[sup][h1][center][img]https://i.imgur.com/LLARzGn.jpeg[/img] [b][color=black]G I L  E M O R Y  G A L A H A D[/color]
[color=lightgray] G I L  E M O R Y  G A L A H A D[/color]
[/b][/center][/h1][/sup]
[indent][sub][COLOR=SILVER][B]Location:[/B][/COLOR] [I]The Trials, Southern Plateau[/I] - [I]Dundas Island[/I][/sub][sup][right][COLOR=SILVER][b]Hope In Hell #2.045:[/b][/COLOR] [I]Id[/I][/right][/sup][/indent][sub][hr][/sub][INDENT][sub][color=SILVER][B]Interaction(s): [/B][/COLOR] [I] N/A [/I][/sub][/indent]

[indent][color=gray]The path went on for...god, it felt like miles, but Gil knew that the dark and the silence played on his perception of time and space. The absence of stimuli stretched every second into an eon and he wondered, not for the first time, if the journey was endless. If the eternal walk was his ultimate punishment; press forward into nothing, forever, until you simply collapse and die. He didn't stop himself from mulling that part over. 

And then, all of a sudden, there was...something. Something on the edge of the silence, so imperceptible he wasn't sure he hadn't just started hallucinating. He whipped his head around, searching every corner of the dark for the source, a source he wasn't convinced even existed.

Nothing.

He kept walking. 

And then there it was again; the faintest rustling, oddly familiar but still he struggled to identify it, couldn’t quite put an image to the noise. He paused again, closing his eyes and straining his ears. Again there was nothing. He sighed, tired and frustrated, and took a step forward, only to swing wildly when the rustle reoccurred. The tension made him feel feral, unchained. 

There was...something. Something across the way in the dark. It was no wonder he’d not seen it at first; it was only as he swayed back and forth now that he could see, ever so faintly, the slightest hint of a reflection of light, winking back at him. 

He hesitated. Now that he’d seen it he could keep a bead on it, but it moved no farther from him nor closer to him as he watched. Gil made more steps along the illuminated path, watching it all the while, and it moved with him, perfectly parallel. It was a person, he could see now, and the rustling was clear and identifiable as their [i]footsteps[/i]. 

The words of his alters rang in his ears. The footsteps of his mystery stalker grew louder around him, but the distance never changed, moving forwards only when he did. He grew angry; he chafed raw from the berating he’d given himself, and now this place only sought to toy with him further. It wasn’t even [i]interesting[/i], for fucks sake, it was just fucking [i]grass[/i] and the dark. 

He pivoted on his heel and took off sprinting so quickly that he only realised he’d done so when he was already five metres off the path and the light was left behind. He plunged headlong into the darkness, not caring for a second how utterly enveloping it felt, how it cloyed and pulled at his skin and invaded his lungs. All he focused on was that glinting, reflecting light in the distance, winking at him. He was vaguely aware of far-off laughter, but paid it no mind; gave no notice to his pounding heart, pushing viscous blood around his aching body and fit to explode from his chest, nor to his burning lungs, pulling in air that felt thick and hot and tasted like crude oil in his mouth. 

Head down, he pressed on, his muscles screaming and the grass slick beneath his feet and his breath failing until finally, finally, he lost his footing and tumbled, head over heels across the field, gouging up chunks of dirt, muddying his arms and face, the brown mixing with the red to distort his features.

He lay there in the grass, pushed to his absolute limit, heaving great panting breaths in and out, the lights no longer visible; [i]nothing[/i] visible, just the sensations of being cold and wet on the ground anchoring him to any reality at all. 

There was a rustling. More footsteps. Gil was vaguely aware of a presence near his head, but couldn't bring himself to roll over from where he lay splayed on his back to investigate, wouldn't have been able to see who those footsteps finally belonged to even if he had. 

There was a light chuckle, gentle and feminine, and a single tear rolled from the corner of Gil's eye and across his temple to the ground, the only water he could spare.
[color=AFEEEE]"If only you'd have chased me so passionately eight years ago, Gil."[/color]

Gil managed a dry chuckle, coughed a mix of spit and blood, and sank into unconsciousness.

[hr]
When Gil woke up, his head rang and his throat was scorched. Someone held a bottle of water to his lips and he supped greedily, letting it flow freely down his chin and chest as he gulped, the bottle being upturned as it emptied and eventually ran dry. Gil went to bring his arm up to wipe his chin, and it was only then he realised he was restrained; only then that he realised he was not lying on wet grass, but sat on a plastic folding chair. His hands were tied behind his back. His joints ached. How long had he been out?

[color=AFEEEE]"And now we come to the crux of the matter, don't we, Gil?"[/color]

He looked up sharply. His vision swam but in front of him, perched daintily on a chair of her own, was the unequivocal owner of that voice. He would never forget that voice.
[color=FCE205]"Elle...I'm sorr-"[/color] [color=DA70D6]"[b]SHUT UP.[/b]"[/color]

The ferocity of the command, reverberating around his head and shaking his very bones, stunned Gil into obeyance. He couldn't see Elliot, but he felt a blow hit him hard in his exposed stomach. He spluttered, doubling over and coughing.
[color=DA70D6]"Too late for that [i]nonsense[/i] now. You made our bed eight years ago. You [b]fucking[/b] lie in it."[/color]

[color=AFEEEE]"Elliot...you'll get your chance."[/color] Said Elle, gentle but admonishing. Whatever presence he had, Gil felt it slink away. 
[color=AFEEEE]"We talked about how [i]empty[/i] you are, didn't we? But that's only [b]half[/b] the problem, isn't it?"[/color]

Gil daren't speak, despite the screaming inside him. Whatever force this was wasn't interested in his protest, and he was still catching his breath where Elliot's sudden blow had winded him. He just sat there, hands tied, head hung, trying to block out the venomous words spewed by the only girl he'd ever loved. Thought he'd loved. [i]Convinced himself[/i] he'd loved.

