Roll Credits

[Outfoxd]

((Mason Ross continued from Oracular Spectacular))

There was a single gunshot, and silence fell over the hotel.

For those following along at home, the cameras panned out, keeping a wide angle shot of the hotel. Maybe someone upstairs decided a little mood-making cinematography was in order. There was a solid five minutes of nothing, only lingering shots of where season 65 had ended.

At home, America watched with held breath as they waited to see who would emerge from the hotel.

At home, America wondered.

When Mason Ross emerged from the front door, a small bloodstain running down the front of his Spurs jersey, the country had its answer.

The smile on his face and the mirth he had before making the decision that had decided a boy's life was gone, had been replaced with weariness. After all of that, he felt tired. The handgun, short a round, hung heavy in his hand as he left the building.

Spent, Mason sat on at the bottom of the stairs leading up to the entrance. He stared off in the distance, not seeing the trees but staring past them.

Shawn had died smiling, and Mason appreciated him for that. Made everything less painful.

He didn't know then, but one of the cameras was panning down from the hotel roof to him, establishing the mood and the shot. Once it reached him, it zoomed in on his face. So it was that it got a clear view of him looking up as the chop of helicopter rotors drew his eye to the treeline.

"I guess this is the part where I say something to close it all out, right?" He murmured, still watching as the helicopter in the distance drew closer.

He fidgeted with the gun. His free hand came up to his face and he rubbed the bridge of his nose. The helicopter was almost to him now, close enough for him to have to raise his voice.

Mason saw one of the cameras, placed at ground level next to the stairs.

He looked into it and shrugged.

"I got nothing."



SOTF-TV Season 65: End

((Continued in Epilogue))