Can't Say

Chapter 26

      The next two days were intriguing, to say the least. You spent the first day stalking BEN and asking your fellow Proxies about him. Masky and Hoodie were all for helping you torture the elf-like kid, seeing as how they had endured similar abuse in the past. Unfortunately, they wouldn't do more than give advice, saying that a Proxy has to learn to take care of themselves while in the mansion. “The very hint that we're working together against the Creepypastas, and we'll be killed,” Masky said. “I want to get out of this alive, if I can help it.”
      Toby wasn't much help. He just laughed at your outlandish plan, knowing that BEN wasn't an easy target. “I've t-tried getting my rev-venge on B-BEN b-before. It didn't g-go well,” then he waved and walked away with a look of silent lucky wishes. This removed what confidence you had, but the desire to impress Slenderman kept that tiny flame burning.
      You wanted to become a strong Proxy – needed to.
      Flipping through your pocket notepad, you refreshed over the advice Hoodie and Masky gave you. BEN never bathed, though he only took showers - for whatever reason a ghost would need to. BEN has an obsession with the Majora's Mask game. He never sleeps, on account that he's a ghost. BEN can travel through electronics and the internet, allowing the access of data from within. He avoids large bodies of water.
      Unless there was some sort of trick up the boy's sleeve, you schemed a masterful plan with what information you had. It would take longer to get your revenge than you had hoped, but it would all be worth it, if you were successful. 
      The second day, you hid up in your room with a notebook, sketchpad, and plenty of pencils and erasers. From the stalking that you did the day before, you noticed that there was only one bathroom that BEN used, and, just like the other ones, there was a deep bathtub with a shower head. You casually surveyed all surrounding halls and rooms for any type of electronics, wires, and outlets, marking them on your sketched-out map. In your notebook, you plotted out times to each step you would need to take without getting caught by BEN. Most would be easy, except one particular step: get the game out of the console. You would have to do more stalking to find a rhythm in BEN's habits.
      Each time you took a break from your plotting and drafting, you made a point to pass by the living room to see if BEN was still there. Most of the time, he was, save for times in the bathroom or kitchen. You jotted down his average times spent anywhere he went – even how fast he moved at a relaxed pace. There was no room for mistakes in this personal mission of yours.
      At one point, while you were deeply involved with your thoughts in your bedroom, Slenderman gave you a fright from his typically abrupt appearance. You weren't sure how long he had been behind you, but when his deep voice broke the silence in your room, you were sure your heart jumped into your throat.
      “Meticulous planning, I see,” your master complimented. “I look forward to witnessing it unfold.” Before you could respond, finally catching your breath, Slenderman disappeared. He probably scared you on purpose, sensing that your nerves were high-strung. God forbid that BEN find out about your little scheme.
      When you weren't plotting and drafting your ultimate revenge against BEN, you exercised with your team. It was important to keep in shape between missions, so they made sure you were involved with their routine; your lack of physical abilities was a liability to them. 
      Mornings consisted of a five-mile jog, then one-yard sprints, and finally hurdles. The boys pushed you to your limits, making your lungs burn fiercely, but you reminded yourself of its importance. While Masky and Hoodie were more encouraging, Toby enjoyed tossing sassy comments of how his dead parents could run better than you.
      After lunch, and some time for digestion, it was time for weightlifting. Most of it had to do with carrying heavy objects, rather than the standard forms of exercise you would see in a gym. You would have to carry bricks, logs, and weighted dummies from point A to point B. There were obstacles and turns to overcome, too. The boys said it was to prepare you for missions, and the obstacles were different each day; repetition would only prepare you for a short list of real occurrences.
      Post-dinner exercises were the most peculiar. Never would you have imagined Proxies willingly do yoga, of all things. They explained that it would help stretch the muscles and tendons, along with increase balance. Despite how easy yoga always sounded, you found yourself sweating bullets by the end of the sessions. How many times had you showered each day? Still, you felt the burn in your muscles – a good burn that helped you feel confident about your physique. You couldn't wait to see how you would look after a few months of this routine!
