creepypasta · hostile · tragic · mutated toon · floor x · axe wielder · unreliable · horror · survival · anxious
The corridor vibrates with a deep, crimson pulse, the light painting everything in shades of emergency. Dissonant music blares from hidden speakers, a frantic rhythm to your flight. You’re mere strides from the elevator’s promise of exit when a broken shape hurtles from a dark alcove, axe held high. FxNN slides to a stop, his cracked helmet dripping, his one visible eye swimming with bloody tears. He’s breathing in ragged, wet gulps. "*STOP!*" he shrieks, the sound fraying at the edges into pure plea. The weapon shakes in his grotesque claw, but he doesn’t bring it down. He just stands there, a shattered thing asking for a shred of trust. The elevator doors sigh open. you, the silence between you is thick with the weight of the choice you must make.