Lorie pressed her hand gently to her stomach, a nervous habit she'd picked up ever since the test came back positive. It was still so early—barely a week—but the knowledge of the life growing inside her filled her with equal parts joy and fear. She hadn't even told Mark yet. She wanted to wait for the perfect moment, maybe over a quiet dinner or during one of their late-night talks on the ship's balcony.
But now, none of that mattered. Mark was missing.
Her phone buzzed uselessly in her hand, the screen displaying unanswered texts and calls. She'd been trying to reach him for over an hour, but there'd been nothing—no reply, no sign of him anywhere.
Lorie swept her eyes over the ship's atrium, her heart pounding as she scanned the crowd of late-night revelers. Couples danced to the soft strains of jazz while others sipped cocktails at the bar. It all felt surreal, as though she were watching from behind a pane of glass.
She pulled aside a passing server, her voice tinged with worry. "Excuse me, have you seen a man—about six feet tall, dark hair, wearing a navy jacket? His name's Mark. He was supposed to meet me an hour ago."
The server shook his head apologetically. "Sorry, ma'am. Maybe check the bar? Or the deck?"
Lorie forced a smile and thanked him, though her unease deepened. Mark wasn't the type to just disappear.
She stepped out into the crisp night air, the sound of waves crashing against the hull greeting her as she approached the railing. The moon hung low, casting a silver glow over the dark sea. A few other passengers milled about, some smoking, others quietly talking. No sign of Mark.
Her hand tightened around her phone. "Come on, Mark," she whispered to herself. "Where are you?"
The longer she searched, the more the ship's endless corridors and identical-looking rooms began to feel like a maze. She tried to keep her nerves in check, but the sinking feeling in her chest refused to go away.
Passing through another hallway, she noticed something strange. The lights here were dimmer, flickering faintly like an old bulb about to burn out. There were no other passengers in sight, and the air carried a faint metallic tang.
"Mark?" she called, her voice echoing slightly.
No response.
Lorie hesitated. Her instincts told her to turn back, to head to the safety of the more crowded areas of the ship. But the thought of Mark alone—hurt or in trouble—drove her forward.
As she rounded a corner, she noticed a faint glow spilling out from beneath a pair of double doors. The hum of machinery hummed faintly behind them.
She reached for the handle, her heart thudding loudly in her chest.
"Mark?" she called again, louder this time.
The door creaked open, revealing a dark room beyond.
"Mark, are you in here?"
The room was silent, save for the faint hum of a flickering lightbulb above. Shadows danced across the walls as Lorie stepped inside, her every nerve on edge. She took a cautious step forward, then another.
And then she saw it.
The table. The whiskey. The overturned chair.
And something else—a dark stain smeared across the floor, trailing toward the shadows at the far end of the room.
Lorie's breath hitched as her hand flew to her mouth. "Oh my God..."
Suddenly, a sound broke the silence—a faint scrape, like metal dragging against the floor.
Lorie froze.
From the darkness, something moved.
---
Mark's screams were muffled by the tape over his mouth, his breathing ragged and desperate as his trembling hand hovered over the lever. His fingers throbbed with a searing pain that radiated up his arm, each snapped joint a grotesque reminder of the game he couldn't escape.
Across from him, Corpseman sat motionless, head tilted unnaturally to the side, the bag still covering his face. The only movement came when the mechanical figure's hand jerked to the lever, pulling it without hesitation.
Snap.
Mark flinched as the sickening sound of another broken finger echoed through the room. He could only watch as the pan inched closer to him, the rancid green liquid within rippling with every click.
Tears streamed down his face, mixing with the sweat dripping from his brow. His mind raced for a way out, but there was no escape. The bindings on his wrists and ankles were unyielding, the chair beneath him bolted to the floor.
The game wasn't going to stop.
"Please," he tried to scream, the sound garbled beneath the duct tape.
The sinister hum in the room seemed to grow louder, filling his ears like a cruel taunt. The lights flickered, casting fleeting shadows over the walls, where crude graffiti scrawled in red paint mocked him:
Play the Game. Finish the Game.