[color=AFEEEE]"We both know that the real problem isn't the emptiness, isn't that gaping hole inside you instead of a soul. It's what you use to [i]fill[/i] that hole."[/color]
She stood up, walking toward Gil and pulling his head up by the chin with a single finger. They locked eyes, and even though it had been nearly a decade since he'd last seen Elenora Baines, every atom of her was still seared into his memory; every strand of hair, every pore of her skin, every fleck in her irides. He looked into her eyes, and for the first time since entering this sabotaged Trial, seized onto some certainty.

[i]This was not Elle.[/i] 

He cradled that fact like his own precious child; it anchored him, reassured him. The horrors persisted, but so did he.

Elle let go of his chin and pushed a finger painfully into his chest instead.
[color=AFEEEE]"You use [i]people[/i], don't you? You chew them up, squeeze them dry, and then throw them away. How long until you get bored of the current lot, do you think, like you got bored of me?"[/color]

Gil thought back eight years ago, desperately searching his memory for those last days in Los Angeles. Hazy sun and quiet arguments...
[sub][color=FCE205]"I...I begged you to stay..."[/color][/sub] he managed, his voice weak and mournful.

[color=AFEEEE]"And I begged you to [i]come with me![/i]"[/color] She spat back, her face a portrait of pained fury. [color=AFEEEE]"We could have had a [i]real[/i] life, with [i]proper[/i] foundations, not all that...Hollywood glitterati [i]shit.[/i] But you couldn't leave the admiration behind, could you? No [i]yes-men[/i] in Michigan. Only [i]one[/i] person to adore you and love you and support you? Not enough for Gil Galahad, Hollywood's biggest [b]has-been![/b] You're pathetic."[/color]

She walked away, waving her hand over her shoulder as she went in some kind of signal; presumably to Elliot, wherever he lurked, but Gil still couldn't feel his presence. Instead, the restraints around his wrists simply fell away, and he pulled his arms in front of him, his shoulders burning.

[color=AFEEEE]"Say what you want. Justify it however you can. It means nothing to me. After all, I'm not even really here, am I?"[/color] Elle continued, as Gil stood from his chair and attempted to stumble after her. [color=AFEEEE]"I'm just what your own mind conjured up. How's that for pitiable? You actually do think all of this about yourself."[/color]

Gil stopped, hanging his head in shame. 
[color=AFEEEE]"Were you ever really 'you' when you were with me, Gil? Are you even really 'you' [i]now[/i]? Here, faced with the lowest moments of your miserable, superficial life, and you're still acting, aren't you? Which 'Gil' are you playing today, do you think?"[/color]

Out of the darkness, Gil recognised faces. [i]His[/i] faces, over and over, stepping forward to circle him. Elliot, Elwood, Romeo were all here, as well as a few advertising gigs. But there were more recent copies of Gil, too: here was one in PRCU uniform, tie loosened and shirt-sleeves rolled-up; here was one in the university's athletic issue; here was one in beachwear.
[color=AFEEEE]"Which one, Gil? Which face are you wearing [i]right now[/i]? The Gil that 'chills with his bros'? The Gil that smokes with Amma? The Gil that entertains fans on the beach? The Gil that suckers Harper in for another guaranteed dose of [i]naive affirmation[/i]? The Gil that told me he [i]loves me[/i], but couldn't be [i]with[/i] me?!"[/color]

They surrounded Gil, encircling him on all sides. Elle was out of reach, stood beyond the circle, and she pulled out a phone from her pocket and held it up.

Gil felt a hand on his shoulder, and he turned to face a sight that sent him stumbling backwards, reeling away. A final Gil copy, bruised and bloody and wearing the AR suit he was clad in in this very moment. The face was a blank veil of flesh, no features to speak of at all.
[color=AFEEEE]"[i]That's[/i] the real you, isn't it Gil?"[/color] Elle taunted, her peeling laughter full of spite and enmity. [color=AFEEEE]"[i]Nothing[/i] and [i]no one[/i]! Why don't we see which version of you [i]hates[/i] you the most?"[/color]

[center][color=AFEEEE][b]"Lights!"[/b][/color][/center]

Blinding floodlights exploded into life, finally illuminating the grassy field for miles around. Crestwood Common, that damnable set, filmed on-location. It always had been.

[center][color=AFEEEE][b]"Camera!"[/b][/color][/center]

Gil heard Elle's phone start recording, and behind the lights, he could suddenly see cameras on cranes, recording lights steadily blinking.

[center][color=AFEEEE][b]"[i]Action![/i]"[/b][/color][/center]

The copies came for him. All he saw was hatred. All he felt was violence.

[/color][/indent]