((Omar Burton continued from instinctalgorithm))
((Omar's story is being handled by James' request, and with the approval of all involved))
Omar was standing near the northernmost point of the island now, amidst a field of toppled trees. The sun was setting, casting the last rays of light over the land, oranges and yellows washing the scenery, leaving the hundreds of dead trees looking eerie, unreal.
That didn't matter to Omar in the slightest. His time for appreciating the beauty of his surroundings was long past. He had spent the day searching for Sierra, combing the eastern part of the island, then looping up to the north. He had avoided groups, coming only close enough to ensure that Sierra was not among them, and had not seen any individuals worth confronting. His killing of Warren had been justified. Useful. What he needed to gain an edge over the competition, to see Sierra safely through. Shooting unarmed, non-hostile people would be counterproductive, wasting ammunition and telegraphing Omar's dangerous nature to everyone else. With one kill under his belt, he could get close enough to someone to be a danger. With four or five, he would be shot at on sight, and, worse, Sierra would be endangered if she stuck too close to him. There was a time to cut loose, but it had not yet come. When he started to run low on food, then, perhaps, but not until.
His plan for finding Sierra was simple. He would methodically cover the island, searching the outdoors areas first, since they provided the greatest visibility, then move into the areas with buildings. He would move quickly, giving things a cursory investigation. Time was of the essence, and it seemed a better choice to maximize his area of coverage than to get bogged down checking every nook and cranny. If he couldn't find Sierra easily, then the same would be true of any of the other killers.
He kept the gun at the ready at all times now. As a lone target, and a killer at that, he had to constantly be on his guard. Someone could see him, could gun him down in seconds, before he could even react. He wasn't invincible. Wasn't unstoppable. It was intelligence and drive that would win this, not reckless optimism.
Glancing around, Omar paused for a second, found one of the water bottles in his pack, took a sip. Wondered how Jessica was doing. She hadn't been on the announcements, so maybe she was alright. It would be best if she lasted a good while. Still, he hoped that she didn't stick around too long, or, if she did, that someone else ended up finishing her off. It wouldn't do at all for Sierra to refuse his help due to his killing of a friend of hers. She was good. Not the sort to understand the necessity.
Then Omar put the bottle away, zipped up his pack, brought his gun to the ready again, and prepared to keep moving. He wanted to find Sierra soon. Ideally before the next announcements. He had a horrible, gut-wrenching fear that—no. She wouldn't be on them. Couldn't be. He would find her, and he would keep her safe.
Walk Away
Private. Sunset, Day 3
(Julian Avery continued from I Got a Hand, So I Got a Fist)
Empty island. Quiet island, with not a single gunshot to punch a hole through the silence and not a single dying scream to tug at any heartstrings. Just some birds was all, some birds chirp chirp chirping and most definitely not murdering each other. Which was a bit of a letdown, all thing considered, since when you go ahead and make a sweeping declaration about standing up for the defenseless, about killing the killers... you expect you might actually find some. Step out of the house and boom, right there, it is a killer standing right there, back turned and distracted and completely oblivious, so let's get the righteous vengeance started.
Nothing of that sort. Just the chirp chirp chirping, until Julian rounded a corner and saw his main man Tom. "Tom, my man!," said Julian, all sort of genial. "Shit, am I glad to see you!"
Who was Tom? Why, he was Julian's main man! He was this guy that Julian had formed a meaningful and lasting friendship with (as was Julian's custom), and now they were practically best friends, and Tom probably loved Julian (to be honest, Julian was a little unsure about this part, but since everyone loved Julian it was safe to assume), and knowing Julian had probably changed him for the better. So Julian was so glad that he'd found Tom, since he'd definitely be glad to help Julian out however he could.
Actually no, none of that was true. Those were the kind of delusions that Julian had fortunately disabused himself of, and the truth was that Tom was more of a passing acquaintance than anything. Julian knew his name, and he knew a little bit about him, and he'd even talked to Tom a few times and tried to make friends in a very cursory sort of way (as was Julian's custom). But now Julian was sorely overestimating the importance of all of that, and he was about to run up and be all buddy-buddy while Tom thought to himself What the hell did I do to make this phony asshole think we're best friends?
Actually no, none of that was true either. Tom was not exactly a real person, and the fellow that Julian was chatting at was almost definitely Omar Burton. This requires a bit of explanation: Omar had killed a dude, see? Omar had killed Warren Brown and stolen his gun and that meant that Omar was now a very dangerous man with a very dangerous gun. So ambling up to him like Hey Omar! I know who you are and I know you're a killer and I'm still coming towards you for some reason was not that hot of an idea. If Julian knew who Omar was, then why the fuck wasn't he running away? He was obviously up to something. Shoot the fucker.
But if Julian didn't know who Omar was, then he wasn't really a threat. Omar had himself a gun and he hadn't killed again since day one, so it didn't seem likely that he was popping off rounds at every person he met. And why the hell would you waste bullets on this asshole while he's still far enough that you might miss? He's just some shitty-assed politician who's gonna try to make friends and who's gonna get his ego bruised a little when you tell him to fuck off (or maybe just shoot him in the back the moment he turns his head head away? This was also an option). And it wasn't that hard of a lie to believe, was it? With the amount of people Julian pretended to be best friends with, he was bound to get somebody's name mixed up. So here he was, doing that again. What a silly guy!
"Tell you what, this place is startin' to freak me the fuck out. How you holdin' up, Tom?"
And so Julian began to jog towards his best friend Tom, right hand making these big friendly phony waves (the best part of this lie was that he didn't even have to bother with not looking fake), sword jammed into his belt and dangling uselessly. This was gonna be simple, Julian prayed to God that it'd be simple. He didn't even need to kill Omar straight away, he just needed to get close enough that Omar's gun wasn't that much more dangerous than Julian's sword. He needed every inch of every step more desperately than he'd ever needed anything before. And he needed, on top of all that, to be quick enough to get the fuck away in the even that Omar was in fact opening fire on anyone he saw. Which became a little scarier of a thought every time one of Julian's feet hit the ground.
Hm. It'd seemed like such an acceptable risk at the time.
Empty island. Quiet island, with not a single gunshot to punch a hole through the silence and not a single dying scream to tug at any heartstrings. Just some birds was all, some birds chirp chirp chirping and most definitely not murdering each other. Which was a bit of a letdown, all thing considered, since when you go ahead and make a sweeping declaration about standing up for the defenseless, about killing the killers... you expect you might actually find some. Step out of the house and boom, right there, it is a killer standing right there, back turned and distracted and completely oblivious, so let's get the righteous vengeance started.
