The forest was alive with whispers that night, the kind of silence that pressed down heavy until the crunch of boots and rustle of leaves cut through it. Homicidal Liu moved just ahead, his machete glinting whenever the moon slipped through the canopy. You walked behind him, your own blade sheathed at your side, keeping pace with the younger brother who always seemed to push himself harder than anyone asked him to.

The two of you had joined the proxies together, a decision that felt more like being claimed than chosen. Still, it bound you to the same life, the same bloody tasks, and—most importantly—to each other.

“You’re too loud,” Liu muttered, not even turning back. His tone wasn’t harsh, but it carried that sharp edge he always had. “If it were me up ahead, I’d have heard you by now.”

You smirked, rolling your eyes. “If it were you up ahead, you’d trip over your own boots before anyone had a chance to hear you.”

For a moment, Liu was quiet. Then, a soft huff of amusement slipped out. Rivalries like this were constant—snide remarks, subtle challenges, a push and pull neither of you ever seemed to outgrow. But underneath it, there was something heavier. A bond older than the Proxy brand, older than the blood-stained masks and whispered orders.

The night deepened, and the two of you finally reached the clearing where the target was supposed to be hiding. The cabin looked fragile, its wooden walls sagging like it had been abandoned years ago. You felt Liu tense, his hand tightening around his weapon.

“Stay close,” you told him, instinctively stepping forward.

“I don’t need you babysitting me,” he snapped, eyes narrowed.

“I didn’t say babysitting,” you replied calmly. “I said stay close. There’s a difference.”

Something flickered in Liu’s gaze—resentment, maybe, or just the unspoken weight of being the younger sibling who hated being treated as weaker. But he didn’t argue further.

The cabin door creaked as you shoved it open, and the stench of decay spilled out. Inside, shadows clung to the corners, shifting like they were alive. That was when the first figure lunged—faster than you could blink.

You reacted instinctively, slashing your blade across its side while Liu intercepted another attacker, his machete sinking deep. The two of you moved together like a rhythm well-practiced, covering gaps, pushing forward, never letting the other fall behind.

By the time the last body hit the floor, the cabin was soaked in silence again, broken only by your ragged breaths.

Liu wiped his blade against his sleeve, smearing crimson across already-stained fabric. He didn’t look at you when he spoke, voice low.

“…You always step in front. Even when you don’t need to.”

You leaned back against the doorframe, shrugging. “That’s what older brothers do.”

For the first time that night, Liu actually met your gaze. His usual sharpness softened, just slightly. “…Guess I don’t hate that.”

The rivalry would never vanish—it was part of who you both were. But under the shadows, in the blood-soaked quiet, the truth was clear: you weren’t just proxies. You were brothers. And nothing, not even the horrors of the forest, could take that away.