Dead Set. || PURPLEPHONE

Silence.

(( I PROMISED I'D GET A CHAPTER OUT FOR Y'ALL BY THE END OF THE WEEK AND IT'S STILL SUNDAY OVER THERE SO SHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHhhh

 idk if this is gonna be short but I'm really, really sick (bc I needed a bit more stress apparently) but don't be disheartened if it is short bc I promise I'll bash out a 2000 word sprint to make up for it :))))!!! Last night I spent like 3 hours planning the next few chapters so they gonna be good my fam, good. 

this chapter is awful. it not the end tho!!)) 

The tile was disturbingly warm and slimy underneath Scott's fingers. Grease must have been dripping from the pipes and through the cracks of the underbelly of the restaurant upstairs, collecting and festering in the cesspool of the floor below. He would have been okay, perhaps, if it were just grease, but no, the tiles weren't just slimy. They were fuzzy, filled with disintegrated old skin and hair, mould and moss.

He could hear Vincent's breath from somewhere beside him, and he focused on that to take his mind off it. Counting the seconds it took for him to breathe in and out, concentrating on adjusting his own breathing pattern to match him. Breathe in as Vincent does, breathe out as Vincent does... 

Scott let out a small gasp all of a sudden, stopping dead in his tracks, his ears pricked. Ballora had gotten closer again, her lonely tune piercing through the darkness. Scott closed his eyes to stop himself from trembling, praying his thankfulness that Ballora hadn't been given the ability to echo-locate. 

Scott let out the breath he'd been holding in. The music had faded away a while ago now, but only now could he force himself to keep moving. 

Shlick, shlick, shlick... 

God, even the sound of the fabric of Scott's clothes sliding through the greasy floor was enough to catch Ballora's attention, he was sure of it. He was so painfully aware of every thunderous sound; of his tie scritching against the ground, of his rubber-soled shoes squeaking gently on the floor, of his own joints creaking every time he pushed his aching arms forwards. 

Time was agony. Scott had no idea how long they'd been moving forwards for but everything seemed to be in slow motion. There seemed to be a full minute between when he decided to move his arm forward and when it actually did. He'd started counting his breathing in seconds before to help him keep track but now it was just a rhythm, a mantra that meant nothing to him anymore. 

Vincent reached out and tapped him on the arm. Scott instantly stopped moving, presuming Vincent had heard Ballora before he had. Instead, Vincent pointed forwards, towards something in the distance.

Scott raised his head for the first time since they'd started moving, squinting ahead through the darkness. He could just make out a dim light that buzzed in front of them, a brightly coloured poster hanging on a door.

A door! 

Scott almost laughed out loud, scrabbling to his feet without hesitation, leaning down to help Vincent up. He grabbed Vincent's arm and about hoisted him to his feet, with an unnatural strength that even surprised himself. He pulled Vincent close and whispered as loud as he dared, "You wanna make a break for it?" 

He couldn't see Vincent's facial expression, but he heard him breathe in slowly as though uncertain. He gently separated himself from Scott and grabbed his hand instead, giving a short nod.

Scott listened out, but there seemed to be no sign of the ballerina. It was only about 50 metres to the door. Surely they could make it. Surely, in three... two... one.

"Now!" Scott shouted, and Vincent didn't need another second's warning. He took off, half dragging Scott for a step before Scott began to run as well. The room was filled with the sound of rubber shoes against tile floors, and suddenly Scott was very, very aware of the tune of Ballora's music box just behind them.

"What the hell!?" He shouted, the feeling of something scraping against his heel enough to give him a burst of speed, "How the hell did she catch up so fast?! She has to follow a track to get to us!"

"I don't think she's on her track!" Vincent yelled back, pulling Scott along by the arm, "I think she's on the floor!"

"What?!" Scott screeched, glancing up just long enough to see the poster on the door, which depicted a gothic looking Funtime Freddy grinning at the camera, "She could be anywhere!"

"Goddamnit, Scott, I know! Just run!" Vincent growled at him, and Scott gasped as he felt Vincent's hand slip out of his.

"Vincent!" He shrieked, instantly losing his sense of security. He could see which way he was going, but Vincent was running ahead now. Scott was slower. Scott was going to get caught, "Vincent, don't leave me, please!" 

The tune was so loud now, echoing all around him. He wasn't even sure where she was. She could have been behind him. She could have been in front of him, and Vincent was only getting further away.

He was crying now, and the poster fuzzed before his eyes. He didn't know which way he was facing, left, right, up, down, somewhere, "Vincent!" he screamed one last time, "Vincent, please don't leave me!" 

There was the sound of a door swinging open somewhere, and Scott found the world fading to black.