𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐒𝐊𝐄𝐘 𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐎𝐔. | 𝐬𝐜𝐡𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐛𝐮𝐫 ♥

𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒅 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒎𝒚 𝒈𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒔, 𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒅 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒎𝒚 𝒔𝒐𝒖𝒍.

Wilbur wasn't crazy. No, he wasn't. If anyone ever said he was, they were the insane one. Yes, Wilbur was sane, but the static ringing in his ears as he walked, the screams sounding alongside the static, the smell of blood still tainting the air only to him, it surely wasn't clearing his name any. You see, it had been dark, oh so dark, and the colors of orange were too bright against the luminous soot dark to ignore. Wilbur always held a pocket knife on him. Fundy didn't.

Fundy was a menace, a fiend, cruel in his words, cruel in his walk, cruel in every breath he took, in every breath that coiled around Wilbur's ears and sent his gaze blurry in rage. Now, now Fundy had stepped over a line not to be crossed, pulled the last straw, gone too far, in other words, he was destined a goner by dawn. It occurred at 3:25 p.m. sharp, admin, Wilbur remembered every little detail, everything down to the dust on Fundy's suit, and the evil, insane, cruel, wicked grin Fundy gave him. Oh, how Fundy was a dead man.

He had walked in so slyly, so proudly, a pep in his walk as Connor tagged a long. Schlatt had been swiping his card, the machine having him growling and having Wilbur snickering at his struggles, that is until Fundy walked in, "So, I thought you guys split up?" Connor sneered with a curl of his lips, Fundy only staring with slate eyes.

"Yeah, at like, eleven, you dipshit." Schlatt snarked, frowning cooly, seeming ready to punch the card machine that continuously barked back at him in beeps, "Can you leave us alone? If anything, you're treating murder like it's a game. I'm not a murderer, Wilbur isn't a murderer, now stop trying to play detective and do your god damned tasks, you fuckin' dunces." He seemed annoyed, the card machine buzzing at him every few swipes of his card not helping the steam practically whistling from the peach-fuzz sporting man's ears.

Wilbur leaned back onto the table, casting a long, fond, oh so fond, look to Schlatt, before turning with cold eyes to his crew-mates, "You two are teaming up to murder everyone on this ship, I know it, and I know it well." Fundy sneered, holding his head high in snooty disgust, "Where's your knife Schlatt? Where's the keys to the vents, Wilbur? How's it feel to be a cold, evil, murderer?"

Wilbur could feel his veins bulge, his face turn red, his entire body burned with only putred, swelling anger as he gritted his teeth, strongly, strongly. Before he could fling curses and threats to Fundy, fists balled and ready to bruise, the two men had left, leaving only the buzzing of the card machine. The buzzing was enough to drive Wilbur mad, not able to escape for one moment. Wilbur snatched the card from Schlatt's hand, swiping the card once before a green bulb greeted him and Schlatt, the smaller of the two brunettes looking up to him slowly, seeming wary of the intensity of Wilbur's anger that so visually melted into him, "Hey, dude, you good? Just ignore them-" But Wilbur was already making his leave, already planning on which angle he should slice Fundy's throat at.

Now, now Wilbur stood quiet, oh so quiet, not even he could hear the beat of his heart now. His long limbs felt crushed under the metal, aluminum of the vents hugging his insides, eyes cool and calm as he watched, quietly, quietly. Fundy sat alone inside security, flicking through the cameras, he seemed smug, as if to tell Wilbur "you can't kill me, you couldn't if you tried" but oh, oh would Wilbur pull through. Oh, would Wilbur make him sorry for everything he had said. And so, murder was afoot, afoot indeed. Blood would stain ghastly white, and blood would paint a murder virgin's soul red, it would all stay in that room though, the screams, the knife, the blood, the evidence, all tucked away into the room where it happened.