Nothing of that sort. Just the chirp chirp chirping, until Julian rounded a corner and saw his main man Tom. "Tom, my man!," said Julian, all sort of genial. "Shit, am I glad to see you!"
Who was Tom? Why, he was Julian's main man! He was this guy that Julian had formed a meaningful and lasting friendship with (as was Julian's custom), and now they were practically best friends, and Tom probably loved Julian (to be honest, Julian was a little unsure about this part, but since everyone loved Julian it was safe to assume), and knowing Julian had probably changed him for the better. So Julian was so glad that he'd found Tom, since he'd definitely be glad to help Julian out however he could.
Actually no, none of that was true. Those were the kind of delusions that Julian had fortunately disabused himself of, and the truth was that Tom was more of a passing acquaintance than anything. Julian knew his name, and he knew a little bit about him, and he'd even talked to Tom a few times and tried to make friends in a very cursory sort of way (as was Julian's custom). But now Julian was sorely overestimating the importance of all of that, and he was about to run up and be all buddy-buddy while Tom thought to himself What the hell did I do to make this phony asshole think we're best friends?
Actually no, none of that was true either. Tom was not exactly a real person, and the fellow that Julian was chatting at was almost definitely Omar Burton. This requires a bit of explanation: Omar had killed a dude, see? Omar had killed Warren Brown and stolen his gun and that meant that Omar was now a very dangerous man with a very dangerous gun. So ambling up to him like Hey Omar! I know who you are and I know you're a killer and I'm still coming towards you for some reason was not that hot of an idea. If Julian knew who Omar was, then why the fuck wasn't he running away? He was obviously up to something. Shoot the fucker.
But if Julian didn't know who Omar was, then he wasn't really a threat. Omar had himself a gun and he hadn't killed again since day one, so it didn't seem likely that he was popping off rounds at every person he met. And why the hell would you waste bullets on this asshole while he's still far enough that you might miss? He's just some shitty-assed politician who's gonna try to make friends and who's gonna get his ego bruised a little when you tell him to fuck off (or maybe just shoot him in the back the moment he turns his head head away? This was also an option). And it wasn't that hard of a lie to believe, was it? With the amount of people Julian pretended to be best friends with, he was bound to get somebody's name mixed up. So here he was, doing that again. What a silly guy!
"Tell you what, this place is startin' to freak me the fuck out. How you holdin' up, Tom?"
And so Julian began to jog towards his best friend Tom, right hand making these big friendly phony waves (the best part of this lie was that he didn't even have to bother with not looking fake), sword jammed into his belt and dangling uselessly. This was gonna be simple, Julian prayed to God that it'd be simple. He didn't even need to kill Omar straight away, he just needed to get close enough that Omar's gun wasn't that much more dangerous than Julian's sword. He needed every inch of every step more desperately than he'd ever needed anything before. And he needed, on top of all that, to be quick enough to get the fuck away in the even that Omar was in fact opening fire on anyone he saw. Which became a little scarier of a thought every time one of Julian's feet hit the ground.
Hm. It'd seemed like such an acceptable risk at the time.
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The shout surprised Omar. Tom? Who the hell was Tom? The guy couldn't mean Tom Guthrie, right? He was, after all, dead. Sure, he was around Omar's height, same color hair, but...
No. Now was not the time to be getting confused. The guy was running towards him, waving like a total idiot, being loud and probably drawing the attention of anyone else in the area. And, look, the guy in question was Julian Avery, everyone's best friend, Bayview's "nice guy". Couldn't even be bothered to remember people's names, though, couldn't even be bothered to know if they were dead or not. How had this guy survived this long? How had he not been shot by someone just on the basis of being an overly loud prick? Omar was half tempted to blow him away right then, to spare himself having to flee this area due to the noise. But gunshots would force him out anyways, and would draw even more attention, attention he did not need focused on him right now.
Besides, Julian had that sword still safely put away. He'd come over, realize Omar was not Tom, maybe try to make friends anyways, and Omar could chastise him and send him packing, then move out himself. There was really no reason to bother with Avery right now. He was an easy out, someone who truly stood no chance of surviving. It would just take one wrong word, one misplaced moment of trust, to undo him.
One misplaced moment of trust...
Like that, it hit Omar. His gun was nearby, but Julian had closed the distance rapidly. So rapidly, with that friendly routine. Only now, now he was close enough that it would be an actual contest of speed if it came to a fight. He was close enough that he could very well get to Omar and mess him up before the gun could even factor into the situation. The look on Julian's face... the bastard had been trying to play him. Wouldn't work, though, no way. He'd bought himself a few seconds, a better option, but Omar still had a gun. Avery couldn't know his speed.
"Nice try," Omar said, putting all the confidence he could into his voice. His hand was on the gun. Just had to pick it up. Make it clear he was willing to.
"Don't come any closer. I'm not afraid to use this."
No. Now was not the time to be getting confused. The guy was running towards him, waving like a total idiot, being loud and probably drawing the attention of anyone else in the area. And, look, the guy in question was Julian Avery, everyone's best friend, Bayview's "nice guy". Couldn't even be bothered to remember people's names, though, couldn't even be bothered to know if they were dead or not. How had this guy survived this long? How had he not been shot by someone just on the basis of being an overly loud prick? Omar was half tempted to blow him away right then, to spare himself having to flee this area due to the noise. But gunshots would force him out anyways, and would draw even more attention, attention he did not need focused on him right now.
Besides, Julian had that sword still safely put away. He'd come over, realize Omar was not Tom, maybe try to make friends anyways, and Omar could chastise him and send him packing, then move out himself. There was really no reason to bother with Avery right now. He was an easy out, someone who truly stood no chance of surviving. It would just take one wrong word, one misplaced moment of trust, to undo him.
One misplaced moment of trust...
Like that, it hit Omar. His gun was nearby, but Julian had closed the distance rapidly. So rapidly, with that friendly routine. Only now, now he was close enough that it would be an actual contest of speed if it came to a fight. He was close enough that he could very well get to Omar and mess him up before the gun could even factor into the situation. The look on Julian's face... the bastard had been trying to play him. Wouldn't work, though, no way. He'd bought himself a few seconds, a better option, but Omar still had a gun. Avery couldn't know his speed.
"Nice try," Omar said, putting all the confidence he could into his voice. His hand was on the gun. Just had to pick it up. Make it clear he was willing to.
"Don't come any closer. I'm not afraid to use this."
Why, yes. Not coming any closer seemed like a great idea, so skidding to a halt was the first thing on Julian's agenda.
