Broken (Ticcimask, Masky's Side)

Chapter 8 - Training time

"S-so, w-when are we going to s-start training?" Toby asks.

"We may as well start now. Do you have your weapons with you?" I ask.

"N-no, i-ill go get them," he says and rushes off. I wait a bit for him to return, and he comes back with a hatchet in each hand. I make a brief motion for him to follow me as I walk off into the woods.

I don't even need to do an evaluation on Toby to tell he is completely lacking any form of stealth. With every step Toby takes he breaks twigs with heavy steps. It's starting to get on my nerves having to listen to his careless stomping. He's not even doing anything to me directly and he's setting me on edge. Something about this feels eerily familiar, but I refuse to acknowledge the reason why.

After several long minutes of being subjected to Toby's thunderous footsteps, we arrive at the training ground, a small clearing with a tool shed full of basic training supplies and weapons. It wasn't much, but it was a good place for training and practicing. I stop in the middle and turn to face Toby.

"Walk from one end of this clearing to the other as quietly as possible," I say.

"h-huh, w-why would I do t-that?" Toby asks.

"If you want to survive as a proxy you need to learn to walk quietly . . . and not question orders," I say. He nods in understanding, and he walks slowly from end to another. He still broke every twig in his path under his feet. After one successful lap, he stops and looks at me like a puppy looking for their owners approval.

"Do it again, but this time walk more on the heel of your foot," I say. He did it again as I told him to. He struggled to understand my directions at first, but he got the hang of it after a bit. He still stepped on every stick, but his steps weren't as heavy or careless this time. He looked over at me again when he completed another lap.

"Again, but don't step on any sticks this time," I say. He obediently did as told. Again, he struggled at first but caught on quickly. He made drastically less noise now, and by the end of the lap he wasn't stepping on any twigs. He stopped and looked at me for further instruction and approval again.

"Do it again," I say. He nods and does just as I instructed. I silently move to lean against a nearby tree to watch him. He finished his lap, and stopped to get my next instruction. I simply made an 'again' motion, and he did as directed. Each time he got a little bit a better. I would give him some criticism every now and then.

He seemed to get a bit frustrated with my constant criticism, but I know if he doesn't get this he won't last a single day. Stealth is absolutely crucial for any creepypasta to learn. One wrong move during a mission could put the entire mansion at risk and even lead to death. This is even more true on the high-risk jobs given to proxies.

Thankfully, he seemed to be learning pretty fast. Honestly, I was a bit impressed and pleasantly surprised with just how fast he was improving and learning. He wasn't perfect by any means, but it was a night and day difference from where he started. He even seemed to have figured out on his own how to account for his twitches and subtle changes in terrain.

I decided Toby had had enough training when he started complaining about being tired and hungry, and we both went back to the mansion. I grabbed a light lunch and sat in the living room to get some of my work done, and Toby went off to do who knows what.

I worked quietly until Toby came running up to me. I was immediately suspicious of the mischievous gleam in his eye.

"H-hey, Masky?" he asked poking me.

"What?" I said.

"H-hey Masky, h-hey Masky, hey M-masky? " he repeated over and over poking me each time. I tried swatting his hand away to stop him, but it did nothing. I never really liked people poking me, so this just hit all the wrong triggers with me.

After what felt like the hundredth time I snapped and yell, "WHAT COULD YOU POSSIBLY WANT, TOBY!?"

"N-nothing," he said running off laughing. I shook my head in annoyance.

"He is going to get himself killed one day," I said to myself.

"Didn't you say that about a certain script manager once too?" Hoodie asked, standing in front of me.