Murder Melancholy

[Slam]

((Lucas Brady continued from Marco Tries to Take a Bath))

Lucas awoke to the sound of the morning announcements. Despite spending so long in the rain over the past day, he had managed to successfully stave off hypothermia via stripping to his piss-stained underwear. He had barricaded the door to his little room with a chair, as if being walked in on nude would be the worst thing that could have happened to him.

He rubbed his eyes as he rose up, listening for the update on who killed who. It was surprising how soundly he had slept; beating the crap out of Marco must’ve taken it out of him.

The names reeled off.

Marco had indeed taken care of Arjen. He didn’t strike Lucas as being full of bluster on top of being full of shit, but he couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief to have kept his limbs intact.

But on the upside, people he hated were still alive and kicking, so there was still time to get his fill.

He furrowed his brow. People were as far along as five kills. And a lot of different people were getting those kills. So many players taking out everyone. Taking them out faster than he was.

All of a sudden, he felt very insignificant.

He shook his head, moving over to his newly acquired rock. Better than the first one, which had failed to take down Marco. Had barely even winded him. If Lucas hadn't said the right thing or gotten lucky with his ball grabbing, Marco might've dismembered him.

With this new rock, this better rock, he would have his revenge. He would get catharsis for all the shit he endured over the past six months. He would show everyone that he wasn’t a loser.

He stared at it.

He wasn't pathetic.

He wouldn't let that anyone think that.

((Lucas Brady continued elsewhere))