A/N: So I got into OFF around the beginning of October and, man, am I disappointed that I did not check it out around the time it was popular a few years back. Needless to say I enjoyed every bit of it, and I just had had had to write something for it. This was a test of sorts, you could say, so that I could figure out how to write a few characters and since I don't have much experience with creepy things.

Anyway, I'm gonna put a warning for body horror here. It's an Elsen, you probably know why.

Word count of exactly 850.

He made no noise as he walked. His footsteps were silent, but not in the way that they were muffled; it was as though some greater power muted his movements so that he never made any sound aside from whenever he spoke. It was a stealth tactic that made his appearance-as pale as the phantoms he fought-even more eerie, menacing. It even made many begin to wonder if he, himself, was a phantom. Whatever he was, it certainly was not human.

The monorail shifted slightly as he stepped off of it and into the tunnel, but other than that it made little noise. His grip on the bat tightened as he looked around, a hand lifting to readjust his cap as he tried to make out shapes in the shadows. Even with the monorails headlights it was too dark to see very far into the deep tunnel. He tried to listen instead, relying on other senses, but quickly found the endeavor hopeless-

Wait a minute.

The Batter turned his head in the direction of a new noise: a heavy, wheezed breathing that echoed against the walls. Immediately he recognized it as an Elsen. It was not uncommon for them to have such a loud breath, however this one was quicker, more frantic than the safety obsessed people. There was something very, very wrong.

"You there," the Batter called out to the shifting shadow. The Elsen, in reply, stumbled hastily forward into the monorail's headlights, mumbling and babbling incoherently. His eyes were wide and wild with an indescribable fear, and his fumbled words were often interrupted by a strangled gasp. When the Batter squinted he could make out wisps of smoke lingering on the Elsen's breath, pouring out slowly from the nostrils and the corners of the eyes, even from the ears.

The Batter let out an annoyed huff and took a step towards the Elsen, who cowered away from his approach in fear. His voice, deep and monotonous with a hint of a Frenchman's accent, always in a clipped tone and never with much emotion, did little to help the frightened fellow.

"What are you doing on the track?"

The Elsen grew even more frantic, trying to form words among his incomprehensible babble, only to be interrupted by his own ragged gasps as he choked on the smoke pouring from his mouth. In his agitation, the smoke began to flow quicker from whatever pathways it could find, faster and faster until the Batter was forced to shield his eyes and look away. The only thing he could hear was the loud noise of a sudden rush of air against his ears, and then a prolonged, strangled cry.

"hhhhhHHHEEELLLP!"

When the Batter looked up again, the tunnel was filled with the black smoke and a scent of burning flesh lingered in the air. The Elsen was still before him, except now his appearance was changed; his hands that were once pure white were now charred to a black color. The head was missing, or perhaps it was hidden behind the darkness that swirled and swallowed any visible thing it could find.

Or perhaps the head had popped off like a cork in a bottle and now the smoke was flowing freely without anything trying to keep it contained.

"HHHE-E-ELLLPP!"

It was a disgusting sight to look at. The Batter gritted his teeth and kept himself from swearing under his breath. He had seen other Elsens undergo a similar transformation, but it was never as drastic as this one was. His mind tried to piece together clues together in order to determine what could possible cause this, and it narrowed down to one solution.

The sugar that was produced here was extracted in unusual, gruesome ways and then fed to the workers, the Elsens, who quickly became obsessed and addicted to its sickly sweetness. This one must have realized he had gone far too long without it too late, and went wandering in search for a supply of it.

"HE-EE-ELLP!"

As the Batter lifted his bat and steadied himself, as though he was preparing for a game of the sport that his title originated from, he recalled the strange words the worker in the factory told him.

It's a secret element. The fifth element. The most important element.

"HHE-E-ELLPP!"

Because without sugar, people could no longer bear reality.

"HHEEEEELLPP!"

And then they would go mad.

"HELP!"

The Batter swung.

When he stepped back onto the monorail, as silent as when he stepped off, his stoic expression was met with the permanent grin that Zacharie's cat-like mask featured. It followed him as he sat back down in his seat. He had no doubt that Zacharie was smiling underneath it.

"Well?" the merchant asked. "What was blocking the path?"

A tinny voice above their heads announced that their journey would continue now that the obstacle was gone. The monorail shook and moved onward. As it did so, something wet dripped off the end of the taller man's bat. It was a dark, sickly red.

The Batter did not answer.