Tear In My Heart (COMPLETE)

Chapter One

Sometimes You Gott Bleed To Know,

That You're Alive And Have a Soul!

But It Takes Someone To Come Around,

And Show You How --

Timothy Wright -- or Masky, as he was so joyfully called among the residents of the household upon first meeting newer residents -- was never one for good luck. That was why he was here in the first place; having never truly avenged his fallen friends and, in the end, succumbing to the Operator's wims shortly after his final visit with Jessica. He could only hope she was still out there somewhere, doing alright and not caught up in the midst of it like she had previously been. At least now, he was doing it alone without worry of harming his comrades again. Or, so he had originally thought.

Masky had woken up in one of the many abandoned buildings he had often called home, bones sore from sleeping on hard concrete as he tried to stretch them -- only to pause, body becoming flush against the wall behind him as he stared, wide eyed beneath his mask, at the figure with the mustard colored hoodie that stood not a few feet away; squatting down with its arms slung over its legs as it watched over him curiously. How long had it -- he been there? Had he forgotten to take his meds again? No, he was sure he had. So why did this hallucination seem so real ?

"I thought I told you to go away ," the masked man practically ordered, using the wall to slide up to his feet.

Although he believed the figure before him to be another illusion, he couldn't help but at least talk to it. They never seemed to react regardless of whether he spoke to it or not, whether he threatened it or threw objects that phased right through its body; they always simply sat or stood and stared, mocking him. Reminding him of how he killed his best friend and once crush by shoving him out of a window too high to assure that he would live. He deserved it, really; all of it. Perhaps even as much as Alex did, as at least Alex was dead. Tim, however, had to live through this pain. Always had to remember the events that had transpired and Jay and Brian and those damned tapes.

The figure didn't move away even as he inched away from its presence, red eyes still watching him closely as he moved to leave. It was unnerving, really.

"You're an idiot," Masky grumbling, turning to leave with the knowledge that the figure would disappear likely before he even left the building (he never stopped to check this; oftentimes simply leaving only to find himself alone once he exited his hiding spot and not knowing when exactly the hallucination ended and reality began) --

-- yet his heart stopped as he heard movement behind him, then footsteps. He turned on his heel then, only to find that the figure had indeed begun to follow him. It was a mere four or five feet away, yet looking at him quizzically as he stared back. Masky did his best not to seem put off by how odd this one was acting. They never moved like this. How strange.

"Didn't you hear me?" Masky hissed now, shoulders square as if ready to fight off his demon with his bare hands. "I said it's time for you to scram to whatever crevice of my brain you came out of, yeah?"

The hooded figure merely cocked its head to one side curiously, hands now in its front pocket as it looked him over. The scowl beneath the mask began to grow substantially the longer he stared at the figure before him.

"I said," Masky went on, even angrier now (though whether it was because the hallucination wouldn't leave, or that Masky couldn't make himself leave the building in question on his own and make peace himself, he couldn't be too sure), "leave. Me. Alone."

Knowing the few times he had tossed something at the figure had caused it to dissolve into thin air, Masky grabbed a nearby piece of cement ceiling that had fallen from age and gave it a rough toss at the figure. But the oddest part of it all? It didn't disappear once the stone hit the soft surface of fabric and flesh .

Instead, it made a soft-ish noise as it impacted, the hooded figure jumping and taking a step back as it looked down to where the piece of building had hit him, then to where it had fallen and then to Masky again. The white masked man had his eyes wide at this, and after a moment of hesitation -- picked up another chunk of ceiling and chucked it square at the man's chest. Again, it made a soft noise as it hit him, causing Hoody to again jump back. His hands flew out of his pocket, up into the hair in silent surrender even as he stared at the other with a cold expression.

It was real. It was real . It was real enough that, in an angry attempt to prove it wasn't, that its face met with the sturdy contact of Tim's curled up fist as it connected, sending Hoody stumbling to his ass rather quickly. A gloved hand grabbed where he had been hit as Hoody quickly looked up to the figure that now loomed over him with balled up fists. Masky was shaking almost uncontrollably, and the one on the ground half expected another hit --

However was welcomed to Masky darting out of the building, and leaving Hoody momentarily confused before realizing he had to follow the man; and thus stood quickly and scattered after the other, albeit at a distance as to avoid any further pain.

***

Tim quickly learned two things upon realizing that this thing wasn't going to leave him alone.

The first was that Hoody was undoubtedly, unrealistically, uncannily alive . He was no mere hallucination. He was, in fact, a real being that stood before him. Or, rather, followed him as he ventured, on the rare occasion offering silent assistance to whatever plot or mission their Master had set out for him. Tim hated to admit that he was somewhat grateful for the help, no matter if it was someone who was supposed to be dead. Granted, he wasn't letting the mustard colored hooded wearing ghost anywhere near him, thus declining any silent aid offered when he was injured. Tim also knew he was alive due to the fact that he was taking his meds regularly; meds that were meant to help keep hallucinations away .

The second thing Tim realized was that, while this was most definitely Hoody with his silent, stoic attitude and ability to stalk and kill with ease; this was most certainly not Brian . At least, not his Brian.

The hooded figure rarely took off his ski mask but to eat; and even then, it was usually only pulled up slightly above his mouth if not nose. And on the rare occasions when the other Proxy seemed bold enough to take off his mask completely -- everything just seemed so off about him. Especially his eyes; eyes that were once colorful and full of life were now grey and merely stared straight ahead robotically, as if not in control of where they landed and thus forced to stared forward as if anyplace else would result in someone finding out he wasn't fully human. That he wasn't fully there . And the few times Tim, in the dark of night huddled within the woods or some abandon building for solace from the elements, even attempted to speak with the other -- he would never speak back, usually only responding in grunts and the shaking of his head instead of his real voice, as if forgetting how to speak entirely.

But Tim took this company with stride. While he kept close eyes on his comrade, still baffled at the sudden return of his counterpart (and praying to whatever gods out there that this was some cruel joke, and Brian would suddenly perk up and begin talking as if nothing -- Marble Hornets, the Operator, all of their deaths -- had never happened and they were old friends again, like before), he couldn't say he was wholly disappointed. He had never once seen the Operator during his ventures of doing what it asked, he had only received orders through notes or telepathy of some kind; and any human contact Tim received was through the rare booking and leaving of a hotel, grabbing food on the go, or -- more commonly -- through killing of those the Operator wanted gone. So this newfound company, although mute, was at least a change of pace. While it lasted, anyway.