The Unmaking Of Us

[WickedWitch]

'It is not the end of the world,
'Forasmuch, the world is nothing but endings'​

In the grand scheme of things, before the entire falsehood the world had taken as a permanent façade, had chipped and shattered, Spencer would have hardly considered himself as a villain, or an antagonist of sorts, but he also didn't think of himself as a hero or a protagonist. In this sense, he acted like a neutral party; neither oppressively good nor hideously evil. He sometimes did good things, and sometimes he made bad decisions, or sometimes he never did either of those things and simply just existed. With that all taken into consideration, with it all picked apart and laid bare before him, he could see now in retrospect that the wavering stance of his should have eventually tilted him more so towards one side. It never really happened, and due to his impartial constitution, he had to deal with more complications in his life than others. This, inevitably, brings him back to his current situation. There is a lingering odor of sweat, vomit, and stale alcohol permeating the air so strongly that his nose has involuntarily scrunched at the unpleasant smell, and when paired with suspiciously colored wallpaper and a rather depressing looking carpet, has his skin prickling in revulsion. In most cases, he'd never put himself through the disheartening act of putting himself in this specific house during a weekday, but this case was not like most cases. Spencer had only come over for a quick stop-by because his closest and only friend, Kit, had been rather sluggish in responding to messages and then complete silence afterwards. Which, was both an odd and normal occurrence, but had niggled in his brain until he had almost made himself sick with worry. And now the worry was growing tenfold as he watched the friend in question stumble over the handful of discarded trash that littered the floor, their long mop of brown hair dull with what looked like a weeks worth of buildup in grease and even something else he didn't want to think about.

"Butty, you sure you're alright?" Spencer finally asks when Kit almost slips again when their feet catch on an empty bottle of sparkling water, his face pinching in worry when their bleary gaze falls onto him. Whatever had happened in the last few days must have been really bad, because in all the meager five years he had known Kit, he'd only seen two occasions (and that was counting that time they had gotten a concussion from a failed skateboard trick and then proceeded to puke out their guts, all of which had happened in only a short span of five minutes while Spencer watched in implied horror) where they had been well and truly out of it because of sickness. An excellent immunity, he supposed. With a dismissive wave, they mumbled something incoherent under their breath and dazedly slumped into the crumpled mess of their bed. Which brings him back to the conflicting virtues of being neither a good nor a bad person. A morally upright person would have been concerned -he was- and would want to take care of their friend -he didn't-, and a bad person would have been irritated at being consulted on something trivial as a fever -he wasn't- and would want to leave right away -he did-. After lingering awkwardly at the threshold of Kit's bedroom for a moment longer than he was entirely comfortable with, he takes a cautious step back attempting to be as quiet as possible so that he doesn't wake the now snoring figure half-hidden underneath the comforter.

Despite the fact that Spencer was worried, he was also hungry, tired, and had work to attend the next morning. The odds of him being able to look after Kit as well as make it to work were against him. He slipped quietly through the mess to the kitchen, skirting trash and half-empty takeout containers; it was almost ironic that they lived in such an unkempt house. Within a few minutes he finds a bottle of pain meds that aren't likely to cause any side effects, and a cup among the piles of dishes that he has to thoroughly clean before it even looks like an effective drinking vessel. In one hand, he balances the meds and cup, and in the other, he seeks out a bottle of water in the overflowing fridge. Retreating triumphantly from the kitchen with the three items. With the same quiet approach he had taken while leaving, he returns to the room, moving the haphazardly placed glass bottles off the bedside table with his elbow, and arranging them on the only relatively empty nightstand. At this point, he was amazed to be able to walk without having to wade through more filth. He pours the water into the glass to make access easier, and he promises himself he will help Kit get back to a livable situation during the weekend. Because frankly, it was inhumane the way they were living, not that he'd ever grow the balls to say that out loud, at the very least though he could passively bring up the idea of cleaning and together they could work from there.

But for now, Spencer casts an indignant glance across the room, another less hostile glance at the empty bottle of antidepressants, and finally a lingering look at Kit's curled figure, so obscured by the thick comforter that only their brown hair and a sliver of their forehead can be seen. In the end, the significant disquiet he had felt earlier had mellowed down into something less disturbing, and he felt that, for now, he had done what he could. Having come to that conclusion, Spencer leaves the room again, omitting the kitchen and the bathroom. He heads straight for where he had haphazardly removed his shoes at the doorway. In the midst of slipping his feet into the worn soles of his yellow trainers, his phone abruptly buzzes to life with an inundation of texts that fill his once empty home screen, and upon pressing his most recent contact, his older brother Wesley, a strange sound emanates from where he just left Kit asleep. The sound itself is not necessarily something to be scared of. However, it still makes the hair on his nape stand up, and his hand twists so tight that it starts to pale significantly. His immediate reaction, as disastrous as it might have been, was to ignore the noise and leave the house as soon as possible. But when the sound echoes through the halls again, he loses all memory of it.