After that? It got a little more hazy. The agenda didn't really really specify what happened next, since (and don't tell anyone this part!) Julian hadn't thought this all out very far. Well, some things are obvious: Don't die. Yes, awesome, that is an awesome start. What else you got? Nothing so far! Well, fuck. Julian started to long for the days when he was just the smiley fake politician, where he could stay on the sidelines and stick his head into the action just long enough to take the credit. All those days spent that way, and not a single gun had been pointed in his face. One day of trying to be a hero? One gun in his face!
It was almost like Julian's formidable math skills were telling him something about the relative wisdom of his new life philosophy.
Well if that was the case, Julian's formidable math skills could fucking shut it. Formidable logic skills, come up to the front, Julian needs you right now. Ready? Go. There were four ways that this could end! Julian gets killed, Omar gets killed, both get killed, neither get killed. The two of those that fulfilled the one item currently on Julian's agenda (Please don't die) were probably the better outcomes. How to increase the odds of those happening? Well, the first step was to buy time.
"So, Tom, you wanna tell me why you killed Warren Brown?" And a cheeky little grin that Julian couldn't resist adding. Fuck, was he hurting his odds already?
Eye contact was nice and important in any kind of conversation, so this was gonna be all about the peripheral vision. Is he reaching for his gun? Can I spot him if he does? Can I out-draw him if he does? Whoa, champ, don't get ahead of yourself. Just breathe in and breathe out and pay very close attention to what your main man Tom is about to say. Every sentence might be an out, every word might be an opportunity.
"You know, maybe we can talk about that later. Right now, I think you should be worrying more about how you're going to walk away from the guy with a gun than the guy he may have killed for whatever reason two days ago."
Fuck you, Omar Burton, you are not giving Julian a whole lot to work with here. You're acting like the big fucking dominant badass when- hey, asshole, pay attention to this part!- you might be about to die too. Because you might not notice this, but there's a guy a few feet away from you who could kick your skinny ass with one hand behind his back, and plus he's got a badass sword that he can whip out at any given moment, and plus he's on a personal crusade to kill the... to kill all the... huh. Idea time.
"Naw man, I like my priorities where they are are just fine." Did Julian manage to avoid flashing a cheeky grin this time? Probably. Hopefully. "See, I got it in my head that I might take down all the hardcore killers here. Y'know? All the psychopathic motherfuckers decided they gon' get a ticket off this island by rackin' up a bodycount. So you can see why I might be curious about the circumstances of you and Warren's adventure time."
See, Tom? See, buddy? This is not so bad after all. Nobody has to die, because all you have to do is tell Julian all about how you killed Warren in self-defense. Or in the defense of others. Warren was about to mow down a group of scared innocent little girls with that badass gun, and there were also some three-legged puppies on his hit list, so you did the only noble thing you could do and you snatched his gun away from him and you shot him dead. Tell that story to Julian! He will sigh in relief and he will see this was all a misunderstanding and he will pat you on the shoulder. And then one day, somewhere in the future, you'll both be able to look back on this and laugh about it.
Because you both made it out alive, right? Because you both walked away?
After that? It got a little more hazy. The agenda didn't really really specify what happened next, since (and don't tell anyone this part!) Julian hadn't thought this all out very far. Well, some things are obvious: Don't die. Yes, awesome, that is an awesome start. What else you got? Nothing so far! Well, fuck. Julian started to long for the days when he was just the smiley fake politician, where he could stay on the sidelines and stick his head into the action just long enough to take the credit. All those days spent that way, and not a single gun had been pointed in his face. One day of trying to be a hero? One gun in his face!
It was almost like Julian's formidable math skills were telling him something about the relative wisdom of his new life philosophy.
Well if that was the case, Julian's formidable math skills could fucking shut it. Formidable logic skills, come up to the front, Julian needs you right now. Ready? Go. There were four ways that this could end! Julian gets killed, Omar gets killed, both get killed, neither get killed. The two of those that fulfilled the one item currently on Julian's agenda (Please don't die) were probably the better outcomes. How to increase the odds of those happening? Well, the first step was to buy time.
"So, Tom, you wanna tell me why you killed Warren Brown?" And a cheeky little grin that Julian couldn't resist adding. Fuck, was he hurting his odds already?
Eye contact was nice and important in any kind of conversation, so this was gonna be all about the peripheral vision. Is he reaching for his gun? Can I spot him if he does? Can I out-draw him if he does? Whoa, champ, don't get ahead of yourself. Just breathe in and breathe out and pay very close attention to what your main man Tom is about to say. Every sentence might be an out, every word might be an opportunity.
"You know, maybe we can talk about that later. Right now, I think you should be worrying more about how you're going to walk away from the guy with a gun than the guy he may have killed for whatever reason two days ago."
Fuck you, Omar Burton, you are not giving Julian a whole lot to work with here. You're acting like the big fucking dominant badass when- hey, asshole, pay attention to this part!- you might be about to die too. Because you might not notice this, but there's a guy a few feet away from you who could kick your skinny ass with one hand behind his back, and plus he's got a badass sword that he can whip out at any given moment, and plus he's on a personal crusade to kill the... to kill all the... huh. Idea time.
"Naw man, I like my priorities where they are are just fine." Did Julian manage to avoid flashing a cheeky grin this time? Probably. Hopefully. "See, I got it in my head that I might take down all the hardcore killers here. Y'know? All the psychopathic motherfuckers decided they gon' get a ticket off this island by rackin' up a bodycount. So you can see why I might be curious about the circumstances of you and Warren's adventure time."
See, Tom? See, buddy? This is not so bad after all. Nobody has to die, because all you have to do is tell Julian all about how you killed Warren in self-defense. Or in the defense of others. Warren was about to mow down a group of scared innocent little girls with that badass gun, and there were also some three-legged puppies on his hit list, so you did the only noble thing you could do and you snatched his gun away from him and you shot him dead. Tell that story to Julian! He will sigh in relief and he will see this was all a misunderstanding and he will pat you on the shoulder. And then one day, somewhere in the future, you'll both be able to look back on this and laugh about it.
Because you both made it out alive, right? Because you both walked away?
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Jonny. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.
It seemed, just for a second, like Julian was going to do the smart thing. But no, that would have been too easy. Omar had judged him correctly, had caught his ploy just in time. Julian wanted to know what had happened with Warren. That meant that his whole "Tom" routine was a total sham. Omar didn't really feel like explaining what he had done to this guy, though. He didn't owe Julian an explanation, and he didn't want to give him anything, except maybe a quick shot through the head.
