Archive of Our Own ^beta

Hands slam onto the table. Ever since the start of this ‘week’—— As far as they know and can call it one, time is a confusing aspect, even more so now that everything is so repetitive… Rounds have been harder, unusually harder upon the introduction of a new killer. That thing climbs walls, attacks like an animal, and is unpredictable like one.

They cannot use a strategy against it. They cannot predict them, none of them can, the sentinels have been continually failing because of this, and with so many wounds… The supports can barely keep up with the insufferably long cooldowns they possess to their abilities.

Not that the survivalists are doing any better, four hands are enough to get the generators done pretty quickly, but Noob hasn’t taken the new arrival great, which leaves 007n7 to complete the task alone at a slightly slower rate, and sure, the newest acquisition has helped a lot too, but they need her to knock back enemies more than they need her to stay by the generators, so that’s that.

Even worse is… Whenever the only survivalist they have within the round is the gloomy one. Who hasn’t stopped hiding in every single round.

“Any ideas? You’re all grown adults, I can’t do all the thinking here.” Builderman scoffs, crossing his arms, he has been brainstorming for a while now. 007n7 sits uncomfortably near him, he was dragged here, not sitting with them by choice, he tries to participate the least, but everyone constantly glances at him, waiting for some advice, he’s known to do well when it comes to strategy after all.

“…We could fool him?” 007n7 squints, not sure if these people are okay with him talking, he’s not sure if they hate him to be honest, he prefers to isolate himself from the team, which doesn’t really do anything to help either. “Maybe I can distract him long enough…” He shrugs, not too enthusiastic about being forced to participate in this meeting.

Dusekkar squints, “I fear your games wouldn’t last long, like a beast, it’ll get bored eventually.” The magic expert explains, leaning closer to the hacker, as if inspecting him, who leans away awkwardly. “What shall you do when it wishes to pierce actual skin instead of soulless code?”

Guest decides to collaborate, “The sentinels could hide around corners, if 007n7’s clones distract the killer… Then they can be guided to these attack corners.” He says, offering them all an encouraging smile, if it wasn’t for him, they’d all have given up by now. He’s good at keeping their hopes up.

“…I could do that.” 007n7 nods, itching to stand up and leave this meeting. He tries to focus, though, not wanting to ‘fade’ away again and be brought back by any of these Robloxians. It’s annoying when they do that, and it makes him awfully self-aware.

Shedletsky hears the conversation while resting his face on the table, this was just like back at work, boring. “Then it’s settled we’ll—“ He hears Builderman say before he intentionally ignores him, making sure to tune out his voice as he stares at nothing.

He feels something kick his leg, and he glances at the source.

The gambler of the team smirks at him and passes a note between them. With a raised brow, the swordsman takes the piece of paper, he wonders where the other found a pen and a stack of sticky notes, there’s a lot of things hidden away in the lobby, he didn’t think this would be one of those objects, though.

He stares at the hot pink Post-it.

And the drawing on it.

Perhaps he shouldn’t take a badly drawn doodle where he appears to have boobs, wide hips, and a bikini so seriously, but he cannot help but deadpan as he checks out the stupidity that has been drawn beside him, a buff looking Chance with their arm wrapped around him, the sleeves of their suit ripped off, and a bulge in their pants.

With a frown, he turns to directly look back at the dark shades. A pause, “Why?” Shedletsky says, making a face as if he were looking at a blank puzzle. “This doesn’t even look like me.” He whispers. “Or you.” He adds, raising a brow at the muscles.

“Dude.” Chance starts, “It’s awesome, you’re just not educated enough to appreciate it.” They shake their head, disagreeing with the unfair treatment of their piece.

Shedletsky looks at it for another hot minute, he inhales and meditates for a second before answering, he scoffs, “It sucks.” He whispers right back at Chance.

The gambler groans, “What? What don’t you like about it?”

“…It is out of character,” Shedletsky states, narrowing his eyes before crumbling the paper and throwing it at the other’s forehead. “Switch us around. I believe I’m the buff one in this relationship, pal.” The swordsman scoffs, leaning closer to show a lazy grin right in front of Chance’s face.

“Fine.” Chance sighs before bending down to doodle on another sticky note, this time a blue, cyan? One. Shedletsky looks at the ceiling, resting back against the chair with his eyes closed.

Soon, a finger pokes his shoulder, calling him to glance at his left once again. A note is passed to him, and he flips it upwards to check out what has been drawn on it this time.
It’s a really badly drawn face, with shitty eyes, a gaping mouth, a nose with nostrils way too wide for a normal Robloxian, his sword has been drawn as if it were his dick out in the open and his shirt reads: ‘I Smell.’

Very mature.

“Alright, now you’re just being petty.” Shedletsky huffs, “Who even is that?”

“Oh? Well who else—“

Someone clears their throat loudly, interrupting both of them. “I suppose you two are talking about another kind of strategy we could use?” Builderman tilts his head, arching a brow at the glimpse of a weird-looking drawing on a sticky note that’s on the table.

There’s a small silence shared between them all.

A smirk escapes Builderman, “Is that Shedletsky?” He can’t help himself.

Chance grins, with an absurd accent, he speaks. “Why, yes indeed.” With that, everyone leans in to take a peek at the drawing, some scoff, some snicker, some exclude themselves from the interaction, seemingly uninterested.

Some, which is only Dusekkar, reach for the Post-it.

The swordsman quickly guides their pumpkin head away with a harsh push that he knows the other can take. “Okay! How about Builderman shares our new schedule instead?” He says, trying to guide the attention away from the paper he’s now crumbling with his hand while offering them all a vengeful, smug smirk.

Groans are heard.

Builderman just hums, “Actually, I’m glad you mentioned it since—“ The rambling doesn’t stop for the next couple of monotone hours, the only period of time where the entity that keeps them here does not force them all to entertain it.
In the sake of saving his dignity, he sacrificed everyone’s only break.

Which is…
Very reasonable.

Until next time, when he walks into the back of the lobby just to find the very same drawing on the chalkboard.

There’s no winning against that gambler.