 

[VioletGoddess]

"B-but I'm fine r-really,Zaaaaria," said the drunk slurring body of her friend as Zaria had to practically carry up the stair back into her apartment on the fifth door. Leave it to Ashley to drag her along to some unknown party, which she wasn't really in the mood to go and rather stay home but was convinced otherwise, only to be left alone and having to drag a wasted mess reeking of alcohol, although was promised not to drink so much, and nurse her back to health later.

Zaria was a complete introvert and preferred her own company rather than parties that her roommate and friend Ashley dragged her to sometimes. They were complete opposites. Where Ashley liked loud music, Zaria preferred quiet and a nice cup of tea or a book. Ashley liked to be active, Zaria...not so much. But somehow, they made it work and have been since they were freshmen in high school. It was then that people dubbed her the responsible one and dumbed all the care and responsibilities onto her. Just like now.

"Almost there," she thought as she climbed the last step of to the fifth floor and now so close to the end of the hall where their apartment was. "Aria...I don't feel good," Ashley whined and looked to be a bit paler than usual, with sweat shining on her forehead.
"Please, don't vomit here. Try to hold it in until we get inside," she said, I really don't want to have to apologize to the landlord and clean it up, she added in her head. By the time Zaria got to the apartment door, all was silent, and she figured her friend had fallen into a drunken slumber.
"As long as I don't have to clean vomit," she whispered trying to find her keys until she heard a sound, making her freeze, not sure as to where it came from.

 

[WickedWitch]

Without really noticing the issuing of the order, his toes curl from their seclusion inside his shoes, both feet carefully planted against the soles but he had only managed to tie one of them before his attention had been called away. Now, with one hand gripping desperately at his phone and the other hand hesitating undecidedly at where it had previously been digging the blunt of his nails into the fine hairs of his arms in anxiousness, he's not sure if he should continue tying the other foot or if it would be better if he were to investigate the cause of the sound. The sound that had earlier invaded both the hall and his thoughts does not come again, instead there's the shifting of old floorboards underneath a considerably leaden weight moving about, which Spencer could dismiss as Kit finally returning to the living world, but there's an underlying something that sits wrong in the situation. After very little thought, he pockets his phone and does a lazy tie of his shoes that would just suffice for now, and carefully lifts himself up from where he had made makeshift seating at the foot of the shoe cubicle. His own steps are much lighter, barely even inciting a weak pop of the wood, easier to do when he barely weighed anything to begin with. "Kit, you alright?" He asks softly, not wanting to raise his voice any higher if his friend was in pain. Loud noises would not do them any good.

As he's rounding the corner that leads directly to the bedroom, his nose is suddenly and rather aggressively punched with the putrid smell of something incredibly unpleasant. He couldn't quite place what it smelled like but it was between a fetid mix of vomit, urine, and something more sour. The smell is so terrible that Spencer is almost tempted to retreat back to the main door, except as he's taking a step back an obscure blur moves queerly quick -but eagerly untactful- in the corner of his eye. And before he can stare harder and attempt to discern the figure, the floor beneath his feet is lost and the weight of something hulking and a lot more resolute, slams into his stomach. The impact knocked him off his feet, leaving him scrambling to catch his feet, despite the wood and his shoes squeaking against him both he and the assauleter landed in an ungraceful heap in the middle of the hall. Spencer however manages to wiggle his way so that he is on top, an angle that helps him keep the person beneath him down enough to actually make out their features. "Kit?!" He exclaims incredulously, because while the physical characteristics are uncannily similar, the heinous sneer and the uncomely complexion throws him off.

Although Spencer was rumored to be an idiot, he wasn't entirely foolish. Even though he didn't have an extensive knowledge of science, math, or language, he did possess a good sense of instinct and even a better grasp of common sense. So when his hackles rise as Kit struggles underneath him, and his entire stomach feels like it's trying to climb out through his throat, he's acutely aware of how wrong this situation was. How wrong, his friend looks and is acting, and it becomes even clearer when a jarring burn pickles across his arms as frantic nails drag along his arm, leaving blistering welts in their wake. This wasn't a scratch made by angry hands or an act provoked by fear, this was intentional, the unrelenting snapping of teeth and the squirming, it was all intentional. And there were many things Spencer would describe his friend as, but violent and rabid were neither of them. He doesn't want to hurt Kit, and his arms are hurting from both the strain of keeping someone so wild pinned to the floor and with the new wounds adorning his arms, but he doesn't want to hurt him.