"You know, maybe we can talk about that later. Right now, I think you should be worrying more about how you're going to walk away from the guy with a gun than the guy he may have killed for whatever reason two days ago."
Yup. There it was, all laid out. Julian had a choice, a very clear one. Keep up his little revenge routine, or whatever the hell he was doing, and risk getting shot, or try to worm his way out alive. Omar was expecting him to cave. Julian was everyone's friend, or at least he liked to play the part. He wasn't the sort Omar could see looking out for others. Maybe he'd been Warren's buddy or something, but chopping up the guy who wasted him wouldn't bring him back. No, Julian would probably try to slink off, try to escape to fight another day. Of course, Omar was pretty sure at this point that he would shoot the guy in the back as he left. It seemed the safest course of action, especially since someone this phony could present a threat to Sierra. If he knew about Omar's history with the girl, he might go after her out of sheer spite.
And then, Julian was talking again, with that stupid grin again, turning Omar's perceptions on their head. Turned out, he wasn't in it for specific revenge. He'd decided he was going to kill all the psychos, maybe to make sure nobody killed their way off the island. Oddly, it made sense to Omar. It gave him sympathy for the boy, sympathy he couldn't have mustered even if Julian had been completely innocent in his intentions. After all, Omar's own goals involved killing all the psychos too. His ideal position inn this crazy mess would be second place, propelling Sierra out of here. She'd probably have to kill him, in the end, but... he was okay with that. She wouldn't do it willingly. He knew that much about her. He might have to provoke her somehow, might have to... but that was for later. No need to dwell on such uncomfortable thoughts in the middle of a tense situation.
Omar didn't consider that Julian could be lying about his goals. The admission was too frank, too dangerous. No, he was telling the truth, for whatever reason. And so, Omar found himself having a bit of a change of heart. He actually started to talk.
"You know what, Avery? Fine. I'll tell you. Yeah, I shot Warren. I found him when he woke up, grabbed his gun, and shot him. I did it because I needed the weapon, and I couldn't afford to get hurt in a struggle if he decided to make it an issue. I'm not planning to kill my way to the top of this, though. There's a girl, Sierra. My girlfriend. If there's one person here who doesn't deserve to be, it's her. I needed the gun to get Sierra through to the end, because I'm not going to let someone like her get killed by some sadistic fuck, and there's no way she'll fight her own way out. So, yeah, I killed Warren, and I'd do it again. I'd kill any one of those psychos, too, to stop them from making it out of here."
As he spoke, Omar watched Julian. And, strangely enough, the boy seemed to be believing him. He'd been prepared for rejection, for denial, prepared to have to defend himself against ridiculous accusations of dishonesty. It didn't look like that would happen now, though. That left Omar time to ask a question of his own, one that he was honestly curious to know the answer to.
"And how about you, Avery? What are you gonna do once you've gotten rid of all the players? You planning on sitting down and singing songs until your collar pops, or are you gonna carry it all the way, make it back to a hero's welcome?"
"You know, maybe we can talk about that later. Right now, I think you should be worrying more about how you're going to walk away from the guy with a gun than the guy he may have killed for whatever reason two days ago."
Yup. There it was, all laid out. Julian had a choice, a very clear one. Keep up his little revenge routine, or whatever the hell he was doing, and risk getting shot, or try to worm his way out alive. Omar was expecting him to cave. Julian was everyone's friend, or at least he liked to play the part. He wasn't the sort Omar could see looking out for others. Maybe he'd been Warren's buddy or something, but chopping up the guy who wasted him wouldn't bring him back. No, Julian would probably try to slink off, try to escape to fight another day. Of course, Omar was pretty sure at this point that he would shoot the guy in the back as he left. It seemed the safest course of action, especially since someone this phony could present a threat to Sierra. If he knew about Omar's history with the girl, he might go after her out of sheer spite.
And then, Julian was talking again, with that stupid grin again, turning Omar's perceptions on their head. Turned out, he wasn't in it for specific revenge. He'd decided he was going to kill all the psychos, maybe to make sure nobody killed their way off the island. Oddly, it made sense to Omar. It gave him sympathy for the boy, sympathy he couldn't have mustered even if Julian had been completely innocent in his intentions. After all, Omar's own goals involved killing all the psychos too. His ideal position inn this crazy mess would be second place, propelling Sierra out of here. She'd probably have to kill him, in the end, but... he was okay with that. She wouldn't do it willingly. He knew that much about her. He might have to provoke her somehow, might have to... but that was for later. No need to dwell on such uncomfortable thoughts in the middle of a tense situation.
Omar didn't consider that Julian could be lying about his goals. The admission was too frank, too dangerous. No, he was telling the truth, for whatever reason. And so, Omar found himself having a bit of a change of heart. He actually started to talk.
"You know what, Avery? Fine. I'll tell you. Yeah, I shot Warren. I found him when he woke up, grabbed his gun, and shot him. I did it because I needed the weapon, and I couldn't afford to get hurt in a struggle if he decided to make it an issue. I'm not planning to kill my way to the top of this, though. There's a girl, Sierra. My girlfriend. If there's one person here who doesn't deserve to be, it's her. I needed the gun to get Sierra through to the end, because I'm not going to let someone like her get killed by some sadistic fuck, and there's no way she'll fight her own way out. So, yeah, I killed Warren, and I'd do it again. I'd kill any one of those psychos, too, to stop them from making it out of here."
As he spoke, Omar watched Julian. And, strangely enough, the boy seemed to be believing him. He'd been prepared for rejection, for denial, prepared to have to defend himself against ridiculous accusations of dishonesty. It didn't look like that would happen now, though. That left Omar time to ask a question of his own, one that he was honestly curious to know the answer to.
"And how about you, Avery? What are you gonna do once you've gotten rid of all the players? You planning on sitting down and singing songs until your collar pops, or are you gonna carry it all the way, make it back to a hero's welcome?"
All in the name of love. It was a pretty romantic idea- and you'll have to believe Julian when he insists he's not being sarcastic here- to kill just so you could ensure your beloved made it out alive. Was there anyone here who'd inspire that same kind of devotion in Julian? Or anyone not here? The answer is no, the answer has always been no. Okay, Omar, you win this round. Omar had his one true love, Julian had an amorphous list of people who hadn't killed yet and seemed like as good a choice as any for who made it off this island. And hey, Sierra hadn't killed anyone! So if Julian believed Omar here, the two of them actually had goals that didn't entirely conflict with each other.
