Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Tourist slumped against the wall, letting their legs slowly fall from beneath them, their back sliding down the ratty old hotel walls until they’re sitting.

Another sucky and completely avoidable death. If Curious hadn’t dragged them to The Rooms, this wouldn’t have happened. They silently scold the other in their head before wincing and massaging their temples in a futile attempt to calm the oncoming headache.

Months (or was it years? They’d lost track of how long they’d been stuck in the hotel…) of repeated head injuries really messed them up - That, and the repeated burns, bruises, scratches, and bites had all been catching up with them. They were lucky enough to have found a cane somewhere in the backdoors, but they weren’t lucky to have the pain of each death linger and stay long past its welcome.

Sitting in the lobby like this sometimes helped. Especially when they sit right beside the door that emanates the same feeling Guiding Light does.

Tourist lets their eyes drift shut. The tremor in their hands lessens, and the ache of their headache starts to fade. Guiding Light is too kind to them. Much kinder than they think they deserve. They’re so close to drifting to sleep.

Until the chime of an elevator rings and a loud THUD of something human sized falls on the floor in the lobby, promptly followed by a LOUD curse.

Well. That’s abnormal.

Tourist slowly drags themself to their feet. A biting ache in their abdomen tries to pull them back down, but they instead lean on their cane. They’re cautious when they walk into the lobby area, each footstep careful, quiet, and muffled by the carpet beneath their feet as they peek around the corner.

Over on the other side of the lobby, an elevator closes. The inside of the elevator and the doors aren’t like anything else in the entire hotel. And right there in front the the doors, flopped on the ground as though they had tripped, was a person.

A whole entire, living, breathing, person.

Tourist had to bite their lip hard to make sure they weren’t dreaming. It stung, and the warm, metallic taste of blood slowly dripped into their mouth.

This was real.

Tourist felt their heart to a little leap of excitement before dropping into their stomach. If someone else is here, that means they’re stuck here all the same as Tourist.

They can’t help but feel excited, but sympathetic for the stranger at the same time.

How did this mystery person get here anyway? The weird elevator?

Tourist creeps closer, opting to kneel next to one of the tables lining the middle of the room to get a better look at the stranger.

The stranger is curled into themselves, gripping just above their ankle with shaky hands and grit teeth. Their skin is an odd gray, their long hair the same color save for the red and black raccoon tails framing their face. They have a bit of rough, gray stubble on their chin, and their ears have piercing holes but no earrings filling them. They’re definitely in uniform of some kind - a navy blue jumpsuit and matching hat with some odd logo that Tourist had never seen before. They take a moment to admire the amount of pockets and the sheer size of them all on the stranger’s jumpsuit and the odd metal tanks on their back before noticing the unmistakable red of blood seeping from beneath the strangers fingers.

So, they’re hurt. That’s why they fell. Tourist wastes no time straightening up and ripping a piece of tablecloth off the table before rushing to the strangers side. The stranger startles, surprised as Tourist kneels again, beside them this time.

“Hi! Are you alright? I see you’re bleeding. I can help?” Tourist offers, using one hand to point at the injury, the other holding the piece of fabric. The stranger turns their head to look at Tourist, and they startle a bit at the black bar censoring the strangers eyes. Tourist stares before remembering what they were doing when the stranger slips their shoe off and rolls up their pant leg to expose 4 small, round wounds, absolutely gushing blood.

Tourist leans forward, inspecting the injury before unclipping their flask from their belt. A gift from Guiding Light, a flask as light as if it were empty, but the water never seems to run out. They unscrew the lid and carefully pour some of the water over the wound, the stranger flinching slightly with a hiss. The blood washes away slightly, and Tourist blows gently on the wound to let it dry a bit before wrapping the piece of cloth around their leg a few times in a makeshift bandage, tucking the edge in to keep it in place.

The stranger tests out the bandage, straightening their leg and bending it again before heaving a sigh of relief and flopping backwards onto the ground.

“Thanks for that, dude.” The stranger stretches their arms up as far as they can before letting them fall wherever, one hand landing on their boot and moving to put it back on.. “p.AI.nter’s a massive bitch.”

Tourist cocks their head. “p.AI.nter?” they ask.

The stranger shoots upright. “Yeah? Shit, reminds me I should be getting to the jetsuit course… Uh.” they look left and right at the rows of Elevators. “... This ain’t the jetsuit course.”

Tourist blinks. “You sound like a bit of a lunatic.” They giggle.