So, in a last ditch effort to get away unscathed, he calls on enough strength to rip his hands away and slam himself backwards.. His feet dragging smoothly across the floor and the ache on his arms growing as his body drags itself backwards, the friction burning more than anything really. Thankfully, the movement gets him a good few feet away from his friend, and with quick movement, he lifts himself from the floor and hurriedly rushes to the door. His hand slamming against the wood in his haste, and as he's struggling to get the key to twist he can hear the heavy thud of a body following closely after him.

 

[VioletGoddess]

The sound continued, sounding both animalistic but then not as Zaria looked around and tried to open the apartment door. She needed to get Ashley inside and away from...whatever that was. But when she got the door open and went to bend to drag her friend in, she was looking at a pale monster covered in vomit that had replaced her, a low, raspy snare escaping its mouth as it stared at Zaria. It looked like Ashley but was turning a paleish grey and eyes that had gone completely milky. "Ashley?" she called, her heart pounding in her chest and every cell in her body screaming danger and that something was wrong.

The thing that was once her friend rushed toward her, causing Zaria to move on instinct to the apartment door, nearly closing it but ended up getting jammed by the thing's foot that had wedged its way between the doorframe, growling and snaring as it tried to get in. Zaria never letting go of the door, pushing it closed with all her might but failing.

Losing her strength she stumbled out of the doors way, catching her footing just in time to run as it burst open and the thing that was once her friend chased after her around the apartment in a wild, crazied manner. Quickly, she ran into the bathroom, waiting for it to give chase in the tub before trapping it into the shower curtains and hightailing it out of the bathroom, the doorknob in her steel like grip, closing the door behind her. She heard the angry snarling still before she felt the beating on the door. It took her a moment to realize that it wasn't touching the knob before slowly letting it go and backing away from the bathroom door, breathing heavily as the beating and snarling continued. What in the hell was that?

 

[WickedWitch]

During his high school years in which a club had been a necessary variable in graduation, and because most of the creative or more stainous sports hadn't caught his attention, had turned towards a more bearable and much more enjoyable club, the track team. Although it had been chosen when he had been more than a little indolent, he had become quickly fond of it and even worked hard enough that he had been co-captain and successfully led his team into a glorious win during a track meet. Even after he had graduated, and forgone going to university in a determined and defiant act against his strict parents, it was the one thing he had kept with him.

Unable to actually run on a track wasn't as unbearable as he'd dramatically imagined, parks and sidewalks were a lot more enjoyable simply because there was a wider scenery. It's because of this, the one thing he'd kept at rigorously, that he doesn't trip over his feet as his hastened steps fall over the smooth surface of the wood and then the less smooth texture of the front-door's mat. His hands aren't as deft as his steps, but because of the headstart he had managed to gain, the quiver that vibrates through his fingers and into the cool metal of the key doesn't lead to any unsavory consequences. The door unlocks with a satisfying snick, and he wastes no moment squeezing himself through the slit and hurriedly slamming the door behind him.

The wood trembles with the effort, settles after it recovers from the harsh slam, and then it shudders even more violently with the heavy pressure from the opposite side of the door. Spencer's foot wedged against the bottom of the door keeps it safely closed, even if the wood's insistent give and snap renders the once-comforting thickness of the shoe's tongue uncomfortable with the unwelcome friction. He's not sure how long he stands pressed against the door keeping it firmly shut, but by the time the wood's heady shudders finally subsides, his heart is in his throat and there's the deep rush of blood in his ears and in his rapidly beating pulse.

 

[VioletGoddess]

Soon the beating stopped but the snarling continued except more claimer. Zaria's legs were about to start to give out on her but she steeled them. She needed to get out of here...to get help. Maybe there was a reason for this, a cure to whatever happened to her dear friend. She ran out of the apartment, looked back and forth through the hallway for anyone for help. She spotted a man in the hallway by one of the apartment doors. She started making her way towards him.

"Sir, I need your help. My friend seems to have lost her mind and tried to attack me..." she said as she nearly reached him, but when he turned around he snarled at her, he had deathly-pale skin, looking at her with the same milky white eyes as Ashley, the only difference was that fresh blood covered his mouth and bits of flesh were in his teeth.

