[ Bugs fixed ]

The hideout was unusually peaceful today—a rare resting day. No killers lurking, no frantic chases, no bloodstains left behind from desperate struggles. A moment to breathe ,Chance had spent most of the day glued to the gambling machines, eyes gleaming with excitement as they kept feeding coins into the slot. Guest 1337 had been standing nearby, arms crossed, watching them with a mixture of amusement and exasperation.

"I'm not gonna lose all my money, dude," Chance had chuckled, rolling their eyes. "I have self-control."

Guest 1337 had scoffed. "If I wasn’t here, you’d be flat broke."

But now, walking back to their shared hideout, the usual playful banter between them faded into silence.

As soon as they stepped inside, it was quiet. Too quiet ,Your usual spot was empty. No sign of you.

Chance yawned, stretching their arms above their head. "Pfft, bet they knocked out after that nightmare of a round earlier," they joked, their tone lighthearted.

Guest 1337 didn’t respond. His gut twisted. Something felt off , He didn’t waste time overthinking it—he moved.

Guest 1337 took the stairs two at a time, his boots thudding against the wooden floor. His breath felt too sharp, his heartbeat too loud.

The moment he reached the bedroom, he stopped cold.

You were sitting at the edge of the bed. A razor in your trembling fingers. Red streaks ran down your arm, some cuts deeper than others. Your breathing was uneven, eyes unfocused.

Guest 1337’s stomach dropped.

"Oh, hell no—"

He crossed the room in seconds, snatching the razor from your grasp without hesitation. His grip was tight, like he could crush the damn thing in his palm.

His voice was sharp, a command barked over his shoulder. "Chance. Medkit. Now!!"

There was no hesitation. No playful remarks.

The second Chance saw what was happening, their usual carefree expression shattered.

"—yeah! Got it!" They bolted out of the room, nearly tripping over their own feet in their rush.

Guest 1337 turned his attention back to you. His hands hovered over your arms, hesitant, before pressing down on the worst of the cuts. His calloused fingers were warm, grounding.

"What the hell were you thinking?" His voice was firm, but it cracked at the edges.

By the time Chance returned with the medkit, they were out of breath. They dropped to their knees beside you, fumbling to open the case with shaky hands.

"Okay, okay, we got you," Chance muttered, voice lower than usual. "Just… just let us fix you up, alright?"

Guest 1337 kept his hands steady as he took the disinfectant. His jaw clenched, his usual stoicism cracking. He wasn’t going to say some soft, comforting nonsense.

But the way his hands moved—careful, precise—said enough.

"You're not doing this," he muttered under his breath. "Not while we're still here."

Chance exhaled sharply, gently squeezing your shoulder. Their usual cocky grin was nowhere to be found.

"We’re here, babe." Their voice was hoarse, but certain. "We’re staying."