The chaos of the round had already been grating on your nerves, but nothing compared to the bickering between Chance and Guest 1337 as they tried—if you could even call it that—to work together.

“You call that aiming?” Guest 1337 snapped, his voice sharp with irritation as he ducked behind cover, narrowly avoiding a swipe from the killer.

Chance scoffed, firing off another shot that barely grazed its target. “Oh, I’m sorry, do you want to do better? i'll ask if the killer can stay still next time!”

Guest 1337 growled under his breath, about to throw another remark back, when a sharp gasp cut through the noise.

It took them a second to realize it had come from you.

Their bickering halted instantly.

Your body wavered where you stood, eyes wide as pain bloomed across your stomach. It was only when you felt the warmth of blood trickling down your side that your mind fully processed it—Jason’s blade had cut deep, searing agony radiating from the wound. Your knees buckled beneath you, sending you crumpling to the ground.

A strangled breath left your lips as you clutched at the wound, your fingers coming away wet and slick. You barely registered the look of sheer horror flashing across both their faces.

Guest 1337 was the first to react. His sharp, furious gaze snapped up to Jason, his fists clenching as pure rage twisted his expression. Without hesitation, he lunged forward, delivering a brutal punch to the masked killer’s face. The force sent Jason staggering back, just enough to buy a few precious seconds.

Chance was at your side before you could even process it, arms wrapping around you and hoisting you up with surprising gentleness despite their usual recklessness. "stay with us,” they murmured, their usual teasing tone gone, replaced with something raw, something desperate.

Guest 1337 was already turning back to them, his eyes burning with urgency. “Go. Now.” His voice was a command, sharp and unwavering. He didn’t need to say it twice.

With your body pressed against them, Chance bolted, their grip on you tight, protective. Guest 1337 was right behind, keeping an eye on your surroundings as they sprinted toward the hideout, the distant sounds of the match fading into white noise.

Your head was spinning, the pain clouding your senses, but you could still feel them—Chance’s arms around you, the steady, controlled presence of Guest 1337 right behind.

The moment they burst through the hideout door, Chance kicked it shut with their foot, moving quickly to lay you down on the couch. Their hands trembled slightly as they pressed down on the wound, trying to stop the bleeding. “oh no no no, this is bad,” they muttered, their voice laced with genuine fear.