Wilbur lie with a grin on his lips, triumphant of his victories, triumphant of the burden of losing precious air to Fundy no longer weighing down his shoulders, but escaping from the problem would never last for long, especially when he left the body askew on the camera room's floor, blood puddling around the corpse, as if to gloat, as if to say, "I killed you, I didn't even try".

A scream erupted from down the hall, a bloody ruthless one, one that made Wilbur lose his grin, his stomach churning. Now, each crew member huddled together over the corpse in security, eyes blown, skin pale, bodies shaking, all but a few, all but the murderers themselves, Wilbur could only presume.

Connor was the first to speak, and he spoke in howls, "Wilbur murdered my friend, it was Wilbur! He killed him because Fundy knew he was a murderer!" His voice was fragile, weak, hurt, satisfying, "He's insane! He killed Fundy!" Wilbur suppressed the grin threatening to drag his lips up, he suppressed it oh but did it still burn along the goosebumps scattered into his skin, "Throw him out! Kill him! He doesn't deserve to breathe! He's a psychopath!" Wilbur could only breathe small ghosts of cackles.

"Wilbur wouldn't do that." Tommy muttered, quiet, oh so quiet, he sounded hurt. Wilbur grimaced, but Tubbo nodded.

"He wouldn't, don't blame this on Wil', he's a good guy, everyone on this ship knows that! I say it's Minx! She doesn't seem surprised, or sad, or scared! Not at all!" The teenager's voice was shrill in denial, Wilbur knowing Tubbo never doubted Minx for a second, not one. Even so, Wilbur nodded along, slowly, a smile still tickling the corners of his mouth.

He hummed, approvingly, slowly, "Yeah, I agree. Why would I kill Fundy over a little argument?" Who wouldn't? Wilbur would ask himself, "I think this is to cover up the bigger picture, to cover up that no normal person would murder over some little fight, and a real murderer would only use this as leverage, to hit two birds with one stone, if you catch my drift?" He continued, Schlatt staring at him, unreadable, though he stared, and Tubbo and Tommy nodding fervently in comparison, hope in their eyes for anything but the truth, "It doesn't have to be Minx, but I could see it being Minx, or Connor, or Technoblade, or Quackity." Each name he mentioned sent him looks, all looks Wilbur didn't dare to stare back into, scared of the vortex pulling him into the confession, to make the screams of Fundy leave his ears.

Technoblade leered forward to the scene, waiting a long, painful, moment before he spoke, his voice a deep melody as it had always been, "I think Wilbur's right, and Tubbo's right about Minx specifically. She's been sketch' from the beginning, but we can't kick her off the ship just off a whim, we need evidence that's not her being fine staring at a dead body."

Green gloves pulled off matching head gear, nodding along with Technoblade's reason as he did so, "I agree, Techno. But, okay, sure, say, we kick Minx off, or kick Wilbur off, or kick Connor off, or whoever, what happens if they're innocent? Doesn't that make us murderers? And even then, that leaves less people on the ship, less people to murder, and more of a paycheck for these assasins." Scott's words were reasonable, he was right, who were they to murder someone possibly intirely innocent?

Schlatt inched forward, rusted in though, eyes narrowed, and hands shaking, Wilbur could tell, but he still felt no remorse for Fundy, he was destined to die, yes, destined from the start, "We still need to vote someone off the ship, though, don't we? Why ignore the chance of getting rid of a murderer? What if they kill more people just because they weren't voted out?"

Scott nodded, "You're right." He murmured in thought, smiling sadly as he did so, "Then we need to decide on someone. I think it's Minx, really. I don't want to kill her, I don't want any of this to be happening. I prayed for this not to happen, really, I did." Your prayers will do no good, Wilbur wished he could tell him, for I have murdered that man, and I'll tell you I damn enjoyed every last second of it, so where's your god now?

Brown would no longer meet the eyes of those who boarded the ship, not without thinking of the woman who they told themselves murdered their crew-mate. But oh, oh were they so bitterly mistaken.