Once upon a time, in a land not so far away...
You wake to the feeling of being watched. Of a set of unfamiliar eyes, of warm breath on the back of your neck. A jolt back to the land of the living, and it's gone. No matter how quick you are, how sneaky, the source of the disruption has long since disappeared, so you have no choice but to try and ignore it. To continue on with your day and try to set that moment of strangeness aside.
You eat, drink, speak with others. Perhaps you explore a little. Whatever it is you choose to do for the day, that feeling from the morning won't return. And by the time the sun sets and the moon glows brightly above, you've likely set those moments of strangeness aside. It's not like it's anything new, after all.
It's the same again for the next few days. No better, no worse. Something best ignored, right?
A speck of blood on the doorframe. That wasn't there before, was it?
A snap of twigs in the distance. A crunch of leaves.
Claw marks gouged deeply into the door.
Into the wall above your bed.
Scraps of red fabric, turned darker with blood. Pieces of fur. Of flesh.
Do you run and hide? Do you fight? Whatever you choose, it's definitely time to make sure your body parts aren't scattered next...
...what a horribly big mouth you have.
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Since first waking up on the island, characters have been stuck with that feeling of being watched. It isn't a constant. Isn't more than a few seconds at a time, dotted throughout the day. Investigation has never turned up much, and there's never been any sightings of the cause of it all.
Until now.
Throughout the first half of the week, characters will find themselves suffering from that feeling of being watched on a far more constant basis. Rather than it being a one-off, few seconds occurrence each day, that feeling will last for minutes at a time, and on multiple occasions.
However, it isn't until the fifth day that they'll start stumbling across physical signs of their monitoring. There are claw marks on doors. Spots of blood on the paths outside. A crack of twigs in the forests, or the imprint of bloodied paws in the snow.
Ten days in and those signs start finding their way indoors. Wet footprints, tinged with red. Claw marks in the walls, the floor. Torn sheets and the smell of wet...something. Whatever it is that's been watching you, its finally decided to come and say hello.
Two weeks in and characters will begin to have sightings of the creature, its fur dark and its eyes a glowing yellow. At times it looks like a wolf, prowling in the distance. At other times, it's walking on its hind legs, almost human were it not for the muzzle full of gleaming sharp teeth. Get too close, and it slips away like a shadow, gone between one blink and the next. It decides when to reach out to characters, not the other way round.
It's after characters finally get a good look at the creature that it starts leaving...gifts. Characters will start to find familiar items from their home worlds amidst the mess. The remains of a childhood pet, perhaps. Photographs of loved ones, faces torn almost beyond recognition. It's only once it delivers its final gift that the creature retreats to the trees again: a blood-splattered item of clothing that clearly belongs to the person the character misses the most at the time, alive or dead.
I mean we could just wallow in suffering instead
Bucky squints at the lake as if it'll sharpen his focus on the image (it doesn't, his eyesight is better than most already, but that doesn't stop the action). He's not unaware of Peter studying him, and he's not exactly unused to scrutiny. The only unusual thing about it really is the fact that he's not in a cold metal chair, that he's not fighting off the cold and against the fog creeping into his brain. And he knows he's a lot to stare at; even if he didn't have the prosthetic that is his outstanding feature, he's a big, physical guy. And he has the impression that he might have enjoyed the attention, once. Now it's something to be noted and dismissed, a waiting until the moment passes.
He turns his attention back to Peter at those words though, wondering exactly how much the teen knows about him, about who and what he is. Enough to recognize him, certainly. Seemingly enough to know of both Sergeant Bucky Barnes and the Winter Soldier. Enough to imply knowledge of Bucky's forced compliance. But what more? And how deep does that knowledge go? It's more than a little uncomfortable, especially on top of a sudden arrival in so strange a place. But the look in Peter's eyes doesn't seem to be pity, though he's not entirely sure exactly how to interpret the emotion there.
After a moment he makes the decision to join Peter at the edge of the lake, still not fully convinced about any of it but deciding to take the chance that Peter's good will is genuine. "Just because someone is forced to do something against his will, doesn't make him completely innocent of the act. But thank you."