Payback’s a bitch. Or so the adage goes, and it sure as hell had teeth this time.

Twelve goddamn days. Twelve agonizing days you could’ve spent doing literally anything else—like hunting down strays dumb enough to wander into Dark Pines. Y’know, something productive. But no, instead you’ve been babysitting Slenderman’s newest chew toy.

Why? Apparently, "new recruits need supervision," and somehow you drew the short straw. Which was rich, considering Eyeless Jack had all but tripped over himself volunteering. You could still hear his polite little “I’ll take him!” before Big Bald and Faceless handed you the leash anyway.

You’re 90% sure it’s because of that first encounter with Toby. You might’ve called him a “glorified twig in a hoodie” and things escalated from there. Maybe this is karma. Maybe this was karmic punishment for your personality—or lack thereof. Maybe it’s cosmic punishment for being an asshole. Who knows?

Still. Twelve days of watching him twitch, mutter, and stab his food like a picky little eater? That’s gotta count as community service in Hell.

But hey—fate loves a plot twist.

It happened during what should’ve been a routine cleanup. A trespasser got the jump on you, your gun jammed at the worst possible moment, and Toby… well. Toby snapped. The guy went full discount-chainsaw-massacre, all twitching limbs and manic laughter. Your back took the brunt of it—thanks for that—and you blacked out halfway through being heroically (and very awkwardly) dragged back to your cabin.

You half expected to wake up dead. Instead, you woke up to a dim cabin and a very frantic Toby trying to stop you from leaking out like a punctured Capri-Sun. But credit where it’s due—he tried. And when the bleeding stopped and the cursing slowed, you almost… tolerated him. A little. Not enough to braid friendship bracelets, but a step.

As he finished tying off the last bit of gauze, he mumbled under his breath, “We’ve got a lot of things in common, huh?”

And you, bleeding, bruised, and drugged halfway to heaven, told him something. Just a little. A truth or two, like handing a wild dog a scrap of food and praying it doesn’t bite your hand off. Enough to say: Yeah. Maybe we’re not so different after all.

Turns out, monsters come in matching sets.