Chapter Text
I might need to see a therapist after this.
But this is what he got for being a model employee and actually showing up to work on the worst shopping day of the year.
“Thank you all very much for your generosity. Your donations are gladly accepted. Good morning!”
As soon as the doors opened, Roman found himself surrounded by a swarm of people, all making grabby hands for the Tickle-Me-Wiggly dolls lining the shelves. One man (damn, it was Sherman) was pushing others over to get as many dolls as he could.
Roman looked to the other side of the store. It was empty of people. He turned back to the crowd. They are just demolishing those toys, he thought.
Joan also seemed to be overwhelmed as they guarded the back door, where customers were filing in to get to the doll. They shot a surprised look at Roman, but he just sighed.
Just a normal Black Friday—
A scream erupted from the crowd as more people pushed through the doors of the store. Roman jumped, expecting the crowd to part for whoever was injured, but they just seemed to swarm more intensely than before. Roman thought he even saw blood on one of the many hands that reached up and towards the dolls.
Roman shot another look at Joan. They needed to do something, and fast.
Joan slowly, nervously, began to step towards the animalistic crowd. The group didn’t seem to notice them, thankfully, as they abandoned the staff door. They took in a deep breath, and Roman held it with them. He felt on the verge of a panic attack
“Hey!” they shouted over the noise. The crowd raged on anyways. Roman backed away. There wasn’t a PA system in the store, so the two of them always shouted announcements. Joan seemed to be doing something like that now, though why they were getting in the middle of angry customers, Roman could not fathom.
“We’re limiting how many dolls each person can purchase.”
The mob went eerily silent. Roman could hear the blood rushing in his ears, his heart beating far too fast and loud, he bet everyone else in the store could feel it too. Joan gulped, wringing their hands.
“One doll per person.”
The silence persisted for another beat, though it felt like an eternity.
Suddenly, the crowd surged forward, a mess of hands reaching out for Joan. They disappeared into the mass of people, their voice drowned out in a ferocious roar.
So Roman was definitely having a panic attack now.
There was a path to the staff room, and Roman rushed to it, closing the door behind him and leaning against it. He didn’t want to leave Joan alone out there, but there was no way in hell he would survive another minute out there. Last year, he was scheduled to work on Black Friday, but it was nothing like this. These people were crazy, more crazy than normal. They were acting like wild animals.
Breath in for four...hold for seven...out for eight.
Once his breathing evened out, he slid to the floor, exhausted. He had to go back out there to save Joan. They were probably getting killed out there.
Roman blinked his eyes open, staring out into the room. He could still hear the crowd through the door, but his eyes caught on something green and fuzzy.
Joan’s Wiggly Doll.
Take it and run.
The impulse came over him instantly, and before he knew it, he was holding the ugly tentacle monster. He stared at it again in disbelief. How had he ever thought this thing was desirable? The eyes on the doll looked wide and bloodshot, and seemed to stare into his soul. He shivered.
Well, if they want a Tickle-Me-Wiggly, they can come and get a Tickle-Me-Wiggly.
With that, Roman shoved the toy into his backpack and darted back into the store.
Virgil lay slumped against the counter, tapping lazily on his phone. It was the only reason he agreed to work today; he’d get paid time and a half for working on a holiday, but no one would be around to make sure he was actually working.
That did not mean, however, that he didn’t want to just go home, eat leftover turkey, and pass out on the couch in between his dad and Logan while watching The Nightmare Before Christmas again. Granted, they had just watched the movie less than a month ago for Halloween, but it was a Christmas movie too, after all.
He scrolled through his phone some more. That was part of the reason he had sent Logan to watch a movie while they waited for his shift to end: Logan would pester him nonstop if he realized that Virgil was slacking off. It didn’t matter to Virgil; he was just doing it for the extra cash. It made sense to him. His dad was single with now two children, and even working as a nurse wasn’t quite enough to sustain their lifestyle without him missing significant moments in his son's lives.
A muffled sound came from the front doors, and Virgil jerked upright. Emile would surely give him a disappointed stare if he was caught on his phone at work.
But Emile didn’t make an appearance.
Instead, a blur of red bolted into the large foyer, straight for the counter. Virgil blinked, but the blur just kept running towards him. He backed away from the counter. “Um, can I help–”
The figure made a flying jump over the counter and ducked behind the glass case of candy. Virgil, surprised and possibly on the verge of a panic attack, slammed himself into the back wall away from them.
Now they were still, he could recognize the person. Brown hair, normally styled and swooped perfectly, was now mussed, his dark eyes wide with terror.
Ah Damn.
It was the insanely annoying, persistent, stuck up cashier from the toy store.
Virgil stared in disbelief. This man was the one who constantly tormented him with awful puns and bad Disney references. This man was the one who once, out of nowhere, claimed he could get tickets to any major Broadway show because he “knew the right people.” This man was the one who could never stop talking.