But did he? Did Julian believe Omar when he fed him that I'm just doing this for looooove line? Quite an important question, wasn't it. It could very well be some sort of clever deceitful gambit, but then there were all the details where Omar wasn't trying to paint himself as an angel, but then that could just be part of the plan, a little tool to make the lie more believable, but then... But then all the guessing and all the mistrusting and all the game theory just sort of collapsed under their own weight because Julian already knew the answer. He believed Omar. He believed Omar.
He really, really did.
Which must have been obvious, which must have played across his face and in the subtle relaxing of his shoulders and in just a symphony of body language shouting We cool, Omar, we cool. Because Omar was asking him some very pointed questions, not the kind you ask someone who you're still trying real hard to convince about your motivations for killing. Guy wanted to know about Julian's plans after all the player-hunting was done, which, to be frank, was just all sorts of flattering that Omar thought Julian would even last that long. Thanks buddy, the vote of confidence is all sorts of heartwarming! So you definitely deserve your answer, so here goes:
"To be entirely honest, man, I haven't really thought it all out that far. On account of there being, what, maybe two dozen people who already killed and not a single-"
There is a very good reason why that sentence cuts off midway. It is because for the last four to five words, Julian was in the process of drawing his sword. And by the time he got to single, Omar had figured out what was going down and started reaching for his gun, which of course netted him a huge slash across the palm of his right hand and a world of pain. In the midst of such a situation, continuing to talk is generally considered very rude. Hence the sudden silence. And then a shout of pain from Omar, owing to the aforementioned massive fucking gash on his hand. And then sudden silence again, when Julian's sword decided to make another appearance. This time stabbing itself deep into Omar's gut, wedging further and further as Julian pulled Omar in and gingerly relieved the poor guy of his gun.
That all actually happened.
In the world of competitive murders, Omar's series of questions to Julian were what we call an "opening". Omar had lowered his guard for a few seconds, took his eyes off the prize for just that tiniest bit of time, and now he had a hole in his stomach that was almost definitely going to kill him. And Julian had his gun. Omar had taken a gamble and decided that he'd convinced Julian. Decided that Julian believed him. And this part was not the mistake, since we've already established that Julian did in fact believe him. The mistake was assuming that Julian cared.
"Y'know Omar, in theory I give a shit." This was said as Julian bent down to one knee so he could better maintain eye contact with his newly-slumped-over conversational partner. "But in practice, you killed a man who hadn't done shit to you. And there's no way I'm lettin' you off this island." Nice line, Julian! They will put it on a t-shirt with your face and only the coolest of kids will buy it.
"So where was I?" Julian had decided he should probably finish answering the question that Omar had asked earlier. Leaving him hanging just kinda seemed like a dick move, especially considering the way the rest of Omar's day was going. "Right! Two dozen people already killed and not a single one of them paid for it yet." A beat. A look of surprise, the tip of a sword pointed towards a vicious-looking stomach wound. "Heeeey, I think we maybe got a first here! But I mean... if I do make it that far, I think I'mma bow out. And suicide's for pussies, so I'll probably have to piss off a pacifist so bad they decide to glock me."
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But did he? Did Julian believe Omar when he fed him that I'm just doing this for looooove line? Quite an important question, wasn't it. It could very well be some sort of clever deceitful gambit, but then there were all the details where Omar wasn't trying to paint himself as an angel, but then that could just be part of the plan, a little tool to make the lie more believable, but then... But then all the guessing and all the mistrusting and all the game theory just sort of collapsed under their own weight because Julian already knew the answer. He believed Omar. He believed Omar.
He really, really did.
Which must have been obvious, which must have played across his face and in the subtle relaxing of his shoulders and in just a symphony of body language shouting We cool, Omar, we cool. Because Omar was asking him some very pointed questions, not the kind you ask someone who you're still trying real hard to convince about your motivations for killing. Guy wanted to know about Julian's plans after all the player-hunting was done, which, to be frank, was just all sorts of flattering that Omar thought Julian would even last that long. Thanks buddy, the vote of confidence is all sorts of heartwarming! So you definitely deserve your answer, so here goes:
"To be entirely honest, man, I haven't really thought it all out that far. On account of there being, what, maybe two dozen people who already killed and not a single-"
There is a very good reason why that sentence cuts off midway. It is because for the last four to five words, Julian was in the process of drawing his sword. And by the time he got to single, Omar had figured out what was going down and started reaching for his gun, which of course netted him a huge slash across the palm of his right hand and a world of pain. In the midst of such a situation, continuing to talk is generally considered very rude. Hence the sudden silence. And then a shout of pain from Omar, owing to the aforementioned massive fucking gash on his hand. And then sudden silence again, when Julian's sword decided to make another appearance. This time stabbing itself deep into Omar's gut, wedging further and further as Julian pulled Omar in and gingerly relieved the poor guy of his gun.
That all actually happened.
In the world of competitive murders, Omar's series of questions to Julian were what we call an "opening". Omar had lowered his guard for a few seconds, took his eyes off the prize for just that tiniest bit of time, and now he had a hole in his stomach that was almost definitely going to kill him. And Julian had his gun. Omar had taken a gamble and decided that he'd convinced Julian. Decided that Julian believed him. And this part was not the mistake, since we've already established that Julian did in fact believe him. The mistake was assuming that Julian cared.
"Y'know Omar, in theory I give a shit." This was said as Julian bent down to one knee so he could better maintain eye contact with his newly-slumped-over conversational partner. "But in practice, you killed a man who hadn't done shit to you. And there's no way I'm lettin' you off this island." Nice line, Julian! They will put it on a t-shirt with your face and only the coolest of kids will buy it.
"So where was I?" Julian had decided he should probably finish answering the question that Omar had asked earlier. Leaving him hanging just kinda seemed like a dick move, especially considering the way the rest of Omar's day was going. "Right! Two dozen people already killed and not a single one of them paid for it yet." A beat. A look of surprise, the tip of a sword pointed towards a vicious-looking stomach wound. "Heeeey, I think we maybe got a first here! But I mean... if I do make it that far, I think I'mma bow out. And suicide's for pussies, so I'll probably have to piss off a pacifist so bad they decide to glock me."
Ladies and gentlemen, your one and only player-killer, your sole protector against the evils that walk this island.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Jonny. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.
Avery started to answer the question, and in a surprisingly frank manner, at that. He hadn't thought things out, so he was...
