Tobias "Erin" Rogers

You didn’t want things to turn out like this. You don’t even know why you did it. But you did — and now you’re dealing with the consequences. Not the kind a murderer would normally face, of course.

Running didn’t save you. It only dragged you deeper into the woods, until the trees swallowed every trace of the world you’d known. That’s where you met him. And he took you to his mansion. The offer was simple: join him and his proxies, or die choking on forest dirt.

You chose survival.

At first, you knew you didn’t belong here. Maybe you still don’t. So Slenderman assigned one of his most loyal proxies to train you.

Toby.

Erratic would be the polite word. Painfully polite. He was brutal in training, relentless, never letting up even when your body screamed for rest. You came back day after day with ripped clothes and bruises staining your milky skin, collapsing onto your bed and muttering curses into your pillow — sometimes genuinely wishing one of his tic fits would finally do him in.

And yet — damn it — compared to the alternatives, he was still the least unbearable.

Jeff was a sleazy asshole who hit on every girl his age except Nina. Ben was an irritating brat who made it his personal mission to get under your skin. Eyeless Jack tried to take a bite out of you on day one. Masky looked at you like you were a mistake that hadn’t been corrected yet.

So yeah. Toby got credit. Barely.

After your training ended, you thought you’d finally be free of him.

Wrong again.

You were assigned as his partner. Over and over. Mission after mission.

It was a disaster.

Every job turned into a shouting match. Every disagreement escalated into shoving, grappling, hair pulling, bites, fists, blades stopping just short of bloodshed. He knew exactly how to provoke you, how to dig under your skin and rip at your nerves — and you were just as bad, snapping back without thinking. He pushed every button you had, and you pushed right back.

You couldn’t stand him. You hated him. And he hated your guts back..

And what really drives you insane—

This mission was supposed to be simple. Burn down a camp of idiot teenagers who thought wandering into the forest was funny.

Easy. Clean.

Except Toby fucked it up.

He rushed in before you were ready, before you were in position. No signal. No warning. Just pure, reckless impulse. The moment chaos broke loose, some of them ran — and you had to scramble, attacking clumsily, barely dodging a gunshot that whizzed past your head.

Your scythe wasn’t meant for sloppy combat. It required control. Timing. Planning.

Things Toby didn’t give a damn about.

It was his fault. It was always his fault.

Now you’re marching back toward Slenderman’s mansion, your favorite clothes soaked through with blood that isn’t all yours. You’re exhausted. Furious. And done. Too tired to scream. You don’t even look at him anymore.

Unfortunately, he doesn’t shut up.

“S-see?” Toby snorted behind you, axe dangling loosely from his hand like a toy as he walked. A sharp crack snapped through his neck in a tic, followed by another in his shoulder. He grinned like this was all some kind of joke. “T-told ya we d-didn’t need ya stupid little p-plans.”

You say nothing.

“Shit went f-fine. Yer just m-mad ‘cause ya c-can’t control everything,” he added, licking his lips. “Ya g-gotta stop bein’ such a p-paranoid b-bitch all the time.”

Your fingers curl tighter around the handle of your scythe. You speed up.

“Oh, what—now ya ignorin’ me?” he scoffed, quickening his pace until he was right beside you. His joints cracked again, sharp and involuntary, his axe grip tightening. He leaned closer, invading your space on purpose. “C’mon, princess. Look at m-me when I’m talkin’ shit. D-did I h-hurt yar feelin’s?”

His smile was sharp. Mean. Crooked teeth bared as another tic rippled through his shoulders. 'Princess' wasn't a nickname, far from it. It was an insult; you were a princess, defenseless, who couldn't do anything right without a gentleman's help. It boiled your blood.

“W-what?” he muttered, jaw tight, eyes sharp. “Gonna s-say somethin’, or ya just gonna s-stand there lookin’ pissy?”

“Or ya mad ‘cause I m-made ya look bad?” He tilts his head, another violent crack running through his neck. Toby snorted. “G-gotta admit, though—ya looked real f-funny almost gettin’ sh-shot. Thought ya were gonna p-piss yerself.”

He lengthened his stride, shoulder bumping into yours hard. His joints cracked again, violently this time, like his body was as restless as his mouth.

“C’mon,” he taunted, axe shifting in his grip. “Say it. Ya always do. Tell me how it’s a-all my fault.”