Kansas anymore... Wade thought, chuckling to himself at the Wizard of Oz reference. At least he managed to dig up some humor to cheer himself from the depressing atmosphere.

He went to the door of the room, creaking it open. The dark gray hallway lay before him, a stairway rail at the very end, branching off to the right. Walking down the hall, he noticed a picture on the wall. It was an odd picture, all black except for two solid orange eyes. The tiny splash of color was relieving to him, and he sighed quietly in adoration of the color he wasn't all that fond of normally. He moved on to the stairs, which squeaked as he stepped on them, and the handrail left a large splinter of wood in his hand, which he worked out a second later. Looking around, the front door with a boarded window was in front of him, to his left was another dark hallway, and to his right was a living area of some sort.

He went to his right, into the bright living area. The large window wasn't boarded, thus letting more light in than any room he'd been in so far. The couch and plush chairs were ratty, and the coffee table was lopsided, but it still felt like a comfortable space. Two more grayscale paintings were on the wall, one of flowers and one of a woman.

"Humph," Wade muttered with a follow up thought of How cute. He saw that around the corner on the right, past the dining room with one blocked window and one open one, was a corner of a tiled floor, which upon moving towards it was a kitchen. Nothing else in the room caught Wade's attention like the recognizable Mark, facing a half-boarded window above a sink. "Mark..?"

"Hi, Wade," he said in a melancholy tone. Had the gray world depressed him? Wade blinked at him.

"Are you okay?"

"Ye-yeah, I'm fine, Wade," he sounded apprehensive.

"Sure..." Wade said doubtfully, walking closer to Mark, all in grayscale as well.

"Stop."

Wade paused, a few feet behind Mark.

"Stay there," he said.

"Why--"

"Don't even question me," Mark clenched his fists, voice low, dramatic, and dripping a silent fury. Wade cringed inwardly, then Mark loosened his form and shook his head. "I'm sorry... didn't mean to... wish you didn't have to hear that."

"Mark, it's alright," Wade said after a delay, still thinking of how he had responded.

"No, it's not, it's so much worse," He put his hands on the countertop edge of the sink, leaning over it. "It's worse!" A harsh crack and a sudden arm movement from Mark made Wade jump back in fear. He shielded himself with his arms momentarily before looking back at Mark. Eyes wandering from the man in the black hoodie, he saw that the wall to the right had many splotchy black stains on it, looking like mold. "Wade..."

Wade looked back at Mark, straightened up and looking at the wall he had glanced at. He turned around to look at Wade, scowling menacingly. Wade stared in silence when his fiercely yellow eyes narrowed.

"You moved." he said matter-of-factly, crossing his arms.

"What of it?" Wade answered.

"You didn't follow orders," Mark growled, pacing achingly slow towards a confused Wade, who was now backing up just as slowly.

"What is wrong with you?"

"Go back to your room, Wade. I put you there for reasons."

"What are you thinking!"

"GO, WADE!" Mark charged at him, Wade turning to run, but tripped over the coffee table. Scrambling upright, a rock with an oddly sharp edge was thrown at his shoulder as he turned to go up the stairs, Mark close behind. Wade ran as quickly as he could up the stairs and to the room he woke up in, using the lock on the knob to be sure Mark wasn't able to get to him. He put his back to the door, sliding down to the floor.

"The heck was that..." Wade said, panting and slightly frightened. He closed his eyes for a second. Something large banged up against the door-- making him jump again-- and slid down the same way he did, sending a chill down his spine.

"Wade," Mark's voice came from the other side, "I am so sorry if you're hurt. Antimonos acts up when it sees people."

"Can I trust you?" Wade hated to hear those words coming out of his mouth without thinking. It was silent.

"Not when you're in eyeshot, no, but right now, yes. This is Mark..." he paused to breathe in, "Fischbach, your friend, speaking to you right now."

"Can you make Anti-whoever stop?"

"Not by myself. There's a lighter under the bed in there, I need you to burn the symbol it tattooed on me. It's on my chest, my sternum, and it looks like an 'S.' You need to catch me by surprise to do it so it doesn't kill you."

"Okay. Are Bob and Aaron here?"

"Yeah, they're in that dark hall down the stairs and to the left, first and second doors. Can't even believe how Antimonos has them strung up."

"What?"

"I need to go. Stay in here, it's mad now, and I need to check on the other guys."

"Huh? Wait, Mark--" Wade began, but realized the footsteps down the hallway meant he had left. He sighed, confused and scared for his friends. He realized he was a little hungry, but seeing as leaving the room possibly meant death by some psychotic thing in Mark's body, he groaned. He doubted a house in this state of disrepair would have any food, anyways. Getting up, he went to retrieve the lighter from under the bed, which was a venture that ended in his arm covered in rust and gunk, and sat down on the uncomfortable bed.

Today is gonna be a long day, he thought, putting the lighter in his pocket and examining the ornate wallpaper.