Omar caught his movements a split second after they began, a split second too late to stop the boy. Omar grabbed for his gun, but his opponent struck first, slashing him across the palm. He flinched backwards instinctively, withdrawing his hand, cringing away from the pain, and then, a second later, he yelled. It hurt, more than anything he'd ever dealt with before. Blood dripped from his palm. He glanced at it, recovered slightly, looked to Avery again (and the boy had grabbed his gun, so maybe that was all he wanted, maybe he'd leave now, maybe—
Then he stabbed Omar in the stomach, and his hand suddenly didn't feel so bad. It was shocking. Totally and completely stunning. Avery had seemed reasonable. Seemed to believe Omar. Seemed likely enough to go away. But then he'd gone and attacked anyways. And why? He was saying he wasn't letting Omar escape. That couldn't be it, though, right? There had to be another reason, something better and more immediate. It was all Omar had to focus on now, something to puzzle out to keep himself from screaming. He wouldn't give Avery that satisfaction.
And, sure enough, there it was. None of the killers had been eliminated yet. Julian was going to keep up his crusade, then coax someone to kill him so they could escape. Omar almost laughed. How noble. Goading a pacifist for their own good. Like someone who threw away their morals that easily really deserved to live more than anyone else.
The pain was welling up, becoming harder to push out of mind. Omar was mad, though. Really mad. He probably wasn't going to survive this. It was dawning on him, slowing oozing its way into his consciousness. He was going to die, not even having seen Sierra again, much less having helped her out. And it was all because this asshole couldn't be content to prioritize the major psychopaths, couldn't focus on the most dangerous people first. No, he had to get his name out there or something, had to play the big old hero by messing up the first killer he'd come across. Would he have stabbed Omar if Warren's death had been self defense? No way to say, but it was quite possible. And now, who would watch after Sierra? Who would keep her safe? Maybe Josie, or... or Jessica. Omar was really glad he'd let her live, now.
He'd still try, maybe. Still try to... he didn't even know. So he started talking.
"L-listen, Avery. Is it really worth it? All this, just to send a message or something? You're going to be a killer too. Other people will come after you. You see how it ends? You really think—"
Omar caught his movements a split second after they began, a split second too late to stop the boy. Omar grabbed for his gun, but his opponent struck first, slashing him across the palm. He flinched backwards instinctively, withdrawing his hand, cringing away from the pain, and then, a second later, he yelled. It hurt, more than anything he'd ever dealt with before. Blood dripped from his palm. He glanced at it, recovered slightly, looked to Avery again (and the boy had grabbed his gun, so maybe that was all he wanted, maybe he'd leave now, maybe—
Then he stabbed Omar in the stomach, and his hand suddenly didn't feel so bad. It was shocking. Totally and completely stunning. Avery had seemed reasonable. Seemed to believe Omar. Seemed likely enough to go away. But then he'd gone and attacked anyways. And why? He was saying he wasn't letting Omar escape. That couldn't be it, though, right? There had to be another reason, something better and more immediate. It was all Omar had to focus on now, something to puzzle out to keep himself from screaming. He wouldn't give Avery that satisfaction.
And, sure enough, there it was. None of the killers had been eliminated yet. Julian was going to keep up his crusade, then coax someone to kill him so they could escape. Omar almost laughed. How noble. Goading a pacifist for their own good. Like someone who threw away their morals that easily really deserved to live more than anyone else.
The pain was welling up, becoming harder to push out of mind. Omar was mad, though. Really mad. He probably wasn't going to survive this. It was dawning on him, slowing oozing its way into his consciousness. He was going to die, not even having seen Sierra again, much less having helped her out. And it was all because this asshole couldn't be content to prioritize the major psychopaths, couldn't focus on the most dangerous people first. No, he had to get his name out there or something, had to play the big old hero by messing up the first killer he'd come across. Would he have stabbed Omar if Warren's death had been self defense? No way to say, but it was quite possible. And now, who would watch after Sierra? Who would keep her safe? Maybe Josie, or... or Jessica. Omar was really glad he'd let her live, now.
He'd still try, maybe. Still try to... he didn't even know. So he started talking.
"L-listen, Avery. Is it really worth it? All this, just to send a message or something? You're going to be a killer too. Other people will come after you. You see how it ends? You really think—"
You're talking, Omar. You're talking and Julian isn't particularly inclined to hearing you talk right now- no offense, of course, just that this isn't really the time or place- so what Julian is going to do is hold his sword up to your throat very gently, and then maybe you won't talk so much- yes, works like a charm, thank you Omar- and then he's gonna quietly shush you just so you are a hundred percent clear on what he's requesting of you. And then:
"Sorry, Omar. You got a really valid point there, and you can finish saying whatever's on your mind later, but right now I ain't really sure how much time we got-" and here a quick glance at the gushing wound in Omar's stomach narrowed down their time to probably not all day- "so I'mma have to ask you to just shut up and listen for a bit. That work for you?"
Julian didn't really give Omar the time or the physical opportunity to answer that question. But we've already mentioned that Julian was working on a packed schedule, so that was sorta understandable.
"Look man, I know this ain't exactly up top on your list of things you wanna hear right now, but killing Warren- even if it was for your girl- was fucked up. It was wrong." The music from the old GI Joe public service announcements plays. The audience acts all shocked, all Thank you for dropping that truth bomb on us, Julian, we had no idea that killing was wrong. "You wanna grab his gun? That's fine. You wanna protect Sierra? That's fine. But once you got his gun you got a choice. Cause once you got the gun and the other guy ain't got shit? You're the one calling the shots. Case in point." Julian wiggled his new gun around a little, giving Omar a gentle reminder that getting his throat slit would only be the second worst thing to happen to him in the event that he tried to start some shit.
"If the guy was already charging you and you didn't have time to do anything but shoot, I might understand. But you wanna talk to me about 'if he decided to make it an issue', that's when I call bullshit. That's when I lose faith in the idea that you're only gonna kill the real threats. If I let you live, then somewhere down the line you gonna put two bullets in someone completely innocent. Not because they did anything wrong, but because they ain't Sierra. Personally- and I don't know about you, but me- I find I can forgive people for not being Sierra. So maybe we just got some irreconcilable differences far as our world views are concerned."
Fucking monologue. How long was Julian gonna go on like this? Maybe just skip ahead to the important part before Omar decides he can't take any more of this shit and finishes dying.
"You ain't got much time left, but... you got enough. Maybe minutes, maybe hours. I ain't seen Reservoir Dogs in a while now, so I don't really remember how long it takes for a hole in your gut to kill you. Point is... it don't have to end like this. With you lyin' here all defiant and proud about your kill, all not even realizin' that it was wrong. Ain't gonna get into heaven with that kind of attitude. So all I ask is you give it some thought, okay? And hopefully, you can say you're sorry before you die and you can really mean it.
