this wild abyss | {adrien executioner}

[umber vivuus 12b 🥀 [dars]]

He wished that the reason his eyes were bloodshot was because he and Indi had taken a detour in the back gardens. He wished his life was simple: easy. A normal family, who had dinner at five o'clock. A mother who always knew exactly what to say and a father who always knew exactly what to do. He wished that his biggest concern was whether or not he would pass his biology final next week, or figuring out how to convince his crush to go to the dance with him. He wished he'd gotten the opportunity to revel in his youth, but even living in Panem was enough to make sure that never happened. He wished for a lot, as he sat in the chair of his father's office, heartbroken and lonely and afraid.

His eyes were bloodshot because he'd been crying.

Everything, everything had fallen apart and this day, this single day that has felt like an eternity, brought him to his knees and made his stomach ache.


Indi isn't here, either, he thought. He was beginning to fear that he was nowhere. There was a bit of hope that, perhaps, he'd found a way out of Five's most aristocratic labyrinth, but then: why hadn't he come back for Adrien? Maybe he thought going for help was better. He was probably right, although he didn't see what anyone could really do until the storm subsided. Figured the keepers had all gone home to wait out the storm just as everyone else had.

If Adrien were home right now, he would've been helping his mother with dishes after she cooked something from nothing- a vegetable broth and some bread, maybe. If she'd had time to buy the ingredients before the storm got too bad. Though it seemed like such a minuscule and, perhaps selfish thing for him to think of with everything else that was going on, he hoped his mother didn't go to sleep hungry that night.

Perhaps he should have been walking more carefully. After all, the hallways were slanted in complete darkness. It made the already cacophonous estate feel as if it stretched on for miles and miles, stopping long after the horizon had passed. Maybe if he walked far enough, he'd look up and find that he was some place new.

Instead, he found himself in his father's room, sitting on the edge of his bed, thinking of a million things he should have said, but didn't. A thousand things that he had said, and wished he hadn't.

He opened the top drawer of his father's night stand to find it holding only a book and a pair of reading glasses. He flipped through the pages to see that there was no bookmark. Either he had tasked himself with remembering which page he'd stopped on every night, or he hadn't gotten around to starting it before-

He slammed the drawer shut and was surprised to hear the clunky sound of something falling within the chest as a result. One by one, he pulled the drawers out until he found the culprit. Shiny, and dangerous, and smiling in the storm-lit room like it was the only one in the room that got the joke. A gun. It felt heavier than it looked, but he also noticed the folded piece of paper that had fallen with it.

He had to walk over to the window and squint to read it between flashes of lightning, but it only took a moment for him to realize what it was saying which was essentially this: goodbye.

He was going to end it.

The date at the top was about two years old. Which would've been right about the time that he'd started planning this. He felt a hotness in his stomach and before he could realize what it was, it had bubbled its way up his throat and out of his mouth. He retched for quite some time, before collapsing into the wall and sliding down to his butt. The gun was still there on the ground, just where he'd left it, still smiling that same smile. Only now it seemed to be saying:

"Get it?"

[umber vivuus 12b 🥀 [dars]]

He opened the chamber just to be sure. One bullet. It didn't have his father's name on it, but it might as well have. It was meant for him, after all. On one hand, so much made sense. On the other, it brought up even more questions.

This game was his recovery. This game wasn't an attempt at finding a successor, but an attempt at finding someone to have dinner with, someone to laugh with, someone to teach. Someone who would care.

But wouldn't Adrien have been good enough for that on his own? The thought that he'd been asked here, with these people- these strangers- to compete for the affections of the one man who should've been there for him all along? It didn't take long, but his grief had quickly swelled into resentment.

When he closed the door behind him, it felt like the end of something. Maybe it would've been, if there could be an end to something that never was.

The gun in his hand goaded him on. Fix this, it said, smiling that smile, I am all you need to end it.

He wanted to go home. He wanted to see his mother. He wanted to feel normal and though his resentment had started with a sorry excuse for a father, it was more than that now, because he knew so much was no longer a possibility. He'd be broken forever, wouldn't he? They all would, if any of them managed to even survive this god damn hellscape. No. No more. No more death.

One more death.

One bullet.

His conviction outweighed his logic. This was what he knew: Malcolm Nox was a sorry son-of-a-bitch, almost everyone he cared about was dead, and the one person left was missing in action. It felt personal. Maybe it was, maybe it wasn't, but he found himself thinking of who would hate him enough to do this.

Amrin had hated him, but she hated everyone, and they told him she was dead. So was Whitney. So was Blaine. So was Poppy. Fiora didn't seem to trust him, but then she seemed most intent on finding the killer, and if she were trying to shed the blame and put it onto someone else, she wouldn't have been so quick to point out flaws in every accusation. He didn't have the heart to think it could be Indigo, and he didn't think Beryl or Coralie or Violet had the brains to get it done.

