B-bmp… b-bmp… b-bmp…

A heartbeat? No, wait… my heartbeat…

B-bmp b-bmp b-bmp b-bmp-

It's getting louder. I'm scared.

B-BMP B-BMP B-BMP B-BMP-

I can hear footsteps, closing in on me, heavily crunching over dead branches. I can feel the damp of moss under my body, the scrape of grass against my clothes, and the tremor of those footsteps, closer and closer. In my groggy, barely conscious state, all I could do was wait and listen for the demise that closed in on me. Its breath grew louder, huffing as though breathing through a metal mask. I tried to open my eyes, tried to move my body against the earth, but it wouldn't listen to me.

A present, my dear Trapper… Do with it as you please.

That voice, barely a whisper of wind that rustled the branches and leaves of the towering forest. The footsteps stopped, next to me, the breathing so loud and my heartbeat so erratic that I thought it would burst. I could hear the clang of metal, of something being placed carefully to the side.

My heart stopped. I felt the brush of a hand, sliding over mine, up my arm… and then it took hold of my chin, tilting my head up. Not a word was said by the creature that held me, only the sound of its breathing filled the tense space between me and it.

I could feel my pulse jumping in my neck.

My dear Trapper… there are sacrifices to be made… hurry up.

When I came to again, it was damp and cold, with only the faint flicker of light dancing on my eyelids. Slowly, hesitantly, I opened my eyes, adjusting to the firelight that danced on the slick cave walls. After a brief adjustment, I could see. I had been moved… there were no trees, no grass, only the walls of the cave, the firelight… and him.

He sat with his back to me, illuminated by the fire. He looked dirty, his dusty green overalls stained with mud and some other, darker fluid. But beyond the filth of his clothing, his skin seemed to have a dark tone, stretched over thick cords of muscle that could put body builders to shame. Scars overlapped one another, covering his broad shoulders and to parts of his body shadowed by what the firelight couldn't touch. Jutting out from his strong flesh were long pieces of metal, in varying states of rust and breakage, holding onto his body as though rooted to his bones. I couldn't help but frown, for what torture had this man endured to leave him in such a state as this?

My eyes shifted towards the dark of the cave; perhaps there's a way out. I sat up, slowly, as quietly as I could, but not quiet enough. His head turned towards me, and though shadowed, I could see light reflect off a metallic mask that hid his face. I swallowed, nervous, and let my pathetic voice slip through my lips, "Where am I?"

B-bmp… b-bmp… b-bmp…

He didn't speak. His breath was heavy and echoing in his mask, his body slowly turning to rise and face me. He was much taller than I expected, looming overhead like a gnarled, old tree. One foot came forward, then another.

Only then did I see his hands. Scarred, thick fingers wrapped around a heavy machete in one hand, and the other a rusted bear trap. No, not rust… blood. Not just on the trap, but on his arms, his thick barrel chest, his mask, dripping crimson droplets onto the cave floor. The tread of his boots squelched in the scarlet puddles.

B-bmp b-bmp b-bmp b-bmp-

"S-stay back," I could hear just how pitiful I sounded, my back pressing to the wall of the cave. There was no way out, nowhere to go. My body tremored uncontrollably, he was so close now, he could grab me. He knelt, the trap fell from his hand, and he reached…

B-BMP B-BMP B-BMP-

His hand seized my chin, gently, and he shook his head. Then, as quickly as he had come, he let go, backing up to his place by the fire and sitting, facing me this time. The weaponry dropped to the floor with a clang, and he lifted his hands to his face.

"My name is Evan." The mask came down with his hands, resting in his lap now. The light was barely enough to illuminate a square jaw, and a stern expression. The scars overlapped his strong cheek bones and one crossed over his full mouth. I couldn't figure out his eye color because of the shadows, but they were dark and fixated on my expression.

B-bmp…

"Evan?" I could barely whisper his name.

He nodded. "Evan MacMillan."

"Why am I here?"

The man, Evan, sat back against a stalagmite and examined me with cold, black eyes. His face, shadowed by the dancing firelight, showed only slight interest in my question, if he had any interest at all. There was a long pause between me and him, the silence only filled with the crackle of the embers and our breathing. Then, finally, "I've never seen you around here before… most of the newcomers who arrive are on their feet as soon as they arrive."

"Newcomers? What do you mean?"

And he told me. We weren't anywhere on earth, at least not anymore. Here, we live an eternal death, sacrificed over and over, killed by monsters to please the master of this world, the Entity. The Trapper, or Evan, was one of these monsters, selected by the Entity to do its bidding. He told me how each of them had their own abilities, their own powers, and where each of them called home. Where he found me, the MacMillan Estate, was his home turf. He lamented that a few of the killers were a bit rude, some even outlandishly powerful, but that they didn't necessarily choose this kind of, well, afterlife.

