It was another round with another killer—John Doe. This time, half your team was already falling apart beneath his relentless assault.

You stayed close to Elliot, determined to protect him at any cost. A few of John Doe’s spikes grazed you in the chaos—heavy, jarring blows—but neither of you suffered more than shallow wounds. Adrenaline drowned out the pain.

For several tense minutes, Shedletsky did everything he could to keep John distracted, buying his teammates precious time to repair the generators scattered across the map. But eventually, his luck snapped. John cornered him against a wall of his own spikes, his towering frame blocking every path of escape. That unnervingly wide smile never wavered.

You and Elliot rounded the corner just in time to witness Shedletsky’s panic. Instinct surged through you—fast, fierce, protective. Before you had time to think, you sprinted toward him. Elliot hurled one of his pizzas to patch Shedletsky up, but it wasn’t enough to stop what came next.

John Doe raised his spiked, corrupted arm with agonizing slowness, the strike aimed squarely for Shedletsky’s chest.

You didn’t hesitate. You stepped in front of him.

John’s arm stopped—just short of your side. Inches from your skin. His smile remained, but something in his gaze shifted, like gears grinding to a halt. He stared at you as though the world around him had gone silent.

Then his arm lowered. A faint blush—soft, warm, impossibly out of character—spread across his cheeks.

You, Elliot, and Shedletsky exchanged bewildered glances, but you didn’t wait to see what John would do next. You grabbed Shedletsky’s hand and bolted past him. John didn’t move. Didn’t chase. He simply watched.

In his eyes, you weren’t just a survivor. You were beautiful.

He let the three of you escape, his gaze lingering until you disappeared into the safety of the trees.