That left two options: Adam and Harvey.

Adam didn't seem to have a problem with Adrien, but maybe that had been a part of his plan. Add to that the fact that no one had seen or heard from him in hours and he really started to seem suspicious.

And then Harvey. Harvey Slate, who had figured out every single person in this mansion. Who had claimed to be, what? A poor boy from the wrong side of the tracks? Nothing more, nothing less? The question of how kept ringing in his ears. How had he known? ("Adrien is going to win in the end. He's got a certain presence about him-" "You're hiding something, which is fine. We all have our little secrets." "Adrien. Adrien Nox.")

It had been right under his nose the entire time. Maybe Harvey knew before he even walked through that gate, or maybe he found out soon after. Maybe he thought Adrien would be given an unfair advantage. It wasn't much, either way, but both were suspicious and both were faces Adrien looked for as he marched down the halls, more quiet now than ever.

It took quite some time before he ever even heard someone else nearby, so he ducked into a closet and waited for them to pass, left the door just the slightest bit open so that he could watch them as they walked away. The form was small. Too small to be Adam or Harvey. And also seemingly not carrying themselves in a I'm going to murder someone kind of way, though he supposed he wouldn't have known what that would look like, anyway.

After the form was gone, he reached to grab the handle, only to find it slick with something. He ran his fingers together, nose twisting in disgust.

"What the-" He opened the door and hoped that the light from the windows would be enough. It was black, it seemed. Semi-opaque. Sticky. "Oil?" he whispered aloud, but when he smelled it, it didn't smell like oil. He knew that much. He returned to the closet and began to feel around on the shelf for something that might have tipped over, but found nothing. He'd almost given up when he felt something drip onto his shoulder.

He reached up even further, standing on his toes so that the tips of his fingers could reach the ceiling of the closet. There was a vent there, or a hatch. Something metal. Something wet. And just as soon as he'd made contact with it, the something came crashing down on top of him. He screamed, way too loud to not be terrified now that the killer would find him. He groaned, used all his might to push the thing- a body- off of him.

He allowed himself only a few seconds to collect himself, to catch his breath, to reorder his thoughts, before he crawled over to the heap of human that now laid face down in the closet. He rolled it over.

It was Adam Taupe.

"Fuck," he said, before closing the door and running away.

"Fuck, fuck fuck."

It was Harvey. It had to be.

[umber vivuus 12b 🥀 [dars]]

Covered in sweat and Adam's blood, toting a gun around, he was aware that if someone were to see him, they'd think he was the one who'd been killing everyone. He wasn't an idiot, but he was afraid. And he'd already made his mind up: If he found Indigo first, he was finding a way out and he was never coming back. And if he found Harvey first he would do whatever he could to put an end to this.

It was a lot to ask of himself, though, and required a level of bravery that Adrien wasn't exactly sure that he possessed. So, admittedly, he hoped to find Indigo first. He wished for it. He willed it to be. And after searching room after room, when he ducked into the bar, he felt a knot form in his throat. He thought he might vomit again. He considered running in the opposite direction, pretending he didn't see it.

"Harvey," he said. He kept the gun out of sight as he approached the boy, sizing him up. Could it really be you? He took the seat next to him, eyes on his shadowed silhouette. The bar seemed much more ominous without the flashing lights and with the presence of a gun in one party's hand.

With his free hand, he poured himself a drink.

"Adam is dead."

He said it ambiguously, like it could have meant, his body just fell on top of me in a fucking closet somewhere, or it could have meant, but you knew that already, didn't you?

The whiskey burned his already sore throat on the way down. He sniffed, wiped a drip of blood onto his shirt sleeve.

"So is pretty much everyone by now, right?"

His voice did little to hide how betrayed he felt; he stood and made his way around the bar so that he could stand on the other side of it, just in front of Harvey.

"I guess the one good thing is that it's narrowed down the suspects. Which got me thinking," he was grateful for the dark, because he felt tears clouding his eyes and the pain in his voice was undeniable, "Who would do this? I mean, who would— what kind of person could— "

He took a deep breath in.

"Indigo wouldn't. The victory was practically his so it doesn't make sense. The others are all too dumb to manage this and I know it isn't me. So that leaves, um..." he sniffed again, blinking the tears away and clearing his throat. Slowly, he raised the gun and pointed it across the bar at him.

"That just leaves you."

[Tom]

One shot of whiskey is all it takes to calm his nerves.