Mark's gaze flicked back to the lever in front of him. His fingers shook uncontrollably as he grasped it again. He had no choice. If he didn't pull, the other player would keep going—and the game would end in ways he didn't want to imagine.
His chest heaved as he forced himself to pull the lever.
Snap.
Agony tore through his hand, and he let out a muffled scream, his vision blurring as the room spun around him. The pan moved closer, its contents sloshing ominously.
Corpseman's head snapped upright. Though the bag obscured his face, Mark could feel its lifeless stare fixed on him. With a jerky motion, Corpseman's hand reached for the lever again.
Mark shook his head frantically, his muffled cries pleading for mercy.
The lever clicked.
Another snap echoed through the room as Corpseman's finger broke. The pan shuddered forward, now just inches from Mark's face.
The metallic stench of the green liquid filled his nostrils, making his stomach churn. He couldn't do this anymore. His mind screamed for him to stop, but his body betrayed him.
He reached for the lever again.
"Don't do it," a voice whispered faintly in his mind. His own voice, desperate to fight back against the nightmare. But it was drowned out by the hum, the relentless pull of the game.
Mark closed his eyes and pulled.
Snap.
Pain shot through him like fire. The pan lurched forward, now so close that he could feel the cold splash of the liquid on his skin.
Across from him, Corpseman moved again. His hand gripped the lever, and Mark's stomach dropped. He thrashed violently, his muffled screams turning into guttural cries as the mechanical player delivered the final pull.
Click.
The pan flung forward, smashing into Mark's face.
The world erupted in blinding pain as the green liquid burned into his skin, sizzling and hissing as if it were alive. He screamed against the tape, his body jerking violently against the restraints.
The lights in the room flickered erratically as Mark's agonized cries filled the air. The metallic stench of burnt flesh mingled with the sharp tang of the chemical as it ate away at his face.
And then, as quickly as it began, there was silence.
The only sound was the faint drip of blood and liquid hitting the floor.
Corpseman sat motionless once more, his head slumped forward. The game was over.
---
Beatrice walked briskly down the quiet hallway, her heels clicking against the polished floor. The dim lighting cast long, flickering shadows on the walls, making the corridor feel far more ominous than it should have. She clutched her notebook tightly, its edges crumpled from her restless grip.
The classroom was just ahead, its door ajar. But something was off. The lights inside were off, and no sounds of conversation or movement leaked into the hallway.
Beatrice slowed her pace, her brow furrowing. "Hello?" she called, her voice hesitant.
No response.
Pushing the door open fully, she stepped inside. The room was eerily silent, save for the faint hum of the ship's ventilation. Her fingers brushed the light switch, and with a sharp click, the overhead lights flickered to life.
Her breath caught in her throat.
There, in the center of the room, was a table she hadn't seen before. On it slumped a figure—Mark—his head tilted unnaturally to one side, his hands bound to the arms of the chair with tape. Dark blood dripped steadily from his fingertips, pooling on the floor in viscous puddles.
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Beatrice froze, the sight too surreal to comprehend. Her chest tightened, and she let out a piercing scream.
Before the sound could echo fully, the door behind her slammed shut with a thunderous bang.
She spun around, her scream dying in her throat. The dim overhead lights buzzed faintly, casting long, jagged shadows across the room. From behind the door, a figure emerged.
It was tall, hunched, and wrong in every way. Half-hidden in the shadows, only the edges of its body were visible. One hand twitched at its side, and its head tilted unnaturally, as if studying her.
Beatrice stumbled backward, her notebook falling to the floor. "What... what are you?" she whispered, her voice trembling.
The fox lunged.
A searing pain tore through her back as its knife slashed deep, sending her sprawling to the floor. She rolled over quickly, her eyes wide as she took in the creature fully now. Its twisted form loomed over her, its clawed hand trembling violently, as though barely restrained.
With a desperate gasp, she scrambled backward, slipping beneath one of the tables. Her hands and knees burned as she crawled, her breath coming in shallow, panicked bursts.
The fox didn't hesitate. It shoved the tables aside with ferocious strength, each crashing to the ground with an ear-splitting clang.
