He should have known. All along, he should have known exactly what would happen once he finally laid eyes upon Michael Froese, and the announcement had only affirmed that. He'd barely had a moment to reconsider this fool's errand before the errand had exploded in his face.
Or at least, it was about to.
"Mike?"
((Morgan Dragosavich continued from Memories Keep Haunting Me, Help Me Chase Them All Away))
Lizzie taking a moment to relieve herself wasn't anything out of the ordinary — after all, they'd been on the move for a while, trying not to stay too long in one spot. The conditions hadn't gotten any better, and Morgan's green shirt was starting to almost look brown in spots, thanks to a week's worth of wear. The pixelated orange cat was starting to fade and its hiss was still legible but far less ferocious. Since the horrible words had poured from the speakers, Morgan's stomach had twisted into knots.
Michael had killed again.
Even more worrisome, another one of his friends, Henry Sparks — who had been high on his list of people to find — had killed as well. The list of people that he knew who were both alive and not murderers was starting to become a very, very short list.
How much longer would any of them be able to maintain their humanity? How much longer would it take until he or Lizzie or any of the other kind, gentle human beings that he knew from school became unhinged killing machines? Nearly everyone that he considered a friend had drawn blood at this point, save maybe Jonah.
Morgan had been glad that Lizzie was gone for the moment as he'd processed all of that information, because his distress would have undoubtedly been a catalyst for her own emotional reaction. She needed him to be strong — which was stupid, because she was strong enough on her own for the two of them — but he had to keep trying. He had to at least imagine that his friends weren't beyond saving. Erika and Michael may have been off the deep end, but he could at least try and toss the life preserver.
Whether they accepted it or shot holes in it was a whole other question.
It had taken a few moments before he'd started to wonder where Lizzie had gotten off to, and carefully following her path, he'd silently crept along the path to the rear of the building. Between the two of them, modesty was barely a thing any longer; there was no longer a need for it, but he wanted to at least give the impression of being courteous. It wasn't until he'd turned the corner and taken in the sights in front of him — the robes, the gun, the two figures frozen, locked in a tense standoff, that he straightened up and made his presence known.
Since the last time he'd seen his friend, Michael looked decidedly the worse for wear. The robe he was wearing was a strange adornment and looked unfamiliar, and his eyes were darting, haunted. He looked like a wild animal.
Morgan barely recognized him.
"Mike, what— Michael, it's me. It's Morgan. I found her, man. It's okay. It's going to be okay."
It probably wasn't, but his voice sounded strong and that had to count for something.