The stranger shoots them a glare (they think?) and works to bring themselves to their feet, looking around and turning a full circle. They press a button on the earpiece Tourist didn’t even notice they had, pausing, before spotting the double doors.

“What…?” they walk toward the doors, Tourist following close behind.

“Just a warning,” Tourist starts. “I’ve tried leaving. You can go out, but… it doesn’t lead anywhere. I’m sorry.”

The stranger pushes the doors open and walks out into the rain, staring at the abyss-like area all around them.

“Where am I?” Their voice comes out softer than expected. Tourist feels a pang of deja vu in their heart. They said those same words, once - but with no one there to answer them. But the stranger continues.

“This shouldn’t even be possible. Last I checked, I was tens of thousands of feet underwater, and now I’m here at the surface? BULLSHIT!” The stranger kicks a stray rock fallen from the railing at the edge of the island, and launches it into the abyss below, with a delayed and faint sploosh. They wince, the feeling of kicking something with their injured leg without letting it heal biting back at them with regret.

Silence echoes through the realm. Until Tourist breaks it.

“... I’m Tourist.”

The stranger turns to face Tourist. “What, ‘d your parents hate you?”

“Oh, no.” Tourist giggles. “I can’t remember my name. So I just go by that. What’s your name?” They ask.

“... Expendable.” A pause. “... I don’t remember my name either.”

“Wanna go back inside? This rain won’t let up anytime soon - trust me, I’ve been stuck here a while.” Tourist offers Expendable a hand.

Expendable takes it. “Sure.”

Tourist smiles and pulls Expendable into the hotel. “So, how’d you get here?” They ask.

“Elevator.” Expendable responds.

“Oh, because that’s very specific.” Tourist says sarcastically. “C’mon, I’m trying to get to know you.”

“Fine. I’ve been stuck in an endless loop in an abandoned underwater research facility for god knows how long.” Expendable pulls their hand away from Tourist’s as they enter the double doors of the hotel lobby again, opting to turn down the right hallway. It’s not a long hallway - but there are things there.

“No way? Me too!” Tourist follows close behind Expendable. “Except instead of an abandoned underwater research facility, I’ve been stuck in this hotel.”

Expendable inspects the shelves in the area, poking at a plush toy sitting on the shelf before turning around to go back into the main area, walking past the elevators and looking through them.

“These’re lined up like subs at the dock. These take you into it?” Expendable asks, pausing at a particularly out of place one. “What’s up with this funky one?”

“Yeah, they take me into the hotel.” Tourist sits on the table behind Expendable. “Some of them look different ‘cause they take me to different places, like the backdoors, or the mines, or the outdoors.”

“Then where’s this one take ya?” Expendable points into one not even Tourist has seen before.

“Oh. I’ve never seen that before.” Tourist hums, approaching the weird elevator, glancing inside it. “This is weird. Crazy weird.” They step fully into the elevator, looking at the walls. “There aren’t even buttons in here.”

“Weird ass floor.” Expendable walks into the elevator and kneels to inspect the floor. “Looks like it’s a hatch or somethin’.”

SLAM.

Tourist and Expendable both swivel their heads to stare at the elevator doors. Something spins on its own, locking the door shut, before the floor cracks open and drops the two into the darkness below.

Chapter Text

Expendables boots scrape against the hard concrete floor as he drops into a slide. His PDG scrapes against the ground with an ugly sound, but he could honestly care less. He has a lot worse to deal with at the moment.

He can worry about getting an earful from HQ when he’s NOT running for his life.

Pink vines overtake his peripheral vision, and he almost runs into a wall trying to scramble into the hiding place. He huddles against a pile of bricks, Tourist close behind him, flashlight in hand.

The world shakes for a moment as something shoots through the room, magenta light making everything way too bright for just a moment before the two are plunged into silent darkness. The only light they can see is each other’s flashlights.

Expendable takes a moment to look at Tourist as they both wait to make absolutely sure it’s safe. He can actually take a minute to process what his odd new companion looks like. From dealing with a bullet wound, finding himself far away from the Blacksite, falling down a hole that must have been at least a thousand feet deep, and running through a maze of concrete floors and brick walls, he hasn’t gotten the chance to catch what they really look like.