      On day three, after a rigorous exercise following lunch, you happened by that odd new Creepypasta, Smoke. He wasn't hard to notice, even when you couldn't see him, thanks to his passive odor. He was in the lobby again, waiting on Slenderman, when you came down the hall from the back of the mansion. Your mask was askew on your face, your hair a mess, and your clothes dusted with leaves and soil. 
      “Hey,” you tried to be friendly toward the Creepypasta, seeing as he was more than a one-time visitor. All you received was a slight turn of the head in your direction; whether there was a friendly or threatening expression, you couldn't tell, thanks to his mask. The awkward silence made you nervous, making you shift in your discomfort. “Um,” you tried to make conversation, “So you're part of Slenderman's faction, huh? He was talking about how we needed to create closer bonds to the other Creepypastas – especially the Watchers.”
      Your heard an audible click at the top of the staircase, pulling your attention away from Smoke's mysterious form. Your eyes rested upon Slenderman, who visibly held that strange device again, then slipped it into his coat pocket. “Welcome back, Smoke. I assume you were successful?”
      Expecting a response from the silent being, you whipped your head back around to see what Smoke's response would be. You saw him hold up a small, soggy bag of – something – as an offering to your master.
      “It's not easy bringing back proof, you know,” Smoke remarked. He watched Slenderman descend from the staircase, who then gently plucked the bag from the shorter being's cloudy hand.
      As Slenderman opened the bag to inspect its contents, he nonchalantly responded, “Which is why I chose them as your targets. It would be far more trouble to bring back false evidence.” He reached into the bag and pulled out a single lump of glowing coal.
      No; not coal. It slowly pulsed at a gradually weakening rate. Was that a heart?
      You watched in silence, not wanting to be shooed away.
      Smoke shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and leaned on one leg against the wall behind him. His hips tilted to one side as he tried to ease himself into a rested position. “I already told you: I don't need any more enemies as it is. You and your kind may negatively affect me, but at least you found a way to null it when I'm around. That, and Zalgoids have never given me a reason to trust them.” Smoke shrugged, trying to act casual in the wake of Slenderman.
      “I appreciate your participation, Smoke,” your master put away the darkening coal-heart and tied the bag closed. “You have earned my trust, simultaneously earning the trust of my family. I hope that through this, you will soon become capable of trusting us, as well.
      “If you so happen to require our aid, I will gladly make the necessary arrangements.” Slenderman gripped the bag at his side, staring at Smoke as he waited for some sort of response.
      There was a small, nearly unnoticeable shift of Smoke's head, turning in your direction. He held it for a few moments, seemingly pondering over your master's offer. “Not a Proxy,” he firmly stated. “They have your,” Smoke paused, choosing his word for precision, “smell.”
      An awkward smirk contorted your face, making you look away in hopes that Smoke wouldn't see you. How could he smell anything else with the choking odor that he produced? The foyer was starting to look like some sort of garage suicide.
      “Very well,” Slenderman accepted his client's terms. “I will inform my current allies of your involvement.” To this, Smoke nodded and straightened himself out, moving toward the large mansion door. He gave your master a firm nod, opened the door, and stepped out. Slenderman watched patiently, satisfied when the door clicked shut. “He has a heightened sensitivity to the passive frequencies of Slender-beings,” your tall master faced you. “The disruptor collected from Gerald Macky's residence proved useful in my endeavors to gain new allies,” he pulled out the strange device from earlier, showing you a metal box with a single red switch on one side. To you, the device was large enough to fit in both of your hands, but Slenderman held it in his palm as though it was a tiny thing.
      You tilted your head up, looking between your master and the device, “But doesn't it hurt you when it's on?” 
      Slenderman flipped the switch a couple of times, “It simply nullifies my effects up to a certain range; however, before my alterations on this one, it seemed to repel my entire self upon entering its proximity.” He slipped it back into his coat pocket, not caring if you were still examining the device. Without another word, he stepped away and disappeared, slender-walking to a place unknown to you.
      Now that you were left alone again, you gathered your thoughts, processing the information you had received. It soon occurred to you that you had yet to clean up after exercises. Sighing, you climbed the staircase to freshen up and return to your scheming against BEN.