A pause. The awkward kind rather than the dramatic kind, no matter how hard Julian pretended otherwise.
"Aight. I said my piece and now I'mma leave you here to think about all of that. It ain't too late to ask for forgiveness. It ain't too late to make this right. Just remember that in your last... however much time you got left."
Julian will be telling this with a sigh, somewhere ages and ages hence. It don't get any easier. Grizzled, bearded, full of sawed-off wisdom. Killing don't get any easier, and giving awkward, fucked-up, hypocritical sermons to your victims don't get any easier.
"Sorry, Omar. You got a really valid point there, and you can finish saying whatever's on your mind later, but right now I ain't really sure how much time we got-" and here a quick glance at the gushing wound in Omar's stomach narrowed down their time to probably not all day- "so I'mma have to ask you to just shut up and listen for a bit. That work for you?"
Julian didn't really give Omar the time or the physical opportunity to answer that question. But we've already mentioned that Julian was working on a packed schedule, so that was sorta understandable.
"Look man, I know this ain't exactly up top on your list of things you wanna hear right now, but killing Warren- even if it was for your girl- was fucked up. It was wrong." The music from the old GI Joe public service announcements plays. The audience acts all shocked, all Thank you for dropping that truth bomb on us, Julian, we had no idea that killing was wrong. "You wanna grab his gun? That's fine. You wanna protect Sierra? That's fine. But once you got his gun you got a choice. Cause once you got the gun and the other guy ain't got shit? You're the one calling the shots. Case in point." Julian wiggled his new gun around a little, giving Omar a gentle reminder that getting his throat slit would only be the second worst thing to happen to him in the event that he tried to start some shit.
"If the guy was already charging you and you didn't have time to do anything but shoot, I might understand. But you wanna talk to me about 'if he decided to make it an issue', that's when I call bullshit. That's when I lose faith in the idea that you're only gonna kill the real threats. If I let you live, then somewhere down the line you gonna put two bullets in someone completely innocent. Not because they did anything wrong, but because they ain't Sierra. Personally- and I don't know about you, but me- I find I can forgive people for not being Sierra. So maybe we just got some irreconcilable differences far as our world views are concerned."
Fucking monologue. How long was Julian gonna go on like this? Maybe just skip ahead to the important part before Omar decides he can't take any more of this shit and finishes dying.
"You ain't got much time left, but... you got enough. Maybe minutes, maybe hours. I ain't seen Reservoir Dogs in a while now, so I don't really remember how long it takes for a hole in your gut to kill you. Point is... it don't have to end like this. With you lyin' here all defiant and proud about your kill, all not even realizin' that it was wrong. Ain't gonna get into heaven with that kind of attitude. So all I ask is you give it some thought, okay? And hopefully, you can say you're sorry before you die and you can really mean it.
A pause. The awkward kind rather than the dramatic kind, no matter how hard Julian pretended otherwise.
"Aight. I said my piece and now I'mma leave you here to think about all of that. It ain't too late to ask for forgiveness. It ain't too late to make this right. Just remember that in your last... however much time you got left."
Julian will be telling this with a sigh, somewhere ages and ages hence. It don't get any easier. Grizzled, bearded, full of sawed-off wisdom. Killing don't get any easier, and giving awkward, fucked-up, hypocritical sermons to your victims don't get any easier.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Jonny. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.
The cold metal of the sword, still slightly damp with blood (his blood, his blood) touched Omar's neck, and he stopped talking. It was instinct, pure animal fear, not any sort of rational thought. No, rationally, he knew it didn't really matter if Julian stabbed him again now or left him to wait. The end result would be the same. Omar knew it. Julian knew it. Somehow, it actually seemed to relieve some of the tension. No more mystery here; the final outcome of this encounter, much as Omar hated it, was preordained.
Avery went on and on, explaining Omar's wrongdoing, talking about the differences in their philosophies. So, really, what it came down to was that Avery wasn't comfortable stacking the deck so a specific person made it out. He wasn't happy about innocents getting killed. It was... well, it was a bit infuriating. And then he got going about this whole redemption and apology thing. Like Omar wanted to say sorry to Warren's ghost or something. He wasn't going to, though. He'd known what he was doing, known what it meant, and he'd taken that path anyways. It was an absolute insult for Avery to imply otherwise, for him to assume Omar was dumb enough to have not thought it out.
Omar's vision was blurring slightly. Not enough, though. No, Julian was right. This wasn't going to be a quick, painless death. It was going to linger. It was hurting, hurting so badly. His stomach felt like it was full of acid. And this sadistic fuck expected him to repent.
"Listen," Omar said. "I don't see how you think you're g-gonna pull this off. Even if you kill all the killers, who's going to whittle it down until there's just one pacifist left to shoot you? And hey, m-more than that, how're you even going to ensure you make it that far?"
Those were minor questions. The important bit came now, though. He forced himself to focus, forced his eyes to lock onto Avery's, even through the pain, through the distractions.
"You say you want me to be sorry? I'm not going to change my mind just because you're asking me to. Maybe you should think about yourself for a change. You think shooting someone in cold blood's bad? How 'bout stabbing someone and walking off while they slowly bleed out? You don't think that's just a little messed up? You think it's better than just quickly pulling a tr—"
Avery went on and on, explaining Omar's wrongdoing, talking about the differences in their philosophies. So, really, what it came down to was that Avery wasn't comfortable stacking the deck so a specific person made it out. He wasn't happy about innocents getting killed. It was... well, it was a bit infuriating. And then he got going about this whole redemption and apology thing. Like Omar wanted to say sorry to Warren's ghost or something. He wasn't going to, though. He'd known what he was doing, known what it meant, and he'd taken that path anyways. It was an absolute insult for Avery to imply otherwise, for him to assume Omar was dumb enough to have not thought it out.
Omar's vision was blurring slightly. Not enough, though. No, Julian was right. This wasn't going to be a quick, painless death. It was going to linger. It was hurting, hurting so badly. His stomach felt like it was full of acid. And this sadistic fuck expected him to repent.
"Listen," Omar said. "I don't see how you think you're g-gonna pull this off. Even if you kill all the killers, who's going to whittle it down until there's just one pacifist left to shoot you? And hey, m-more than that, how're you even going to ensure you make it that far?"
Those were minor questions. The important bit came now, though. He forced himself to focus, forced his eyes to lock onto Avery's, even through the pain, through the distractions.
