When Violence Ensues: Slenderverse Short Stories.

Story One: Unlucky.

Vincent sighed as he sat on the floor in the centre of the room, deep in thought. What was he supposed to do now? He was currently locked in this room. Narrowing his eyes and furrowing his brow, Vincent brought up his hand and rubbed his forehead. HABIT probably knocked him out and brought him here. There was a note beside him that seemed quickly written. The note had scribbled, uneven scrawls on it, written with purple sharpie. It read, "I'VE GONE OUT BUT I'LL BE BACK. DON'T WORRY TOO MUCH ABOUT ME."

What was that supposed to mean? The male hitched up his glasses as he heaved a sigh and shifted in his position, reading the note again and turning it over just in case there was some sort of riddle on the back. It wouldn't be unlike HABIT, after all.

After what felt like an hour, footsteps sounded from outside of the door. Then, a shuffling-like noise could be heard and then a blood-chilling groan of pain. Vincent winced and  pulled himself to his feet, quickly but quietly reaching over and grabbing his camera. Turning it on and beginning to record, the male flinched as HABIT laughed somewhere in the house. It seemed too close for comfort. Who was the person that groaned in pain?

It was always something with this guy. Did HABIT have any chill? Vincent tried to open the door, only to remember that it was locked. Cursing under his breath, he shook his head and then jolted back as HABIT's voice rung out, "OOPS, SORRY VINNIE, FORGOT YOU WERE LOCKED IN LIKE A CAGED ANIMAL. COME ON OUT." As the bedroom door was unlocked and opened.

Vincent stepped back further as the door swung open. The dark haired male's eyes snapped open in shock and horror at the sight that was revealed in front of him. A pale, tired-looking man that was dressed in a white shirt with red braces attached to his trousers was lying in a bloodied heap on the ground of the hall, breathing in a shallow and gasping manner. Turning his gaze from the injured male, Vincent glanced at HABIT, whom of which obviously inflicted the damage on the man, "HABIT, who is this?" He questioned, breath hitching in his throat. When HABIT was in his worked-up state, he was more volatile than usual. The entity gave a lazy grin,

"WELL, VIN. THIS HERE'S PATRICK, HE'S AN ASSHOLE." He exclaimed in response, giving a childish shrug of his shoulders before lashing out and kicking Patrick in the ribs, earning a pained whimper from the broken man. Vincent's eyes narrowed slightly, in confusion. He took a breath,

"Why are you hurting him?" He asked in, what he hoped, was a level-sounding voice. HABIT raised an eyebrow,

"WHY DO YOU WANT TO KNOW? LET'S JUST SAY HE'S HAD THIS COMING TO HIM FOR QUITE A LONG TIME. DON'T WORRY, VINNIE!" HABIT insisted, his idle grin turning more sinister than before as he threw his hands around in a wild gesture. How could he not worry? This never ended well, for anyone for that matter.

Patrick coughed violently, spitting little droplets of blood as he tried to haul himself up off of the ground. HABIT sneered, grin dropping from his lips almost as quick as it got there, "SPITTING IS RUDE." He hissed, bringing up his foot and landing another powerful kick to Patrick's back, causing the bloodied male to cry out in agony as he crashed back to the ground. He was so weak. Vincent looked away, flinching almost as if he felt it.

He remembered what it was like to be on the receiving end of the abuse, it wasn't exactly something he wished to remember. It was a sickening memory, Vincent thought as he observed Patrick writhing on the ground in obvious pain. He couldn't do anything to help the male. He was powerless.

Was this HABIT's fucked up way of keeping him obedient? Not like he'd do anything that HABIT didn't know about or approve of in the first place. Vince was terrified of him. Who wouldn't be? Because of the inhuman entity, so many people had been hurt or killed. The only reason HABIT hadn't ended him yet was because he was, 'The Guardian.' HABIT had a plan for him, and the livid male was dreading to know what it was.

HABIT seemed to watch with amusement at Patrick's agony and Vincent's discomfort. Was this funny? Well, of course HABIT would find it hilarious. The thing had fewer morals than the amount of friends Vincent had left.

Hands quivering as he held the camera, the dark haired male shifted and filmed Patrick writhing in torment, before flicking the camera to HABIT and back. He knew this was what HABIT wanted him to do, because it was the same each time. Every single time.

"YOU HAVEN'T ASKED THE QUESTION YET," HABIT stated, as if he was expecting Vince to speak. Caught off guard, the camera man balked slightly,

"What question, HABIT?" He replied, curious. Yet, a part of him dreaded what was coming next. As the entity gave a little grin and tilt of his head, Vincent's dread grew,

"DON'T YOU RECOGNISE LIL PATRICK HERE? I THOUGHT YOU WERE OBSERVANT, VINNIE." The entity possessing Evan's body chuckled. Well, he owned Evan's body now, practically. It was probably safe to assume that Evan wasn't coming back anytime soon.

Vincent narrowed his eyes in confusion as he looked from HABIT to the bloodied heap on the floor of the hall. Opening his mouth to speak, he was cut short by the realisation. Oh no. Vince's eyes snapped open in apprehension, which earned an amused chuckle from HABIT,

"SEE VIN? I KNEW YOU WERE GOOD AT PIECING THINGS TOGETHER."

"HABIT, why? Why are you torturing Patrick? You've already killed-"

"Shaun." A broken voice murmured, "He already killed Shaun." Patrick lifted himself up and propped himself against the wall, clutching his torso as if trying to stay all in one piece, "He was Michael's brother-"

"DID I TELL YOU THAT YOU COULD SPEAK, SHITHEAD?" HABIT questioned, "BESIDES, NOT LIKE YOU GAVE A SHIT ABOUT SHAUN ANYWAY. LIKE YOU SAID, HE WAS MICHAEL'S BROTHER."

Vincent watched the two, remembering something HABIT had said to Shaun before he had killed him.

"HE'S A SOCIOPATH, EXCEPT THAT'S A HUMAN WORD. HE AIN'T HUMAN."

Was Patrick an entity too? How many of them were there? HABIT seemed to hate every one of them except Firebrand. Even then, that was because Firebrand had mutual interests. Vincent wondered why Patrick was now on the recieving end of the abuse. As far as Vincent knew, all Patrick seemed to do was protect Michael from all of this. The dark haired man reached up and readjusted his glasses before flicking the camera back to HABIT, "I'm sorry, I don't quite-"

"VIN, TRUST ME WHEN I TELL YOU THAT IT'S PROBABLY BETTER YOU DON'T KNOW RIGHT NOW. CAN YOU TRUST ME ON THIS ONE?" HABIT interuppted, trying to appear solemn and somewhat calm. Vinnie knew better than that by this stage in the game,

"Well, no, but I guess if you don't want to talk about it, that's fine." He responded, earning an amused grin from the evil being.

"GOOD." HABIT stated, as he watched Patrick lean heavily against the wall just opposite from Vincent. At this close of a view, the camera-weilding man could see the extent of the injured entity's wounds. The bruises, the open gashes and drying blood that caused his clothing to stick to him like a sickeningly gloopy form of glue.

Something told Vincent that those wounds wouldn't be the last, either, as he watched HABIT reach out and grab Patrick by the back of his bloodied shirt collar. The violent entity gave a murderous grin, " I DON'T THINK YOU'LL WANT TO SEE THIS." He spoke, malicious intent dripping from his voice as he shoved the afflicted and weak Patrick in the direction towards the 'Kill Room,' as the viewers on the internet, and HABIT,  had named it. Vincent grimaced, not uttering a word as HABIT laughed,

"YOU GET THE NIGHT OFF."