38 18.0: Rec. (1/2)
'I HOPE THAT, ONCE SOMEONE RIPS EVERYTHING USEFUL OUT OF ME, I WILL STILL HAUNT THEM'
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For some weird reason, I'm lying under a bed. And I think that maybe God's transport mechanisms are getting tired of the shit it's putting me through. Or that's what I'd like to think of it anyway.
Tobias and Benji. Benji and Tobias.
I roll from beneath the bed with a grunt and feel a sudden vision rise (or what you'd call as standing up). I'm in Joshua's room. Alone. And the fear of it being the last day of the month and I'm without Tobias and Benji blossoms in my chest like a fucking daisy.
Joshua's room is messy. His bed is naked with its sheets and pillows all over the floor. His jacket and sweater are discarded by his mirrored closet and his pair of worn-out black converse are on the floor next to his desk.
His desk's lamp is on, illuminating the mess of papers, pencils and cigarette ash he's left behind. The dust bin in the room's corner is filled with crumpled paper and I'm suddenly worried about Joshua's mental health. Life hasn't loved him for so long. His mother's and sister's death, his father's abuse, my suicide and Sierra's madness.
My fingers absently touch a wall and almost immediately Joshua barges in, in nothing but black jeans and wet, dark hair that drips water over his face and shoulders. He runs a hand through his hair and exhales heavily before approaching his mirrored closet.
He blinks at his reflection and touches the bandage on his face that he quickly peels off with a slight wince and teary eyes. His muscular arms and torso hum with so much energy, sad energy. It almost stings me. He drops the slightly bloody bandage to the ground to stare at his new scarred face.
His brown eyes are scared, confused, as they stare at a person who seems to have aged a century, especially with the short beard he grew and the weight he's lost over the past weeks. He then walks to his desk and slides down his chair.
He pulls out his phone and I gulp. Is he going to play that damned game again? I quickly get closer and stand above his shoulders, disregarding his privacy.
And yes, he opens DevilsPlay. The beta app.
My shoulders drop and my eyes widen at his actions. Why is he willing to risk it all again?
The app is different than what I remember it to be on Sierra's phone, and I'm guessing it's because it's the beta app. Joshua is staring at a white screen that turns black with seven letters splayed in red across it. It says, 'W 3 L C 0 M E'.
I blink at the screen that then turns white with three options in black, arranged under each other.
L0g 1n
RUles
SiGn ↑
I wonder if my ears have turned into two stethoscopes because I can hear nothing, not even the sound of my breathing, over the boom-clap of my heart.
Joshua's finger is shaky when he selects ′SiGn ↑'. The front camera opens and the screen quickly changes to show Joshua's reflection and a red blinking dot next to a [Rec.] and a number. 11.3k. I'm guessing that it must be the number of people watching him.
'IntR0duce Y0urs3Lf t0 0ur y0ung bl00d', is what the screen oddly says before the letters and numbers then rearrange themselves into 'J0shua Michael'.
I can see Joshua's reactions clearly through his phone. He seems surprised and I wonder if it is because they recognize him. His voice is husky and a little gone when he starts talking.
”Hi,” he says inaudibly as the number of watchers rides up to 14.9k. ”I-I am David-” He fakes his name because that's what they do. It's one of their rules. Joshua then sniffs. ”I don't know if you know me or not, but-but I have an announcement to make,” he says clearly and breathes deeply.
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”I have been playing this for almost a year,” he says nervously. And recklessly, in my opinion. ”I've been-I've been in a bad place,” he breathes, his eyes wandering to the number of viewers which has risen to 22.1k. It is almost terrifying. ”And playing this game,” he says. ”-makes everything worse.”
Tears stream down his face and my anxiety is a murderer's hand choking the death out of me.
”I've never done this before,” he says and pauses for a heartbeat. ”And I thought you, as a watcher or fan or-or young blood,” he blinks at the screen as his throat bobs up and down. ”You should never start playing this,” he says. ”Please, never,” he pleads. ”It takes your every ounce of freedom. And it rips out,” his eyes well. ”For those who know me, my account has been deleted,” he continues. ”Sierra's dead.” He breathes and an immediate red warning appears in the middle of his screen saying, ′WE D0N'T SPEAK 0F ThE d3Ad'.
And I'm sure if I was living, my jaws would've decimated by the force it took to keep my screams locked in.
Joshua's phone is shaking with his hands at that point as I watch helplessly. ”I'm sorry,” he whispers for some reason and I'm guessing that he's talking to the game. ”Sierra is dead-” He repeats, his eyes tearing up. ”And all I can do is tell you over and over again about how it was this game that killed her without a hint of evidence on me.”
'Y0U BETt3R ST0P', another warning flashes in front of him and I shake my head with a whimper. I'm so very scared for him. I have no idea why he's decided to stick around when he could've run for his life.
”And I think I know what the F-rule exactly is,” he says regardless. ”And it makes sense that Sierra is the dead one, not me. I'm sharing it because this is bullshit,” he cries out. ”Because no-one should die over a game. No matter how horrible they prove to be. No matter what-”
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′Y0U HAVE BE3N WARNED.′ Joshua ignores it.
”The F-rule,” he breathes out, his eyes digging holes into his screen. ”They, whoever the fuck, is controlling this-this shit, they're not telling us because they want us to fall for it and die!” He's losing his composure and I worry. I worry.