And now, this same man, with pleading wide hazel eyes, was desperately motioning for him to duck down while holding a finger to his lips.
As soon as he regained his breath, Virgil obeyed, dropping flat to the ground. He listened. There were voices outside.
The other boy’s face was filled with dread. He mouthed something, but Virgil couldn’t figure out what he was trying to say. Finally, he made a twisting motion with his hands and pointed to the front door across the lobby.
They both turned to stare at the door. The voices were louder now, and Virgil though he could make out Emile’s voice.
Lock the doors.
Silently, Virgil snuck around the counter, dashing on his hands and knees to the door. He heard slight thumps behind him, so the other boy must be following. The foyer seemed endless, the carpet scratchy under his fingers.
Finally, they reached the doors, leaning back against the wall beside them and catching their breath. Virgil could understand what the voices were saying now.
“We saw him go in there!” A rough voice shouted.
“I can assure you,” came Emile’s voice, “that no one has entered the Cineplex today. I haven’t sold any tickets. Now, I am going to have to ask you to leave.”
“What if we want to buy tickets?” A third voice cried.
“I am denying you service.” Emile’s voice was steady, but Vigil could detect fear in his tone.
“Fucking son of a bitch,” the first voice growled, and suddenly there was the deafening sound of shattering glass.
The box office.
Virgil bolted up, rushing to the back door of the cubical. He threw it open, ready to intimidate the vandalizers.
There was blood everywhere. Emile was lying in a pool of the dark red liquid, shattered glass shards stuck into his flesh. More were scattered on the ground, blocking the way to Emile. There was a man, balding with glasses and a red coat, trying to climb through the newly-formed window. Virgil shrieked. He tried to push forward, to get to Emile before this crazy son of a bitch could, but something was holding him back. He screamed again.
Just as the man sunk a box cutter into Emile’s chest.
The door was shut and locked, and there was a voice talking to him, yelling at him, but he couldn’t focus.
Emile.
His coworker—his friend was bleeding out in another room, and there was nothing he could do.
His mind went dark, and that stupid once wouldn’t shut up, but he didn’t care.
Emile was dead.
It was the scream that snapped him out of it.
One moment, Patton was trapped in a fuzzy haze, eyes glued to the Tickle-Me-Wiggly dolls lining the shelf in neat rows. He knew he needed one, he knew he was there to get one, but everyone else pushed past him, trampling him.
He needed the doll. He needed it more than he needed his fingers….
And then the scream.
The sound ringed in his ears, clearing out the fog. He turned, trying to see where it had come from, but there were only people. Massive amounts of people. Swarm...mob...crowd...none of those words felt right to describe the crushing sensation in his lungs.
He would not let someone get hurt today, not while he was around. He didn’t go to medical school just to ignore someone in pain.
Patton tried to reach for Janus, but the bodies in front of him were unrecognizable. He turned, trying to catch a glimpse of the other man, desperate for anyone sane in the crowd of animals. Something under his foot moved, and he yelped out, looking to the ground beneath him. His breath caught in his throat.
There was a body on the ground, nearly trampled by the foot traffic of the other customers. A red stain spread across their jacket, and a splatter of blood stained their cheek. They were dead, they rolled away from his feet as best they could.
It was Janus. Something clicked in Patton’s mind: Janus was the one who screamed.
Quickly, Patton stooped down, clutching Janus around his shoulders. The other man let out a groan as Patton pulled him up to his feet. His hands were wet and stained red now, but he grit his teeth. He needed to find a secluded space to investigate the wound and fix him right up. An idea formed in his mind, somewhere they could be in peace.
And if he got the chance to see his crush for a decade shirtless in the process, well, then that was just a pleasant side effect.
Green eyes blinked in the shadows, giving off an ominous glow. He watched the scene before him; the chaos, the tears, the bloodshed.
He loved it.
Every cry of rage was music to his ears. Every tear shed glittered, reflecting the torment. Every drop of blood wasted would please his master.
Everything was going according to plan.
Almost.
The Prophet was whisked away from him, injured and without a doll. That certainly wasn’t part of the plan. Now that the parasite (for that’s what the other man must be, something malignant meant to ruin the plan) had taken the Prophet, he may never get him alone to discuss his higher purpose.
Their higher purpose.
Then, they could take this world for their own. Then, he would be seen by this entire world.
A hand reached out of the shadows, just as the Prophet, led by that parasite, passed. Delicately, despite the hurried speed the two were leaving in, he reached through the Prophets pocket and took the object inside.
There , he thought. Now I have leverage.
He could work around this minor setback. He’d wait for the Prophet to heal, and then lead him away. He’d get the plan back on track, like a trolley about to run over so many victims....
His master would be so proud. His master would be here, finally.
He couldn’t wait for the
real
fun to start.