Death seemed to linger in the walls of this place, looming with a chill over their hearts. Pieces on a chessboard, that he had snatched and set up in the bar, moving one by one until there was only a few plays to be made. Harvey Slate had learned the steps it takes to take out an opponent. He could do so in just a few steps, but this game was more complicated than the rest. The air feels different when he's a piece on the board, a simple step forward could lead to his doom and doing nothing could let himself be left open, breathing until blood spills and his anger breaks away. Step by step, it all comes to an end eventually. Swirling whiskey in a circle, letting the brown liquid melt into his vision as he takes a small swig, wondering if his life could be read upon the depths of the glass.

It's quiet for awhile like the house is waiting for the next scream, the next death, the next massacre, and the next broken thing. Death seems to enjoy the broken ones the most. Playing and toying with them, until there's nothing left but a missing piece of the board. Harvey Slate had seen death first hand, lived in it, relished in it, and forgotten it. His mother's death was still bitter to the core. Stone graves lead to stone hearts, wrapped up in an chill that no one could break. People like them would never understand it. The pain, the anger, the fear, the sorrow, and the suffering he holds.

He doesn't look up when Adrien Nox's presence is made. Instead, he moves the pieces one by one until they are back in order. Ready for a new game, ready for a new fate, and ready for a new owner. It's quiet for a moment when Harvey waits, barely able to breath because there's a tension in the air, rising like the night his mother died. Rising like the fear in his heart when he was alone for good. Rising like he was back on the streets where parents avoided his gaze, pulling kids and their purses closer. Words upon their tongues like he was nothing more than a rat to them. Didn't they know? Ripred was a god.

"Harvey," The voice is the same one he expected to find him. Adrien Nox must've found it. The one thing that would lead to this conversation, this piece of the game that was always meant to be. A knight moves forward while a queen falls, the image is too familiar to him. He's quiet, patient, and knows what's coming. Harvey wasn't in a rush to get there, pieces were still in play, puzzles still left unsolved. It's the drink being poured, pieces of a puzzle still out there, waiting to be discovered. A pawn overtaken by a rook. A bishop taken out by a pawn. A rook taken out by a bishop. A pawn taken out by a pawn. The game moves, steadily with a grace, eyes never leaving it, despite the next words that leaves Adrien Nox's lips. "Adam is dead."

Adam was dead. Died like the asshole that he was, lost from the rest, but left behind for the taking. Harvey Slate had broken from fear. Taken it out on Beryl who deserved it, but none of that mattered. None of it would ever matter. Adrien Nox takes his drink, heavy down the throat, burning fully. The heir stands before him; a king waiting to make a final move. Broken pieces of a heart laid out below him, he knew how it was. Losing a parent never quite healed right, but Adrien Nox would never be the same after this. Lost a father and broken down like Harvey Slate had been. "So is pretty much everyone by now, right?" Eyes perked up at the words, but Harvey Slate knew what this was about. Adrien Nox could be the one. Adrien Nox could be the man behind the mask, but that didn't seem right.

Harvey lets him walk, move around the bar to stand in front of him. Eyes looking down upon him as if he were a piece in the game or even worse, the kingpin. "I guess the one good thing is that it's narrowed down the suspects. Which got me thinking," The darkness of the room hides his face from him, but Harvey could hear it. The betrayal in his voice, the fear of it all, the brokenness of Adrien Nox. A pawn for a pawn. A bishop for a bishop. A king for a king. This was always how it was meant to go. Sadness and grief piling up on their shoulders with hearts broken; stone hearts solidly remaining in their place. "Who would do this? I mean, who would— what kind of person could—"

A master of games.

A lover of puzzles.

A dramatic showman with a darkened heart with the world against them. Harvey Slate should have seen it all coming. He should have put the pieces of the puzzle together, one by one until the image cleared. Tears spent putting together the only puzzles left from his childhood on the streets trying to hold the memories of his mother close to his chest. Isn't that what happens to broken boys? They hold their hearts in a stone grave, six feet under until they can dig it back up and swallow it whole. The deep breath comes and goes like a waning wind breaking through the streets of an autumn day. Adrien Nox was always meant to meet him here.

"Indigo wouldn't. The victory was practically his so it doesn't make sense. The others are all too dumb to manage this and I know it isn't me. So that leaves, um..." For a moment, he blinks. Swallowing down the hubris he dared to keep up for a long time, metal glinting in his vision. Never in his life did he expect to be staring down the barrel of a gun once more, breathing in the air of a cold day. Harvey Slate hadn't seen this move coming. Pieces on a board flipped around once more, a move surprising him for once. Step by step, until Harvey Slate is drowning in a sea of loss and sorrow. "That just leaves you."

Wasn't this how it was always supposed to end?

A gunshot and a broken son.

