Sometimes, you need those moments where you have a crisis about everything you’ve done. Tim needs those often. Oh, fuck. He hates being a proxy, working for the Operator— and being forced to call him some stupid shit like “Slenderman”.

He hated his “friends”, his job, his missions, his wallet- his face. He hated everything, no wonder why he was always in such a grouchy mood. It’s not like anyone at the fuckass mansion cared, they were all mentally ill.

He groaned as he put a hand to his face, then moving it down to glare at the night sky. His back, against the grass— surrounded by trees. It was raining, and sure it got everywhere on him— but right now he can’t care.

Maybe he should attempt. Maybe… what the fuck was that?!

Tim instantly became aware of his surroundings. Not given enough fucks to sit up or stand, but giving just enough to be ready to attack with a knife- or at least look around his surroundings.

A moment of silence passed. It’s nothing. He heard nothing. He’s imagining again, isn’t he?! Fuck!

Then he heard a voice call out to him. It didn’t address him by name, or anything of the sorts- but he could tell it was towards him. His eyes flickered to the direction of the sound. Someone found him.