Chapter Text
Aaand there he was. The geek. Crybaby, coward, guy who jumped at the sound of a pin dropping—whichever name you preferred.
Ghostface? More than any other name, he preferred design.
Danny scowled beneath his mask as he yet again reflexively yearned to whip out a pen and notebook, but could only clench his fist around his tactical knife. Old habits died hard. Ever since he'd arrived in The Entity's realm, he'd had to resign himself to taking mental notes only during trials. A pain in the ass, that. He'd become used to constantly carrying around notebooks and legal pads throughout college, throughout his journalistic escapades, throughout his passion projects, and now he was hobbled.
No matter. Danny poked his head out from behind a shrub in the Garden of Joy to stare at the two Survivors fiddling with a generator. They weren't looking at their surroundings enough. Perfect for him. His face split into a grin.
Suddenly, the Survivors shot up from the gen and bolted in opposite directions, Dwight to the left, Yun-Jin to the right. Tactically, it made sense to leave Yun-Jin alone for now, as she was much less likely to go out of her way to help her teammates and therefore increase their odds of escape.
Danny went for her anyway, downing her with one good smack before she could drop a pallet on his head. He slung her up on a hook and went back on the prowl.
Hm. Dwight was probably hiding in a locker—so stupidly
(endearingly)
predictable—as he waited out the exposure Danny had inflicted on him and Yun-Jin. The Killer could look for others in the meantime; he'd thought he had seen someone creeping into the main house. And if there was one Survivor who thought she could out-stealth Danny, then he looked forward to scaring the shit out of her.
He slowed his breathing as he stalked through one of the house's side doors, footsteps making slightly less noise than those of a panther's as he crept up the stairs. Danny peered into the upper room which held the generator. Nothing, no one. Then he heard the unmistakable, quiet clicking noises of a chest being unlocked from across the hall. Oh, for God's sake. This was too easy.
As soon as Nea felt herself become exposed, she whipped around, glared at the doorway, and flipped Danny off before leaping out of the hole in the wall to her right.
"Fine, be that way," he muttered to himself.
Danny made sure Nea was the first to die, just for giving him the finger. Sure, maybe it had to do with his Fragile Male Ego, but that didn't stop him from tunneling out rude Survivors. He was allowed to be petty.
Dwight was next. It hadn't been intentional, though—it'd only been his second hook. Yun-Jin hadn't bothered to even try to rescue him, and Ash had been too late to make a run for Dwight's hook, then fucked off to who-knew-where. Danny thought it was unlikely that the remaining Survivors, both on death-hook, would finish their last two generators.
He was right. He spotted Yun-Jin hiding in the gazebo, shaking like a leaf, and boom, time to find the escape hatch. Danny jogged the perimeter of the map, keeping an eye out for the final Survivor the whole way. He finally spied it nestled up against one of the broken fences in front of the house.
Sighing in satisfaction, Danny turned, sat down on the top of the fence, and waited.
It didn't take long for Ash to follow the humming noise emitting from the hatch. He froze when he saw Ghostface casually waiting for him, and his expression got caught between a grin and a grimace. Regardless, he walked right up to the Killer.
"Ashley. Dearest," said Danny, a smile in his voice. "How's it been?"
Barely looking fazed, Ash let out a chuckle. "So it talks."
"Uh, yeah, it does. Did you think I couldn’t?"
The older man shrugged. "Never gave it much thought. Shoulda figured you'd sound a little pervy, though."
"Hey, hey, not by choice. The Entity made me sound like the voice modulator I used to use. Besides, I bet some people think it's sexy."
"If that's what you gotta tell yourself to jack off at night, I'll try not to judge."
"Right. So," Danny said, patting the top of the fence next to where he was perched. "Care to sit for an interview?"
"Sure, you're the guy with the knife." Ash sat with a little grunt. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
Down to business. "I have some questions about your friends."
Ash quirked a brow. "Yeah? Well, I got news for you, pal. I ain't about to sell anybody out."
Danny hummed. "I'm not looking for scandalous bullshit or juicy gossip. I'm a journalist, not some trashy tabloid writer."
"That makes me feel a lot better." Ash's sarcasm made a slight whistling noise as it flew over Danny's head. "So what do you want to know? Who can fit their whole fist in their mouth? 'Cause I know for sure that Kate can."
"Uh-huh, helpful. That's exactly what I need." Christ, Danny wished he could've spared some other Survivor to talk to after this match, but he hadn't had any other option—his Korean was dogshit, he'd have strangled Nea before he could even find it in himself to ask her a question, and Dwight...
Well.
Danny slumped forward, elbows on his knees. "I'm assuming you're familiar with Dwight, yeah?"
"Fairfield? Yep."
"I'm curious." Thanks to years of pretending to be someone he very much was not, Danny was able to conceal the burning itch that was centered at the nape of his neck and slowly radiating outward, into his limbs
(i need to know i have to know it doesn't make any goddamn sense)
and his brain. "Right, Dwighty-boy," he said, refocusing his thoughts. "There's something about him I've noticed. How come, out of everyone else, you other Survivors listen to his orders the most?" He saw it all the time. Survivors seemed to try harder around him, speeding through generators, grabbing things from chests like they'd invented Schlage, all that useful shit.
Not only that, but the four-eyed bastard always seemed to know where everybody was—didn't matter if they were on a completely different floor of a building. The nerve of that little asshole. Keeping tabs on everybody was Danny's job, not his.
Ash just shrugged. "Everybody else does it. Might just be because he's been here the longest."
"Nope," Danny countered. "He arrived here with three others. What about Jake?"
"Kid's not much of a talker, but you knew that already."
"Claudette?"
"Oh. Mom. She's already got her hands full patching up my sorry ass. No time to go around telling everybody what to do."
"All right. What about Meg? Why don't you listen to her instead?"
Ash snorted as he gave the Killer his best are-you-shitting-me look. The sound reminded Danny of a horse. "Chrissakes, would you? What kinda question is that?"
"Fair point." Danny paused, his mouth set in a tight frown. He was stumped. Dwight Fairfield was the white bread in the Survivor supermarket. Unambitious. Unobtrusive.
Underestimated?
"Well," Ash said abruptly, almost making Danny jump. "This has been great, believe me, but I'm sure you got some more evil shit to do, and the last thing I want is to get in your way. I think you probably got the scoop you wanted."
"Groovy," Danny drawled. "You're free to go." Ash clapped his hands on his knees and stood up with a quiet wheeze. "Just one more thing, honey bunny," Danny said as the Survivor prepared to jump into the hatch.
Ash paused and looked over his shoulder, legs bent, ass sticking out. "What now?"
Danny tilted his head to the side and his voice slipped into the hissing, reptilian tone he often used whenever he wanted to unnerve. "Mention this conversation to anyone else, and I'll gut you like a fish and take pictures to commemorate my catch."
Ash, not even slightly intimidated, laughed one last time as he dropped through the hatch. "Don't you threaten me with a good time," he called.
When the older man was fully out of sight, Danny pulled off his mask and slowly dragged a hand down his face. The odds of Ash keeping his trap shut were slim to none. Dwight might very well hear about how Danny was asking questions.
He really should've gutted Ash when he'd had the chance.