He's stared death in the eyes more times than he can count on his hands. Built a stone heart to ignore the pain that lingers in the depths of his heart, always shattering over and over again. Fear doesn't strike him. Death never shook him. Harvey Slate had grown to be calm in its presence; never quite uncomfortable or comfortable. Isn't this how it was meant to be? Two boys and a bottle of whiskey between them. It's calm for a second as he doesn't move, lets his voice cut through the air this time, watches the pieces like all along he had seen this coming. A pawn for a pawn. A knight for a knight. A rook for a rook. A bishop for a bishop. A queen for a queen. A king for a king.

"I'm guessing you found out the truth."

There's no bite to his voice anymore. Harvey Slate wasn't afraid; couldn't be afraid. The truth would always get out. The truth about it all. Harvey Slate knew what would come from it. The past was meant to stay in the past, but he knew since the first death things would never be the same. Death had to catch up to him eventually. Pieces on a board unknown to him, the boy who thought he knew everything about all of it. Grew up playing older men in a park, piece by piece finding joy in the simplest things. Feeding his poor family by winning game after game from the only thing his mother had taught him long ago. It's not every day a kid gets to play a game with the Malcolm Nox, but isn't that what lead to this game he's stuck in now. A simple game of chess where the prize was a meal. Queen for a king. It had been so easy back then.

"I'm right, aren't I?"

Harvey Slate shouldn't be toying with death. Harvey Slate shouldn't be asking for it. Harvey Slate should be begging not to die, but he's stared death in the face too many times now. Was it his time? Was it time for the game to end? Was it time to swallow his heart and show his true colors beneath the stone layers of himself? He didn't know. Maybe, he would never know. It's a soft moment when he knocks over the king, watches it fall gently down off the board, clanging against the ground with a crescendo of noise. Falling to the ground like the rest of them had. Malcolm. Blaine. Adam. Poppy. Amrin. Whitney. More bodies along the floor as the game continues on, piece by piece removed from the board.

"You're wrong, y'know. I had to do what I could for her. You should understand that, right?"

Metal stares him down, the first time he's stood up to death. The first moment he's accepted death for what it is. Loss. Sorrow. Peace. A relief of what was wrong in the world. Harvey Slate won't die crying. He's cried enough in his life. In the streets, on his mother's deathbed, to Malcolm Nox years ago. Harvey Slate was broken enough times to know this would be the last time. Fiora could find the truth. Indigo could give back to the world. Violet could share that kindness. Beryl could charm anyone. Adrien would be okay. It would take time, but Harvey knew what death was like. Unfair and filled with pain, but Adrien would be stronger than him.

"This game isn't over, Adrien."

Harvey Slate lets another king fall, slowly as he waits for the bullet.

The final pieces of the puzzle leading up to this.

"It'll never be over."

[umber vivuus 12b 🥀 [dars]]

tw: murder / gun

He wanted Harvey to convince him he was crazy. Point the finger back at him. Do anything to let him know he was wrong.

But his reaction seemed to be that he'd expected this all along, known it was only a matter of time.

"I'm guessing you found out the truth."

Thinking it was Harvey was one thing. Hearing the truth, though. Hearing him admit to it, not even bother trying. The truth. So it was real. It was him. It had to be. right? Adrien bit his lips to keep them from trembling, the gun shaking in his unsteady grasp. Finish it, it said, smiling.

"I'm right, aren't I?"

"All this, Harvey? For what? Because you thought I had some sort of advantage? Why not just kill me? Why everyone else?" His inhale was more of a choked sob. So many had fallen. So many. Malcolm had called them the brightest lights of Five's tomorrow, and one by one they'd each blinked out of existence before his very eyes. By Harvey's hand.

There was a long pause.

"You're wrong, y'know. I had to do what I could for her. You should understand that, right?"

Her? Adrien hadn't a clue who Harvey was referring to. A family member? Someone in the house? The thought that, maybe, Harvey wasn't alone in this briefly passed through his mind. Who could she be? He was close to Fiora, right? He realized he wasn't sure. He realized that, while Harvey had been so busy finding out every little detail of the others, he'd managed to sneak by without revealing a single thing about himself.

It was weird, feeling betrayed. Feeling like a friend had stabbed him in the back, but not knowing anything about him. Adrien felt a bit guilty in that moment for not having tried harder, and also a bit relieved, because the idea of caring for someone who turned out to be capable of doing something like this? That would've been the final straw, he thought.

"This game isn't over, Adrien. It'll never be over."

He set his jaw.

One bullet.

"It is for you, Harvey. You must've known it would come to this."

Do it, the gun grinned. The question of can I really handle this burned through him. The power was in the palm of his hand, and he wanted it to stop. He wanted it to stop so, so badly. He wanted to fix this. So the question of could he wasn't an option. It all boiled down to one cold, hard fact:

He had to.

"You can't hurt anyone else."

Gunfire.