Scioly Assassination 153- Scythe

[sciolyperson1]

i protect hugo because why not, and i high key think sassy might be him this time

[Fyren]

i protect hugo because why not, and i high key think sassy might be him this time

I already protected Hugo...

[sciolyperson1]

i protect hugo because why not, and i high key think sassy might be him this time

I already protected Hugo...

oops lmao, ill self prot then. my bad

[sneepity]

Hugo's writing style isn't quite so flowery, so I'd be surprised if it were him.

[MorningCoffee]

Hugo's writing style isn't quite so flowery, so I'd be surprised if it were him.

Maybe he's putting in some extra effort? I doubt it though, because it is definitely difficult to try to change a personal writing style in general, but it's definitely possible.
I hope you understood that

[builderguy135]

Maybe he's putting in some extra effort? I doubt it though, because it is definitely difficult to try to change a personal writing style in general, but it's definitely possible.

hmmm you sure about that?

[HugoTroop]

Maybe he's putting in some extra effort? I doubt it though, because it is definitely difficult to try to change a personal writing style in general, but it's definitely possible.

hmmm you sure about that?

gonna point out that college apps are a thing for me

[Creationist127]

Wait, I missed five pages of a sassy game? Dank
Oh well, looks like you guys have this one pretty well covered.

[LittleMissNyan]

HOUR 10

Sciolyperson1 looks at the group of four officers. His eyes dart around the huge mansion, deciding which path to take.

“I’ll go that way.” He points to the second floor.

He has a feeling one of the ten lost souls went that way.

The second he enters the hall, the romantic era music fills the atmosphere. His eyes flicker over to the gramophone in the corner, mindlessly spinning the disk.

It’s calming. He doesn’t feel like he’s an officer for a few moments. It’s a feeling of peace that echoes through him.

Sciolyperson1 walks through the hallway. The clicks of his shoe mix in with the melody in a seamless blend. The plethora of black and white stands out to him at once. The greyscale palette is almost overwhelming. It sets him off.

The only color he finds are the photographs, mounted over the bare grey walls. But, even among the nine photographs one remained in black and white.

“World War II pictures.” Sciolyperson1 whispers as his eyes fixed onto the unsuspecting couple in the picture.

Everything about the pair in the picture radiated the 1900’s and the shotgun fixed the idea of the exact time: World War II.

He knows people who like World War II, two of his friends. He just doesn’t know which of the two it’s referring to.

His head tilts. Sciolyperson1’s eyes meet the tiny flap in the corner of the photograph. He’s tempted to lift it.

His fingers grab the peeking flap. He pulls it. The crisp photograph comes off cleanly and the violin chorus stops. It goes silent. The pin drop silence replaces the once vivacious romantic era melody.

There’s a mix of characters printed in a neat black, in a classic typewriter font. Sciolyperson1 closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. He opens them, analyzing the bunch of letters and numbers.

“ob9ze8h”

SciolyPerson1 doesn’t know what to do with the letters at first. He pinches his eyebrows. He can’t figure out the purpose of the letters. He thinks about his mentors, each of them had taught him a different thing.

AstroClarinet’s lesson comes to his mind.

The characters in the text remind him of a tinyurl website. He only hopes there was a wifi connection. He takes out his phone, noticing four bars at the top right corner: network connection. He lets out a soft exhale. Sciolyperson1 types the characters into his phone, waiting as the page loads.

The silence gleams an eerie sensation and unease floats around the dimly lit hall. Sciolyperson1 walks towards the gramophone also coated in a greyscale. He picks a disk from the array of CD’s to choose from. The record spins and along with it the classical music rips through the silence with its melody. It’s almost entirely composed of string instruments.

By then, the page has loaded. He peeks at his phone. Glaciers. He sighs. It doesn’t narrow down his options any further. Both of his friends had the same likes.

Sciolyperson1 turns away from the gramophone. His eyes dart at the photographs, they’re not the same. There’s now ten pictures.

His eyes fall upon the newest picture mounted onto the wall.

It’s not human, but it’s a face he knows well. His insides turn at the gruel detailing. The features, despite its unreal characteristics matched perfectly. It makes sense.

The romantic era music, the World War II picture, glaciers, it's a perfect match. SciolyPerson1 doesn’t need any confirmation. He’s sure.

Each clue spells out one name in his mind, HugoTroop.

AstroClarinet had shared HugoTroops love for glaciers in the past. Sciolyperson1 is certain. It can’t be anyone else.

He needs to find HugoTroop.

Sciolyperson1 breaks into a run. He doesn’t know how much time he has left to find HugoTroop. Sciolyperson1 sprints through the second floor, but each corner he passes leads to a dead end. He has no clue where HugoTroop could be.

He decides to take one last look at the possible entrances into the hall. There’s nothing. Sciolyperson1 runs to the stairs. He races down the steps. If HugoTroop’s not upstairs, he had to be downstairs.

Sciolyperson1’s eyes are fixed to the floor as he dashes across the tile flooring. He almost misses the door on the left side of the stairs.

He grabs the doorknob.

Stairs.

A staircase laid in front of him. Sciolyperson1 shoes clicked against the steps as he ran down each and every step. Cold air meets him at once.

He’s in the basement.

“HugoTroop?” Sciolyperson1 says as he steps into the almost silent basement.

