Forsaken. The realm all of these poor people had been trapped in. All from different games, torn from their lives and thrown into The Spectre’s, the entity that controlled this hell, purgatory. A sadistic, monstrous game of cat and mouse was all these pathetic five minute rounds were. It was always the same. A break in the Survivors cabin, a chance to rest and fully respawn, and then thrown into the rounds. Being hunted down aimlessly by ruthless murderers that felt nothing but bloodlust. The only way to survive? Hide. Protect your team, and do generators. Every survivor has a job. A part to play. And Builderman’s was to serve as support. He placed down dispensers to heal people and sentries to shoot and slow down the killers while others like TwoTime and Shedletsky stabbed the killer, stunning them.

Today, Builderman was especially fed up. He’d had a generally bad day, being bombarded by an annoying Shedletsky talking his ears off early in the morning. Every little thing seemed to irritate him today. Although he kept that to himself, of course. He reluctantly placed down Sentries and Dispensers, silently sending empty threats to some of his teammates, even wishing harm on some. He never meant anything his inner dialogue spat at his friends, although he had no other way of controlling his irritation. Now, he sat beside a generator, connecting some of the wires in an attempt to fix it; wanting to take some time off the timer. He just wanted to get back to the cabin.