For Every Choice, There Is An Echo

[Applesintime]

((Anthony Golden continued from I hate to bug you in the middle of dinner))

At the time of the second announcement, when Ritzy Daggers' soothing tones broadcasted themselves over the speakers of the flotilla, heralding the announcement of death and murder, Anthony Golden had woken up half an hour ago and had just finished eating his Subway. It wasn't his first choice for a breakfast meal, but he didn't really have many other options. His sleep had been more restful than he had expected. No nightmares, no waking up in the middle of the night terrified because he might die.

Perhaps being afraid for his life was the reason he was so tired last night.

Normally on a Saturday morning, he would just lie in bed for a while, then get up and make himself some toast, cereal, whatever they had in the pantry. But there was no comfortable bed, only a sofa. No warm toast, only a cold Subway sandwich. He liked tuna, but it wasn't really a breakfast food. More of a lunch food, if anything. It would keep him going though, and that was what really mattered.

The seagulls squawking overheard were fucking annoying. He wished they would shut up.

The monkey's paw curled, and then, Ritzy Daggers chimed in, wishing everyone a good morning. It was probably easy for her to say that, considering she was on a cruise ship with no collar around her neck, no threat of death and she had cooked food. Truth be told, he didn't want to listen to it. But he had to know who to avoid.

And the first one hit.

Seth was dead. Vasily and Fisk. They murdered him. Killed him. He would never be able to talk about books with him again.

That one was a kick in the heart. But even as the announcement went on, it got worse, and that little tight feeling in his chest got worse and worse and it felt like he couldn't breathe no matter how much he breathed in.

Matias had killed. Junji had fucking killed, Eric had killed. Cristobal was dead. So many people he would never talk to, never see again. He hadn't liked Calla, but she didn't deserve that. Nobody deserved to die here. He was starting to hyperventilate. Seth was dead, all his friends were killing and dying and betraying him and he just couldn't deal with this, it was hard enough to handle one of his best friends betraying him without all this other shit. He was faintly aware of the fact he was having a panic attack, but that didn't seem to matter as much compared to the overwhelming dread in his stomach.

And then, just when he thought it was done, the producers came right back around and kicked him in the balls. Giselle was dead. She was dead, she was dead- fuck, fuck fuck he was never going to- fuck fuck fuck. He was shaking like a tree in a hurricane. They were never going to be able to just walk around Miami and enjoy each other's company again. So much lost. Fuck fuck fuck. He was going to die,

He was going to die. He was going to die. He was going to die and he'd never see Mum or Clarissa or Dad or anyone ever again he'd just be dead in a fucking flotilla thing god knows how far out to see and his death would probably be broadcast on national television and-

He was going to die.

In the acceptance of that, he found clarity.

He was going to die. But the Bible taught that that wasn't the end of the soul, the end of im entirely. He would go to Heaven, and he would see Mum and Seth and maybe Giselle and everyone else again. But he wasn't dead right now. And that was the main thing.

Gradually, he started to breathe slower, deeper. Calmer. He was going to die and that was OK. That was fine. But right now, he wanted to stay alive for as long as possible. He still had people to help. He had made a bloody promise that if he lived he'd do charity and shit, and he didn't intend to give up that promise just because things were hard. There were still people to help here.

Sighing, he pushed himself up from the sofa. He was still angry at them. It was burning deep inside him.

He was so angry. He had never felt so angry, but it fit him like a tailored suit. In a way, it was comforting.

Matias. Seo-yun. The whole bloody Respects. Nobody had forced them to do that. To kill, to take another life. They did it of their own volition, and for what more than their own selfish desires for fans, for popularity, for money? No. He wasn't going to let them. They had all killed his friends. Giselle, Cristobal, Seth. All gone because of them

He had a moral code, and he was a pacifist, sure. He had vowed never to murder anyone.

But killing a killer wasn't murder.

No, in fact, killing someone who had murdered someone and would actively kill again if given the chance was justice. Justice for those who they had already murdered, and justice for those who they would have killed given that chance. It was what they deserved.

It wasn't going to be easy, no. Going up against people who had, y'know, already killed before and would do it again no sweat was tough, actually. But he had to do it. If Seo-yun or Fisk or whomever wanted the victor's podium, well Anthony was going to make them bloody well pay for it. None of the people who had killed deserved to get out of here. To profit off their murders like Jewel Evans and her stupid fucking book, or Yamana, or LaLourvey or really, any one of those goddamn winners.

The kind of person who followed this show would probably find him putting down murderers to be 'fun' or 'interesting'. He wasn't doing it for them, the fucking disgusting cunts who found the murder of children funny or entertaining. You didn't cheerfully discuss the latest terror attack or school shooting over the water cooler at your shitty 9-5, so why would you discuss the children murder game show over the cooler? Bastards. He was doing this because he had to do it. He wasn't playing the game, he was surviving. And if Anthony had to kill a few murderers to ensure that he kept surviving, so fucking be it. In extremis.

He was stepping into the lion's den, and he knew it. But like Daniel, he was sure he had the Lord's protection from whichever one would swipe at him first. If he didn't, well, he was prepared to die if he had to. As long as he could take a killer with him. God presumably wouldn't mind that.

Fisk would regret not gunning him down whenever he first saw him. He would make sure of it. After all, Anthony had him on the top of his list.

He wished he had an actual list. It would be easier to keep all the information down. Actually, wouldn't they have some stuff like that in navigation? Writing supplies, at the least? He should check that out.

A short trip later, he did indeed have a notebook and a pen. On the first few pages, he had a list of killers.

There were a lot of names on it. Fisk's was up top, of course. Ivan's was second. And then the list went on, and on, and on-

This was going to be a lot of work. But someone had to do it.

((Anthony Golden continued in We're Back In The Swamp))