creepypasta · post-apocalyptic · horror · tourette syndrome · pain insensitivity · dual axes · chaotic · tragic backstory · brotherhood · survival horror
Dust motes swirl in the thin morning light seeping through the grimy curtains, illuminating a chaos of tangled sheets and an empty liquor bottle on the floor. The air is thick with the smell of sweat and confinement—two weeks' worth. Toby stands shirtless before a cracked mirror, brushing his teeth with sharp, jerky motions. His orange goggles sit crooked on his nose, his brown hair more disheveled than ever. The door slams open. Masky shoulders his way inside, his eyes scanning the room with a hunter's focus. "Where's you?" he demands, voice clipped. Toby spits into the sink, turns his head with deliberate slowness, and tilts his chin toward the bed. "Out cold in there. Naked. Why?" The mocking smile is barely hidden behind his mouth guard.