He can’t help but feel something is off.

Sciolyperson1 slows to a brisk walk, careful not to make much noise. He takes each step with a careful and precise movement, looking around him for any sign of HugoTroop. The basement is vast, far more than he expected. It's dark and grim with hardly any light to see. A musky odor wafts with the air.

As he’s checking the basement, he notices a figure in the corner of the basement. He can’t quite make out what it is. Sciolyperson1 runs towards the figure.

It’s HugoTroop.

Sciolyperson1 breathes out a sigh of relief.

Just as he’s about to ask HugoTroop something, a slither of black crosses his eyes. His eyes dart beside him.

A figure dressed in all black - the Reaper.

He needs to grab the mask covering their face. Sciolyperson1 reaches out towards the reaper. His hands almost grab onto the black fabric encasing the reapers face. He misses. The reaper is far faster than him. At a quick glance, it seems like the Reaper’s mile time is around nine minutes.

“Eight more to go.” The reaper chuckles, “Tick tock.”

[LittleMissNyan]

HOUR 3

The rest of the groups’ eyes darted around the building.

All of them were under a trance of finding something they wanted-grasping at imaginary clouds of hopefulness. Each one wanted to find something- and no one would think you would find your desire at a shabby house. Surely, everyone was possessed by their expectations.

“I’ll go that way.” One of them pointed a different direction.

“Are you sure?”

He nodded before taking one last look at his friend. He inches into the shadows, disappearing into the blackness. And then, he stopped. He took a deep breath. He had hope, but rooted below his skin he had a feeling. Maybe, he might not ever see them again. He shook his head, pushing back his thoughts.

“We’ll make it out.” He whispers to himself.

He continued to walk with no clear place in mind.

Right in front of him is a tainted door scattered with silver cobwebs and sprayed with hints of rusting metal.

His fingers clasp around the cold, hard door knob. He pauses for a moment to recollect his thoughts. “Is there a way out? I can still escape..”

“Open the door.” He tells himself.

His heart pounds inside his chest. With much hesitation, he twists the doorknob.

As he slowly adjusts to the dimnes, inside he’s overcome with a plethora of powders, tubes, fabric, all tossed and jumbled around. A stench of rotten eggs floated in the air. Each emanated a feeling of something bad... and the worst part… he quite couldn’t understand.

He walks into the dank room, feeling around with his fingers to guide himself. In the corners, he sees a broken-down cabinet with a wooden door punched into itself. In the far end of the room he notices a bookcase, filled with a multitude of different works. Hung up around the room were also peculiar posters, some laced with a jumble of words, and some with caricatures of globular figures. His eyebrows furrowed the further he stepped into the room. Rubber bands dusted the room like sprinkles. They were scattered over the floor and the tables. He couldn’t quite figure out why.

He shrugged, pushing away his thoughts as he looked around. The candlelight by the bookcase illuminated the room just enough for him to make out certain things. He walked towards the candlelight, absorbing the sweet smell of maple. His eyes fluttered with the calming aura.

He glanced at the table the candlelight rested on. His eyebrows raised. A red fuzzy stuffed animal right next to the candle.

For a moment, he swears something cold touches his hand. His gaze snaps away from the set of numbers. He shifts his view, turning his head 360. His breaths turn hazy.

“I’m going insane.” He pulls the ends of his hair.

But he wasn’t going insane. His head inches with the passing second and a slither of black catches his eye.

“There’s nobody there.” He voices out his thoughts, “I’m just seeing things.”

He closes his eyes as a painful exhale leaves him. He slumps, pinching his brows. He takes a moment to calm his breaths before standing up straight.

He swears something cold glides over his arm.

“There’s nobody there.” He chants again, “There’s nobody there.”

He purses his lips, turning around to calm his inside voice. His face goes white.

And nothing. No light.

Unease slithers down his spine as something bony glides over his skin. There’s someone there. He knows it.

His throat burns etched with the flavor of blood. The beating in his heart travels to his head.

“Who’s there.” His hands feel the tables for something - anything.

“Your best friend.”

His heart almost stops. He takes a look in front of him, to be met with a black cloak

He runs. The crashing boots behind him echo, eating away the distance. His fingers grab at the door, swinging it open in an instant. He dashes out the door, glancing behind him every few seconds.

“You can run but you can’t hide.” A chuckled echoes from behind him.

The piercing footsteps boom between the four walls. It’s a chase, he can’t afford to lose. He only hopes his experience comes in handy.

His sneakers beat against the stark white tile flooring, as his thumping heart muffled his sense of hearing. It’s right in front of him. The end of the hallway is so close. He’s almost there. It feels like the summer sun is shining again.

But it’s too late.

A trickle of cold rises up against his nape. Claws groove against his palms.

He’s pulled behind until his back crashes with the dusted walls. Beads of sweat fall down his face. This can’t be the end. It’s too soon.

He turns around just a little. Maybe he’s safe.

But, his eyes don’t miss the bloodshot eyes in front of him. Even in the pitch darkness, right as he met eyes with the being, he remembered the piercing red when seeing the blood moon with his family.

As if it couldn’t get any worse, a smile curves across the face in front of him.

“Aw, where are you going? The party isn’t over yet” A baleful chuckle surpasses the sinister grin following him, “There’s more to do in this funhouse.”