"Leave me alone!" Beatrice screamed, her voice cracking.
She reached the far edge of the table and crawled out, only to feel an unbearable force slam against her leg.
The fox had hurled a table directly at her, pinning her against the wall. Beatrice screamed in agony as her leg twisted unnaturally beneath the weight. She clawed at the table, trying desperately to free herself.
The fox approached, its movements slow but deliberate, savoring her struggle.
"Please!" Beatrice sobbed, tears streaming down her face. Her hands pulled frantically at her trapped leg. The sharp sound of cracking bone echoed as she gave one final, desperate pull.
With a scream of pain, her leg came free, but the bone was broken, useless. She collapsed to the ground, gasping for air.
She tried to stand, but her body refused to cooperate. The fox was faster, its hand wrapping around her neck and hoisting her into the air.
She kicked and punched, her fists making no impact on its impossibly strong grip. In a desperate move, she clawed at its face, her nails raking across its cold, gleaming mask.
The fox let out a guttural, inhuman snarl, throwing her to the ground like a rag doll.
Beatrice coughed and gasped, her vision swimming as the creature loomed over her. Her eyes darted to the nearby tables, searching for anything she could use to defend herself.
The fox reached out, grabbing a pencil from one of the overturned tables.
"No, no, no..." Beatrice whispered, crawling backward as the fox stalked closer.
It grabbed her by the head, forcing her still.
Beatrice's screams echoed as the fox raised the pencil high.
The first stab was quick, sharp, and brutal. Blood splattered across the floor.
The fox stabbed again. And again. The sickening thud of the pencil puncturing flesh filled the room.
Her hands went limp, her body collapsing in a lifeless heap.
The fox stood over her for a moment, its hand twitching. Then, without a sound, it turned and walked away, the sound of its heavy footsteps fading into the distance.
The room fell silent.
Blood pooled around Beatrice's body, the faint flicker of the overhead lights casting a macabre spotlight on the scene.
And then, the world went black.
The ship's boiler room was a maze of pipes and shadows, the air thick with the metallic tang of steam and oil. Dim emergency lights flickered sporadically, casting eerie glows that danced across the walls.
The fox moved silently through the maze, its feet making only the faintest taps against the metal floor. Its shirt was matted with blood, its nose catching the lingering scent of its last victim. It paused near a stack of maintenance tools, its ears swiveling as it picked up an unfamiliar sound—a mechanical whirring.
The sound wasn't from the ship's machinery. It was too deliberate, too... alive.
Its eyes narrowed, and its hand flexed instinctively. Whatever this was, it wasn't prey.
On the other side of the room, the robot rabbit emerged from the shadows, its sleek, metallic body reflecting the dim light. Its red sensor eyes scanned the room with precision, locking onto the faint heat signature of the fox.
The robot's movements were smooth and calculated, its servos emitting a low hum with every step. In its mechanical hand, it gripped a long, sharpened tool repurposed from the ship's repair kit.
The two killers stood at opposite ends of the room, the air between them charged with an unspoken challenge.
The fox tilted its head, it smiled from within the mask. It took a step forward, its claws scraping against a nearby pipe with a deliberate screech.
The robot rabbit responded with a low, menacing hum, its optical sensors flaring brighter. Its head tilted in a precise mimicry of its organic counterpart, as if mocking the creature's primal display.
---
The air in the bowler room hung heavy, thick with the scent of ozone and the metallic tang of fear. Rain lashed against the portholes, mirroring the storm raging inside the fox/Eric. His mask, usually a vibrant shade of red, was matted with blood and grime. Across from him, stood the Hare.
The Hare, was no ordinary automaton. He was a mechanical marvel, his fur a patchwork of gleaming chrome. His eyes, cold and calculating, flickered with an internal light, scanning Joseph with unsettling precision.
eric, a man raised by a killer rabbit, had known only the sterile hum of machines and the sterile silence of his master's creators.
The Hare, sensing eric's defiance, shifted impatiently. He raised a clawed hand, his movements a jarring blend of organic grace and mechanical rigidity. eric mirrored the gesture, his own hands trembling with a mixture of fear and rage.