"You say you want me to be sorry? I'm not going to change my mind just because you're asking me to. Maybe you should think about yourself for a change. You think shooting someone in cold blood's bad? How 'bout stabbing someone and walking off while they slowly bleed out? You don't think that's just a little messed up? You think it's better than just quickly pulling a tr—"
And then Omar stopped talking again. Maybe he realized that he was being a bit of a prick to Julian, but it might have also had to do with the fact that Julian had just cut his throat. Little fountain of red sputtering up from Omar, a couple of drops making their way onto Julian's face. Oh well! That was not part of the plan, but Julian was a pretty mellow guy so he was just gonna roll with it. And besides, he still had an important message to give to Omar.
"Oh shit! Oh shit! That's not good at all! It's like all of a sudden you got a lot less time to repent!" A beat. "Might wanna hurry up with that."
So there was Omar, who was busy making these little gargling noises but otherwise dying quite uneventfully. And there was Julian, calmly transferring some food and water from the one bag to the other. Thinking ahead, keeping himself nice and stocked up on food. Whistling while he worked. You can fit that tin of crackers into that little nook over there, move that water bottle over there with the others, and then the bag's nice and even and everything's stowed away safe. Meanwhile, some kind of weird gargling sound in the background.
And a nice little manual on how to use Julian's badass new gun. Outstanding. Julian might end up teaching some horrible moral lessons to impressionable young kids by the way he acted on this island, but damned if he was gonna teach anyone improper gun safety techniques. He was gonna make sure every little boy and girl learned to treat weapons with the utmost respect and never ever shot their friends accidentally with daddy's gun. It was the least he could do.
So keep watching, kids! You just might learn something.
(Julian Avery continued in Not What I was Expecting)
"Oh shit! Oh shit! That's not good at all! It's like all of a sudden you got a lot less time to repent!" A beat. "Might wanna hurry up with that."
So there was Omar, who was busy making these little gargling noises but otherwise dying quite uneventfully. And there was Julian, calmly transferring some food and water from the one bag to the other. Thinking ahead, keeping himself nice and stocked up on food. Whistling while he worked. You can fit that tin of crackers into that little nook over there, move that water bottle over there with the others, and then the bag's nice and even and everything's stowed away safe. Meanwhile, some kind of weird gargling sound in the background.
And a nice little manual on how to use Julian's badass new gun. Outstanding. Julian might end up teaching some horrible moral lessons to impressionable young kids by the way he acted on this island, but damned if he was gonna teach anyone improper gun safety techniques. He was gonna make sure every little boy and girl learned to treat weapons with the utmost respect and never ever shot their friends accidentally with daddy's gun. It was the least he could do.
So keep watching, kids! You just might learn something.
(Julian Avery continued in Not What I was Expecting)
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Jonny. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.
The blade slashed along Omar's throat. Compared to everything else, it didn't hurt so much. It cut off his speech, though. Left him without much to do except listen to Julian and watch. He almost wanted to lunge at the boy, but it wasn't worth it, not now. There was no way he had the strength left to do anything. There would be no running around the island, no protecting Sierra. It was over, and all because he'd let his guard down for one split second.
Warren could say the same thing. Kind of funny to think of that.
Avery was talking now. Saying he had a lot less time to repent. Yeah, sure, he was gonna change his mind like that. Gonna just go ahead and admit he was wrong now that he was dying sooner. No way. No...
As the other boy looted his bags, Omar grasped futilely at his throat, trying to buy just a few more seconds. Just a little more time. Every moment he lived now seemed to stretch for days. He staggered backwards a step, slumped against a log. Sat there, propped up. All of a sudden, there was noting to say, nothing to think. Omar found himself completely and totally at a loss for something to do. Here he was, dying, and he couldn't do a thing to make it worthwhile. Couldn't even focus coherently. At least the pain was going, flowing out of him with his blood. Everything was dimming. Avery was walking away. He vanished into the night, and Omar was alone. Alone with his thoughts. Alone with Avery's words.
Repent.
It was still a joke, but Omar found he was sorry. Not sorry for what he'd done to Warren. The boy had had it coming, as careless as he was. No, what Omar found himself regretting was what he had done to Sierra. He'd failed her. Hadn't found her. Hadn't had the strength, the drive, the ability to see her through. He just had to hope now, hope someone would watch after her, hope she'd still miraculously make it. Without him, it was unlikely. He'd squandered not just his life, but hers as well.
And then... what would she think? What would she do when she heard about this? What did she think of him now? He'd killed. She knew that, but now she would never hear his side of the story, never find out what he had done for her. Maybe it was better that way, though. Maybe she wouldn't have understood. Maybe...
Maybe time was running out.
He couldn't see anything now, couldn't feel much, though the sharp sting in his neck had become so very, very clear. It was all fading. All slipping through his grasp. He tried to pull himself out, tried to rally, to seize one last second, but he couldn't. He just couldn't.
I'm sorry, Sierra...
B043 - Omar Burton: DECEASED
Warren could say the same thing. Kind of funny to think of that.
Avery was talking now. Saying he had a lot less time to repent. Yeah, sure, he was gonna change his mind like that. Gonna just go ahead and admit he was wrong now that he was dying sooner. No way. No...
As the other boy looted his bags, Omar grasped futilely at his throat, trying to buy just a few more seconds. Just a little more time. Every moment he lived now seemed to stretch for days. He staggered backwards a step, slumped against a log. Sat there, propped up. All of a sudden, there was noting to say, nothing to think. Omar found himself completely and totally at a loss for something to do. Here he was, dying, and he couldn't do a thing to make it worthwhile. Couldn't even focus coherently. At least the pain was going, flowing out of him with his blood. Everything was dimming. Avery was walking away. He vanished into the night, and Omar was alone. Alone with his thoughts. Alone with Avery's words.
Repent.
It was still a joke, but Omar found he was sorry. Not sorry for what he'd done to Warren. The boy had had it coming, as careless as he was. No, what Omar found himself regretting was what he had done to Sierra. He'd failed her. Hadn't found her. Hadn't had the strength, the drive, the ability to see her through. He just had to hope now, hope someone would watch after her, hope she'd still miraculously make it. Without him, it was unlikely. He'd squandered not just his life, but hers as well.
And then... what would she think? What would she do when she heard about this? What did she think of him now? He'd killed. She knew that, but now she would never hear his side of the story, never find out what he had done for her. Maybe it was better that way, though. Maybe she wouldn't have understood. Maybe...
Maybe time was running out.
He couldn't see anything now, couldn't feel much, though the sharp sting in his neck had become so very, very clear. It was all fading. All slipping through his grasp. He tried to pull himself out, tried to rally, to seize one last second, but he couldn't. He just couldn't.
I'm sorry, Sierra...
B043 - Omar Burton: DECEASED