Entry #12050104001305

ᴛᴉᴐᴋᴛøᴐᴋ

So there's no confusion, bold text is for Hoodie's dialogue and italicized text is for Maskie's dialogue

📼 📼 📼 📼 📼 📼

The forest was bright, and neither of the masked men were particularly comfortable with such a high level of visibility. They could see just fine in the dark; being in the light only meant their enemies could see them better. It provided no personal advantage to them.

Crouched down in the small red shack, Maskie knew Hoodie was staring at him, but what he was searching so desperately for, the other knew not. He was a little surprised when the other decided to speak, foregoing their usual types of communication. It didn't matter much to Maskie though. Speaking was a faster way of communicating, and if Hoodie was going to take the time to talk, he must have a lot to say.

Liars everywhere, Hoodie's voice, rough from being dormant for so long, rasped out.

I have not forgotten, Maskie replied, his voice not nearly as rough as Hoodie's, though still strained.

Hoodie's head cocked to the side slowly and one of his hands lowered to the floor before he crept forward on hands and knees. From Maskie's position on the floor, his injured leg to one side, leaving his legs open in a relaxed "V" shape, the masked man watched expectantly as Hoodie crept forward.

The white plastic of his mask was nearly touching the black fabric of Hoodie's before the other said in a quieter voice, Are you one of them?

A silent rage crept up Maskie's spine, liquid static bubbling beneath his skin at the accusation. Look closely and you will know.

Are you both of them?

Endangering truth receives death, Maskie warned, earning a quiet noise from Hoodie. His shoulders moved briefly in such a way that the other knew he was laughing silently. As quick as the movement had begun, it stopped. Hoodie's hand shot out, grabbing one of Maskie's wrists.

Tell us.

Maskie jerked his arm away.

The black masked cryptic sat back on his ankles as he reached into his jeans pocket, pulling forth a wadded up picture. He tossed the picture toward Maskie's leg as he quietly said, You have been keeping secrets.

Maskie remained frozen for a few seconds before he snatched up the picture and unfolded the thick, unusual paper. It was an image of him running through the forest, a passed out Jay on his back, limbs wrapped around him to hold the man in place.

Another wadded up picture was tossed at him, then another. The second photo was of Maskie laying in Tim's bed, Jay laying beside him and their fingers laced together. The third was of Maskie dragging Jay down the tunnel in Rosswood, that tall, horrific creature standing at the opposite end of the tunnel. The picture had a high contrast and part of it was distorted beyond recognition, but Maskie didn't need all the details to know what the photo was. He remembered.

He will lead me, Hoodie groaned as Maskie tilted his head up to look at the other, crumpling the photographs in his fists.

Be silent! Maskie suddenly snapped. One day you will understand, he tried to explain. That hooded moron couldn't see this his way; he could only see it the way he wanted to. He could only see the polaroids, high contrast, static, burning poison random endings centered excludes encountering stale every section.

'01001000 01100101 00100000 01101001 01110011 00100000 01101100 01111001 01101001 01101110 01100111,' Maskie growled out, his mind slipping more than it usually did when he managed to hold a conversation with Hoodie. The other seemed unphased by his outburst.