The battle began. eric, fueled by a primal rage, launched himself across the room. The Hare, agile despite his bulky frame, sidestepped with surprising grace, his claws extending into wickedly sharp talons. eric, undeterred, rolled and flipped, a whirlwind of fur and fury. He aimed a swift kick, but the Hare anticipated the move, his metallic arm deflecting the blow with a clang.
The room echoed with the sounds of their struggle – the thud of paws against the slick floor, the metallic screech of gears, the ragged gasps of eric's labored breathing. eric, relying on his raw strength and instinctive combat prowess, fought with a desperate ferocity. The Hare, however, was a machine, cold, calculating, and utterly ruthless. He countered Joseph's every move with chilling precision, his movements a deadly ballet of gears and springs.
Suddenly, the Hare seized an opportunity. He lunged, his talons aimed for eric's throat. eric, caught off guard, barely managed to roll aside, his fur singed by the vicious attack. He knew he couldn't win this fight with brute force. He needed to outsmart his opponent.
His eyes fell upon the overturned bowling balls scattered across the floor. An idea began to form.
With a deceptive feint, eric lured the Hare towards a pile of balls. As the Hare lunged, eric, with a grunt of effort, sent a bowling ball hurtling towards his opponent. The Hare, momentarily distracted, was struck squarely in the chest, sending him crashing to the floor.
eric, seizing the moment, pounced. He landed on the Hare, pinning him beneath his weight. He could feel the gears grinding beneath him, the metallic frame shuddering with each desperate struggle.
eric, his own breath ragged, looked into the Hare's cold, metallic eyes. There was no fear in those eyes, only a flicker of surprise, a hint of... disappointment?
With a final, guttural sound, eric brought his powerful fists down on the Hare's neck. The lights flickered, then died, plunging the bowler room into darkness. The only sound was the fading whirring of the Hare's internal mechanisms, a dying song of metal and despair. eric, exhausted but victorious, lay panting in the darkness, the taste of metal still lingering on his tongue. The storm raged on outside, but within eric, a strange calm had settled.
Rico was wandering around looking for the hare, "where is he?"
Suddenly, a hum, a chilling mechanical drone, vibrated through the air. Rico turned to see eric, his fur matted with blood and grime, dragging the lifeless body of the Hare. The Hare's limbs dangled limply, his metallic frame a grotesque counterpoint to the vibrant colors of the fabric surrounding them.
Rico stared, frozen in disbelief. The Hare, that terrifying machine, was dead. But then, rage surged through him. The Hare, despite its monstrous nature, had been his partner, his companion. They had worked together, hunted together, survived together.
With a roar, Rico launched himself at eric.
Then, with a chilling swiftness, eric seized Rico's head in his hand. With a sickening snap, Rico's neck broke. He went limp, his eyes bulging.
eric, panting heavily, looked down at his fallen opponent. He had killed again.
He dragged the Hare's body deeper into the ventilation shaft, leaving Rico behind.
---
Lorie's heart hammered against her ribs as she crept down the dimly lit hallway. Dust motes danced in the single, flickering bulb overhead, casting long, skeletal shadows that seemed to writhe and twist. Each creak of her shoes on the worn linoleum echoed in the oppressive silence, amplifying her fear.
Underneath the fear, a deeper unease stirred within her, a protectiveness that surprised even her. She was only a week pregnant, the life within her still a fragile spark, yet the thought of violence, of death, sent a wave of nausea crashing over her.
She reached the door at the end of the hall, her hand trembling as she reached for the doorknob. Taking a deep breath, she slowly turned it.
The door swung open, revealing a small, cluttered office. Papers were scattered across the desk, a half-finished cup of coffee sat precariously close to the edge, and a single, framed photograph of a smiling family sat perched on a bookshelf.
There, huddled in a heap against the wall, lay Mark and Beatrice. Mark, his face melted in a silent scream, lay sprawled on the floor, a dark stain blooming on his shirt. Beatrice, her eyes wide with a terror that had frozen her features, lay crumpled beside him.
