The Beast Made of Ink

Chapter 8: The Hole

-Your P.O.V.-

You'd be lying if you said that you weren't regretting your life choices at the moment. Remember when you were grateful for the fact that you wore your F/C penguin printed pajama pants today to keep the bugs off your legs? Yeah, well right now, your legs were soaked in ink.

Apparently the valve in which controlled the ink pressure was... Somewhat broken. After turning the said valve, ink had immediately began spurting all over the floor. You were out of there before the black substance could touch your knees, and seeing as how the ink would now be at your waist by now if you were to have stayed, you couldn't hep but be a little grateful at how quickly you got out of there.

However, you weren't nearly as grateful for your pant situation.

With a grumble, you dragged your ink soaked legs back to that fucking switch room, not sparing the poor dead cartoon a glance in fear of crying all over again. Once in, you saw that the ink machine was up and running perfectly, at least according to the switch that is.

"Maybe I should go and check the actual machine, just to be safe." You thought to yourself with a satisfied nod as you began your walk to the ink machine.

You weren't sure why you had made the decision to turn on the ink machine. You just started doing it without thinking. Then again, you were a curious person. Usually not the gossipy "TELL ME YOUR SECRET!" sort of curious, but when things intrigued you, you were the type that needed answers. That would thoroughly explain your mystery/horror video game collection you have on your computer back at home. Would you believe it that mystery and horror games in fact make you sharper and more observant?

Growing up before Henry, you had taught yourself not to be scared of being hurt. Your fathers abuse usually got worse when you showed reactions, but when you hid those reactions, then he generally wouldn't hurt you as long due to lack of response. However, on the inside, you were always crying and screaming.

Even now, when you get scared, you just don't show it. No gasping, no screaming, no jolting, and minimal to no facial expressions. It was the fact that you felt like your life was on the line in the past that had in turn caused you to hide all traces of fear.

However, as a child, your fear was usually there, and the fear you felt was intense. It was just expertly hidden is all.

It was when you started playing video games that your control over your fear got better. You adjusted to being sneaked up on like never before, and you had learned how to be sneaky. Video games taught you many interesting skills, from picking locks, hacking safes, and much more. Not that you have used the safe hacking one, but you have however used the bobby pin trick multiple times at your apartment due to that broken lock on your bathroom door. If it weren't for the skills in which you have picked up from gaming, you couldn't even begin to imagine how many soiled pants you'd have.

"Obviously I can't control all my fear, but if I can have control over at least some of it, then that's good enough for me" You thought to yourself with an adjustment of your bag strap.

So far you haven't had to use any of the things that you had packed, the two waters still unopened, the granola bars untouched, your pepper spray still at its nearly full state that it has been at ever since that old lady wallet robbing incident (A month ago, some old bitch snatched your wallet from your purse and you had to chase her down), then finally your knife and flashlight, neither of which you have ever used.