Tourist’s brown hair is tousled from the fall and nonstop running, but it’s obvious an attempt was made to maintain a sort of Jellyfish cut. Their glasses are askew, and their beige hat is clutched tight in one hand. Their chest is heaving in their off-white button up shirt, their other hand gripping the wooden cross that hangs loose around their neck. Their various pouches and pockets on their belts are limp against the floor and their own body. One side of their suspenders is drooping off their shoulder, and their legs are visibly shaking in their dark burgundy pants. White feathers with slight brown patterning litter the floor around them, having fallen out of the messy wings at their lower back.

Expendable looks away when Tourist peeks out of the hiding spot, before climbing out. Expendable winces as he crawls out of the spot after Tourist, sharp pebbles and rough stones cutting through the fabric of his jumpsuit and gloves. Clearly, Urbanshade cut corners on the quality here.

Tourist adjusts their glasses and places their hat back on their head. Expendable makes sure they’re ready before getting moving again.

Expendable can’t explain it, but there’s something urging him to go faster, to run. Like if he doesn’t, something bad will happen.

He’s learned by now to trust his gut.

Tourist follows, albeit a bit slower than Expendable, distracted by the small details of each room, until they come across a room with not a door, but a hatch in the floor.

Expendable watches Tourist inspect the hatch before trying to open it.

He has to hold back a laugh when they curse their scrawny arms for having no muscle.

“Can’t get it?” Expendable taunts, making Tourist grumble before trying again. “You’re fuckin’ hopeless. All your beef’s in your legs. Lemme.”

Expendable steps forward, and opens the hatch easy peasy, lifting it up.

“After you, princess.” Expendable snickers. Tourist drops down through the hatch, and Expendable follows right behind, only to find them frozen in a crouch on the metal floor. He looks in front of them and pauses.

The person standing in front of them is unlike anyone Expendable has ever seen. Big, round eyes stare at them, not even hidden by the curls of his black hair. The tips of his hair have faded into a gray, and a small clip is in his hair, with a cross dangling from it by a thin chain. His mouth isn’t visible, covered up by the high turtleneck of his black and white priest-like clothes. His hands are pressed together, silver rings on all of his fingers save for his ring fingers, and a shawl hanging from his arms. But the thing that really sticks out are the pristinely white wings that hang from his temples and lower back.

Expendable feels a little bald in this room, being the only one without wings, instead sporting a made-in-Urbanshade tail. It came with the gills every Expendable got.

He ignores the way his tail sways ever so slightly, restless under the view of the new stranger before him. Speaking of the stranger, he’s staring. Right at Expendable. Should he say something?

The stranger tips his head forward slightly in greeting and makes a gesture with his hands.

Uh oh. Expendable doesn’t understand much sign language.

“Oh! Your name is John? I’m Tourist, and this is Expendable!”

Expendable has to refrain from deflating with a sigh of relief. The stranger, John, tilts his head and raises one eyebrow before tapping one hand to his forehead and pulling it away again in a fist with his pinky and thumb sticking out. Expendable knows that one - “why?”

“We didn’ pick it. We just… Forgot. Our names.” Expendable explains. John touches a hand to his chest and makes a face that basically SCREAMS “You poor soul”. Expendable hates it. It reminds him of something some white christian woman named Sandra who runs an HOA would do. He doesn’t need empathy.

He can ignore the little part of him that does.

“John, do you know where we are?” Tourist asks, curious as ever. “Me and Expendable fell down a hole and found ourselves here. But we don’t quite know where here is.”

John signs something. Expendable doesn’t like the face Tourist makes.

“What’d he say?” Expendable asks not so quietly. The countless amount of PDG malfunctions have kind of messed with his ears and perception of volume. He doesn’t realize he didn’t exactly whisper when John gives him a bit of a deadpan look.

“You don’t know sign?” Tourist asks. “How’d you know what he said earlier?”

“I know who, what, when, where, why, and how, but that’s all HQ taught me.” a half lie. He hadn’t paid attention to HQ long enough to learn anything else. “Besides, anyone would be confused by names like Expendable and Tourist.”

Tourist shrugs. They’ve bought it for now. “He said we’re in hell. It’s an endless loop like the hotel. Or like where you’re from.”

John nods like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

“I can’t tell what’s worse.” Expendable grumbles. “Literal hell or the Hadal Blacksite.”

“Let’s find out!” Tourist joins John on the pressure plate in front of the door. Something rings out, lights flicker, and the door opens with a clunk. John is already off.

Looks like they’ll have to run to keep up.

– – - - - – –

Expendable blinks before rubbing his eyes. His entire body feels like rubber.