Reeling back with a gasp, she immediately turned around to run, the man starting to run after her as she tried to make it to the elevator at the end of the hall. It was a good thing she was a fast runner, although she never joined any track and field team despite other people trying to push her to do so, as she came upon the elevator and pushed the call button the urgency, wishing it to move faster as the thing was moving closer. Giving up, she went to the emergency stairs, quickly and carefully running down the stairs the thing still giving chase until she reached the first floor, quickly grabbing a random metal rod to hold the door. The thing ran into the door with a bang, snarling at her through the window trying to get at her, as she now stood out in the alleyway of her apartment building.

 

[WickedWitch]

Spencer stays firmly pressed against the door until the minutes feel so stretched thin that a cold sweat breaks out across his nape and his feet feel like they've become merged with the foot of the door. When he's this close to the wood, he can hear the tell-tale shuffle of insistent feet walking across wood, the creak of a door being pushed open, and the clattering of objects falling into wooden floorboards. With every soft shift and shuffle of movement his ears clench towards his skull, and his fingers twitch mindlessly against the door. Eventually the sounds drift off in both sound and nearness that he can only pick up on the faintest of noises, and with partial satisfaction he peels himself away from the door. HIs eyes darted from one side of the apartment's hall to the other side, suddenly and acutely aware of how silent it was, and even more unsettled by what had just happened.

Now that he was uncomfortably aware of the emptiness of the apartment complex, something that had once been his and Kit's favorite thing about the apartment, it was becoming incredibly disconcerting and had faint goosebumps prickling across his arms. With the thumping of his heart gradually faltering back into a normal pace, it was slightly easier to hear himself think without the rush of fear clogging his ears. His instincts, as terrible as it was to even consider, was to run back home and tell no one of what had occurred here. But Kit was his friend, and even if Spencer wasn't entirely sold on the idea of staying and waiting for help to arrive, the best he could do was get back home and get his brother. It was the safest and most comfortable bet, Kit had always had their selective qualms about public healthcare and the local authorities, and while his brother was technically considered an authority, there was a difference between a stranger in authority versus Spencer's brother in authority.

Giving one more concerned glance towards the firmly shut door, he pulls out his phone from his pocket, a flash of disappointment washing over him when he notices the large crack that took up a majority of his screen. When he attempted to turn it on, it only opened to a warping screen before completely turning. "Jesus.." He curses underneath his breath, huffing his annoyance as he ruffles a hand through his hair. The slightly outdated phone had been a last parting gift from his parents, and though his brother had given him one on his last birthday, he had been unmovable in his decision to keep the old phone. Now that he was looking at the dead phone, he was disappointed to find that a majority of his reactions had been drained by Kit and what had happened at the apartment, that he couldn't find himself anything but annoyed at the inconvenience of the phone breaking instead of sad at having lost something he had considered important to him.

 

[VioletGoddess]

Zaria stood in the alley, still staring at the snarling man in the door. "What the hell is happening?" she whispered. She needed to go get help. Her apartment was probably filled with crazy people and she didn't know what to do. In the background, she heard the screeching of cars crashing into each other. Willing her feet to move, she left out of the alley and onto the street, but even there was utter chaos. Fires exploded everywhere, burning whatever they consumed as people ran for safety, as others were attacked by other people, eating them.

Zaria stared in horror. One of the monsters noticed her and began to give chase, giving her no choice but to run and giving up on ever finding help for her roommate and the man. She needed a place to hide, anyplace out of the madness of the streets happening out here.

 

[WickedWitch]

His hands unconsciously twists around the body of his phone, his eyes dropping to half-mast as his gaze fogs over with concern, the welling of emotions in his chest was a gradual process. One he wished would have stayed away for longer, because now that his heart was beginning to even out into a less frantic pace and the adrenaline was fizzling out, Spencer was suddenly being slammed with a relentless onslaught of reactions; concern, anxiety, even more concern, and the undeniable feeling of unexplained dread. It was by all means a terrible combination considering the already unstable standings of his will, and it took him a lot longer then he was comfortable admitting to finally get his feet to work and his head more in reality then floating through dazed thoughts.

Even though he was by no means a paranoid person, half-way down the dimly-lit block towards his house, he could have sworn he picked up the fraying edges of someone's shrill scream from one of the dark houses on the block. But when he pauses in his step to listen closer, only the sound of the softest of breezes brushing through the clipped grass lawns can be heard. The eerie silence has goosebumps prickling out across his skin, and with the happenings of just earlier still fresh in his mind, he wraps his crosses protectively and hurries towards his house. Spencer manages to make it back without any more incidents, but the relief that has started to form with the increasing proximity of the home is instantly cracked and shattered when he steps up into the pathway and notices the front door ajar and the lights inside completely off.

 

[VioletGoddess]

Zaria continued to run, long after the monster in question had given up on her, its prey running into him accidentally and becoming its victim as his screams of pain sounded throughout the streets as the monster ate at his flesh, running until she hid in the alleyway of a quiet street. She noticed a man walking along the dimly lit streets until he reached a house, the door ajar and no lights showing evidence of life inside.