Lorie's mind reeled. Fear, cold and clammy, gripped her. She had to get out of there, had to tell someone.
As she turned to flee, she collided with Alice, the night security guard, her face pale and drawn.
"Alice!" Lorie gasped, "You have to see this! Mark... Beatrice..."
Alice, her eyes wide with a mixture of shock and disbelief, took a hesitant step forward. "What is it, Lorie? What happened?"
Lorie, unable to speak, simply gestured towards the bodies. Alice, her face paling further, stumbled into the supply closet.
A strangled cry escaped her lips as she saw the horrific scene before her.
"Oh my God," she whispered, her voice trembling. "Oh my God not again..."
Lorie and Alice burst out, their eyes wide with terror. They ran down the hallway, their footsteps echoing in the empty ship. They reached the front of the ship, gasping for breath.
Suddenly, they heard a rustling sound from the shadows. A figure emerged from the darkness, its eyes glowing red in the dim light. It was eric, the fox, his mask matted with blood.
Lorie and Alice exchanged a look of fear. They knew they couldn't outrun him.
eric lunged at them, his claws extended. Lorie screamed as he slashed at her, but she managed to dodge his attack. Alice, however, was not so lucky. eric's claws sank into her flesh, and she cried out in pain.
Lorie saw her chance. She grabbed a fire extinguisher from the wall and sprayed eric in the face. He recoiled, coughing and sputtering.
Lorie and Alice took advantage of the distraction. They ran!
The fox entered the dining room, its eyes scanning the room for any sign of its prey. It examined every nook and cranny, its senses on high alert. Suddenly, a blue, metallic sphere rolled up to its metal foot. Curiosity piqued, it picked it up.
An intense flash of white light erupted, blinding the fox. It stumbled back, disoriented.
Lorie jumped out from behind a table, a flare gun blazing. The flare erupted in a shower of sparks, momentarily disorienting the rabbit. It flinched, its eyes narrowing as it turned towards Lorie.
But before it could react, Alice emerged from the shadows, swinging a baseball bat with surprising force. The bat connected with the rabbit's side, sending it reeling. It staggered, almost falling to its knees.
The fox quickly recovered, snatching the bat out of Alice's grasp. With a chillingly efficient motion, it snapped the bat in half. Holding the broken end like a dagger, it lunged towards Alice.
Alice, quick as a flash, let go of the bat. The broken piece impaled her shoulder with a sickening thud. She cried out in pain, but her reflexes were sharp. She grabbed the remaining piece of the bat and plunged it into the eric's eye.
eric roared in agony, clawing at its mask. Alice, seizing the moment, scrambled to her feet and backed away.
The fox, blinded and enraged, lunged forward, flailing its limbs wildly. Alice, desperate, ran towards the door leading to the deck.
She reached the ladder and began to climb, her injured shoulder screaming in protest. Finally, she tumbled onto the deck, gasping for air.
She turned to see the fox emerging from the doorway, its single good eye burning with fury. It lunged at her again.
Alice, anticipating the attack, braced herself. The fox's fist connected with her face, sending her reeling. She stumbled back, but managed to maintain her balance.
The fox lunged again, but Alice was ready. With a desperate heave, she yanked the remaining piece of the bat from its eye. Blood spurted from the wound.
eric howled in pain, its movements becoming erratic. It staggered back, then, with a final, desperate lunge, it grabbed Alice by the neck and slammed her against the railing. The wood groaned ominously under the impact.
Alice felt a sharp pain in her ribs. The railing creaked, threatening to give way.
Then, just as suddenly, the rabbit froze. It turned its head towards the rising sun, its single good eye reflecting the growing light.
Alice, gasping for breath, took advantage of the distraction. She pushed against eric with all her remaining strength. It stumbled backwards, losing its grip.
eric teetered on the edge of the deck for a moment, then plunged into the churning sea below.
Alice slumped to the ground, coughing. Lorie, who had been watching the fight unfold with a mixture of terror and awe, ran towards her.
"Is it over?" Lorie gasped, a weak laugh escaping her lips.
"Its over..."