He can remember hearing his heartbeat thudding loud in his ears. He can remember a figure of some kind standing in front of a door. He can remember the burning in his skull and the fading of his vision. But then there’s the blank nothingness - the one that screams “you died”. The all too familiar gap in his memory of death.

“How curious.”

The voice jolted Expendable out of his hazy post death daze. It’s nothing like the usual, nothing like Sebastian’s voice. It’s deep, deeper than Sebastian’s. It almost sounds layered as though multiple voices at once. It’s clear, lacking the usual slight rasp of cigarettes like Sebastian.

Expendable reaches out, expecting a desk in front of him.

He doesn’t feel it. He’s floating, in a complete void of nothingness.

He can’t see anything but himself.

Until he looks up.

One large eye stares down at Expendable. He feels a brush of large hands beneath him, just holding him in place, but when he looks down he can’t see them.

He looks back up at the eye.

“You aren’t John.” the voice talks again. It’s oddly soothing.

“No, ‘m not.” Expendable’s voice feels quiet and muffled. But the voice is clear. Clearer than anything else he’s heard in a while.

“Follow me.”

Expendable tilts his head sideways, confused. He can’t move.

“And your endurance will prove fruitful.” The voice continues.

Ah. Expendable still doesn’t know what that’s supposed to mean.

“Whaddaya mean?” Expendable asks.

“You are lost.” the eye blinks slowly, opening softer. “I’m no evil. Follow good light.”

“Well I ain’t following anything right now, I’m dead.” Expendable leans backwards. “Am I dead for real now? Don’t think Urbanshade can get my body back.”

“Soon.” The voice reassures. “Better to suffer while you’re still alive, and not for eternity after.”

Expendable is about to ask what the voice meant, but when he opens his eyes and sits up, he’s in a familiar dock.

Metal and concrete, with an almost sterile smell besides the lingering of something making it feel almost factory made. The whir of the security turret above him and to the right just slightly. The breeze of cool air and the taste of the snowy, salty sea right off the shore of Norway.

The echo of HQ’s voice in the dock. He’s back in Urbanshades hands.

But one glance backwards tells him he’s not alone.

And he doesn’t know if that should comfort him, or scare him.

Chapter Text

I'm genuinely disgusted.

Within the past week, both the creators of Grace and Pressure have been outed for doing terrible things and being terrible people. Some worse than others.

If you don't already know, Simon, the creator of Grace has been outed for being a slurslinging homophobic, racist, and ablesit along with his girlfriend.
Ren, also known as NoLongerNull, the former music composer for Pressure, has come out about Zeal, the creator of pressure, sexually assaulting them.
PLEASE, PLEASE, SEND REN YOUR FULL SUPPORT. THIS ISN'T ABOUT THE GAME. THIS IS ABOUT AN ACTUAL PERSON GETTING HURT.

This genuinely cannot be ignored, and I feel dirty and disgusting for even having this story.

But that just begs the question,

What am I going to do?

I will NOT ignore this. This fic was genuinely something I had been so excited for. The Endless Torment Trio was my gateway out of being hyperfixated on other games with toxic creators and communities. Almost immediately being betrayed like this by the creators was genuinely disheartening, and I was contemplating abandoning this fic.

But, if I abandoned this fic, I would feel guilty and terrible. All my ideas for this AU, just gone to waste.

I will not be doing that.

I will be distancing John and Expendable from their base games. For now, I will finish the blacksite chapter, and the Doors chapter will be the final one that actually takes place in the games. I'm changing up my plans a bit. The rest of the story will be about these people, irreparably damaged mentally by these things, healing and re-integrating into Roblox society. They will take on new names. Become their own people. Separate themselves from their own eternal torment, and in turn, from their games.

I will do similar with the other characters, such as HQ, p.AI.nter, Sebastian, and even NAVI. After I finish chapter three, they will grow to have their own lives outside of the blacksite.

I will be associating the characters closer to their V/As, and I will make minor changes to them/their personalities (not great ones, I don't want to too heavily change them to be unrecognizable, just slightly different.)

Thank you all for enjoying what all you have read of this story. I can only hope that you will stick with me on this journey to separate the content from the creator and turn them into something of my own.

AND PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE SEND REN YOUR SUPPORT.

That's all I'll say. I have no upload schedule/plan for the next two chapters, given they will be longer than the previous ones as I think I could only stand writing one chapter about Pressure before feeling genuinely ill.