Unsure if it was safe or not she waited, hiding the darkness and hopefully not be seen by monsters.

 

[WickedWitch]

Spencer could count on one hand the amount of times he recalled seeing their front door left open without anyone monitoring it, and that had only been the time they had first moved in and the house smelt heavily of dust and overgrown mold. But even that had been a considerable while ago, so it's understandable why his feet shuffle to a start just as the tips of his shoes touches the first step onto the porch. He takes a deep breath, willing the soft trembling that had started in his hands and was beginning to spread to the rest of his body, to stop, it wasn't entirely effective. But it helps to unlodge the knot in his throat, enough for him to uncertainly call into the dark shadows of the house; "Wesley? Are you home?" His voice breaking at the edges, his attempt at fearlessness lost the moment the words quiver past his pale lips.

 

[VioletGoddess]

Still waiting, Zaria stayed quiet in her alley watching the man. She didn't know what she was doing exactly. Really, she should be moving, getting somewhere safe instead of being in an alley watching a man enter a house for whatever reason but instead she stood there waiting for something to happen, even if it turned into something like him needing help she guessed. She sighed, "I'm already losing my mind sitting here." she thought.

 

[WickedWitch]

Only silence answers him, which does nothing for his already frayed nerves, he waits just for a moment longer. Letting the silence stretch until it thins and has his arms prickling with goosebumps. Spencer has half the mind to call into the darkness again, but if he wasn't graced with an answer the first time, there was a very low chance of him getting a reply a second time. Hesitantly, he cautions himself through the threshold, the darkness seemingly folding around him and entirely surrounding him in darkness. It takes his eyes a little while to adjust to the room, but when he does, his eyes zero on the odd tranquility the main hall was in. There didn't seem to have been any disturbance, the only thing that looked out of place was the black baseball bat discarded hazardly in the corner of where the hallway led into the living room. Not wanting to spend any more time in the dark, he flicks the light on, not surprised to see that the room held no sign of any struggle. But now that the light was on, he noticed the packset walkie talkie, the relatively old models that absolutely no one used except for his military brother, and tapped to the speaker part was a blaring yellow sticky note. Warily he steps forward, the quasiness in his stomach stirs uncomfortably for the note reads; 'Something came up, I'm sorry, but I'm going to be gone for a while. If I'm gone for too long, use this to call me. Take care of yourself, Wesley.'

Which made no sense no matter how long he stared at it. "Jesus, this is a whole mess.." He breathes, suddenly feeling even more stressed, if his brother was gone, and Kit was still sick, leaving the only viable option being the hospital. And his worry had not eased during the walk, his brother could take himself for now, but Spencer's more dire concern needed to be to get help for his friend. Placing the packset back onto the hallway dresser, and unpocketing his still dead phone, he makes his way back outside. Feeling naked at the threshold after having seen the bat lying imobile on the floor, he hesitates as he reaches to close the door behind him. Was he losing his mind, it was something he had thought had already happened, but the fact that he felt unsafe leaving his house without a weapon made him feel strangely bare, even though he had done this multiple times.

 

[VioletGoddess]

Getting tired of waiting, Zari sighed and went inside the house to where the man had disappeared as she mentally questioned herself. Well, if he was attacked or killed by a crazed person at least I'd be able to help him, by closing them both in here, she thought listening, trying to hear any signs of...something.

 

[WickedWitch]

As he's still silently debating picking up the bat, he hears the faint sound of the porches floorboard creaking against a weight, not the type of creaking it made when the wind rustled underneath one of the looser ones, but the sound of someone else placing their own weight against it. Weasley freezes in fear, can feel the hot prickle of panic biting into his nape, it isn't the most logical of reactions. It could just be a concerned neighbor, it wasn't like they lived in an absolutely terrible neighborhood or had absolutely abhorrent neighbors, but his nerves were still bustling in his bloodstream from the earlier scare and the lack of his brother's presence. So he picks up the bat, shuffles slightly to test the panels underneath his feet, sighing quietly when they don't so much as squeak and eases his way towards the dark porch.

 

[VioletGoddess]

Still hearing nothing, not even screams of agony, Zaria continued forward, listening in. The only thing breaking the silence was the faint background noise of the chaos screaming, crashes, and sirens from where she had come from. Inside the house, however, all was deadly silent. She peered inside the kitchen, then the living room, but no one was there. This is crazy. I should leave...but maybe there is something valuable here. Something I could use. she thought as she continued forward, searching for a shadow or something.