Then, he told me a bit more about where I come in. They call us survivors, and we were to escape them in these attempts called "trials." If we escaped, we lived on to fight in another. If we were sacrificed, we would wake up at a campfire to face yet another trial. Over and over, the cycle repeats, pitted against monsters of the Trapper's ilk.

But if one thing was for certain, it was this; every one of us, killer and survivor alike, were dead.

I felt cold, clammy, digesting the news as it sank like a pit into my stomach. I was dead, and I had been sent to this hellish eternity of being sacrificed over and over, but…

"If I'm one of these… survivors," I raised my eyes to look at him, and he returned my gaze, "then why didn't you immediately sacrifice me when you found me?"

Evan sat still, and I could practically see the gears turning in his head as he thought about his answer. But no sooner had I asked when a ringing sound filled our small cavern. Quickly, he snapped his mask back onto his face and rose to his feet, grabbing his weaponry from where they sat by the fire. "Stay close to the wall, in the shadow. Don't make any noise."

Following his orders, I pressed myself into the shadow of a stalagmite and kept small. But I couldn't help but peek around the curved silhouette to see the newcomer. Evan, after making sure I had tucked myself away, turned to the darker part of the cave and shifted his grip on his machete. "Philip… what brings you here?"

"Evan," a wispy voice echoed off the roof, more snarl than sound, "can't I pay a visit?"

"You usually only stop by after a bad trial."

"Well, when you're as sensitive to light as I am, the survivors pick up on it. They made my head spin." The voice, Philip, sounded annoyed and exhausted. "They all ended up escaping. Really, I don't see why you have such a soft spot for the vile things."

"They're stuck here, like we are. The only difference is we killed in our past lives." Evan's voice was gruff. "Besides, we don't get sacrificed, they do… Can you blame them for trying to live?"

"Yes, I can… and those abominable flashlights, too." Philip hissed the words as though they were poison. I could hear their footsteps as they came closer to the little campfire that provided the only source of light in the cave. From what I could see, he appeared tall, even taller than Evan, but he was as thin as a rail. In his hand, he held some sort of… club? No, a spinal column, with a skull fixed to the end. His clothes were old, tattered, and patterned with tribal paint. "And with all the pallets they slam in your face, you should be harsher on them. Even Sally is getting irritated with their antics."

"Not all of them are bad." Evan's voice sounded a bit more sullen, as though his argument had weakened. "But I won't try to change your mind. After all, no man kills the same way." His thick build moved into view, standing directly in front of me. His shadow made my little corner even darker.

B-bmp.

"Evan… I do have a question for you." Philip's head turned to the trapper, and I could see his face. Thin, gaunt, with haunting white eyes. Evan picked his head up, inquiring the tall specter to continue, "Did the Entity… present something to you?"

B-bmp.

"And if it did?" Evan didn't miss a beat, but I could hear my heartbeat rising in my throat. It was as though those haunting white eyes could see me, even in this shadow. Philip took two short steps closer, looking into the face of the Trapper, before his face turned down to my position exactly, then back up. Evan's hand tightened on his machete, his posture going rigid.

B-bmp b-bmp b-bmp…

"Just… mind yourself, Evan." Philip's eyes flicked toward me once more, then he turned away, towards where he had come in from. "Not everyone will like your… pet. You know where she belongs." He raised his club, holding it out to point to my hiding spot. "You know how Carter is. And Michael. Hell, even that bumbling clown would kill her on the spot. Just don't be stupid."

"Leave."

"Leaving." Without another word, he was gone, his footsteps echoing on the walls and receding into the damp.

A thick silence hung in the cave after his departure, suffocating me. I slowly crawled from my spot, back into the light of the fire as my heart beat calmed down. I watched the man before me, carefully, concerned but not trusting. After all… He had a giant machete in his hand. "Is my being here causing trouble for you?"

"Don't worry about it."

The man walked away from me, closer to the fire. I frowned, not satisfied, "who was that? He didn't seem at all pleased that I was here."

"That was Philip Ojomo. Survivors like you call him the Wraith." Survivors like me… "He's strong, but not overwhelmingly so. Hard to be a badass when flashlights burn you. Just ignore him, he's spiteful." He says that, but he sounds more distraught now that the Wraith was gone than when he was here.

My Trapper, it is time.

That voice… the Entity? But survivors don't hear the entity; at least, they're not supposed to, from what Evan told me. My eyes traveled to his now rigid form, stone-still by the fire. Slowly, he turned towards me.

I expected to see unbridled rage, a crazed look, something other than what I found in his gaze.

Instead… I saw a deep sadness as he lumbered into the darkness.