Confession.

[The Honeless Beard]

The wandering was the worst part, he'd learned.

He did okay with a direction, a clear goal. He did okay when he saw one of the people on his list - two, then one - and his diseased, slowly starving brain began to slowly clunk into place and formulate a strategy. He did okay when things became narrow, focused, a sharp relief.

But wandering around, waiting for something to happen, was the worst part.

The arena had shrank considerably, now. He figured he should run into someone, but perhaps it was a simple lull in the action, with people bedding down blearily and waiting for the right moment to pick up and move. Maybe the season was going to suck, actually - maybe everyone was putting their heads down blearily and waiting for the right moment to move. Maybe the season would be talked about tactically, with everyone putting their heads down blearily and waiting for the right moment to-

[Namira]

"Ivan? Are you okay?"

[The Honeless Beard]

Yanked out of the spiral by a familiar voice. Awkward tension stealing up his chest. His lungs filled - once, then twice.

"I can only hear you out of one ear," he said by way of response, tone dry, flat.

[Namira]

"I'm sorry, I'll try to speak up.

"Are you okay? You've seemed like you're really struggling."

[The Honeless Beard]

"I'm almost done," Ivan said, tone confused. "Two, then one. I'm - I'm going to get it done."

[Namira]

"That's not what I meant. You've been really, really out of it."

[The Honeless Beard]

Ivan closed his eyes, inhaling deeply.

"I think," he began, keeping his eyes squeezed tight.

"I think I'm dying."

[Namira]

"No- you just have to keep yourself set. Keep your head set.

"I know you have to be in a lot of pain but you can't let that spiral out of control into not doing anything to take care of yourself."

[The Honeless Beard]

There's a short pause.

"No - it's okay, Emmy. I'm good. I'm good with it. Two, then one, you know? It's not a happy ending, but fuck if it's an ending.

"Look. I want you to know that I think you - you're amazing, you know? You just took the abuse. A lot of people don't think I pay attention to that but I do. You fixed something that was wrong, got some flak for it, people didn't treat you well and that wasn't fucking fair of them to do. But I'm not -

"Like, okay. On air is the wrong time to have this discussion and I just wanted to let you know that I really... admire you. I really really do. And we both know that I've made choices here, I've committed to choices here, that aren't healthy for me, or right. I'm realistic, not fatalistic, and realistically I'm not going to last till Thursday.

"And what... really fucking sucks? What's fucking horrible? Is that most people, I think - most people would look at what you went through the past few years as the most... fucking traumatic shit. People would be like, 'Oh, when I went - when I did that, that hurt me. That shaped me completely. My life is much different because of the way people treated me.'

"But you - the producers picked you. To that fucking chair. And that's - it's - I'm so fucking mad for you. It's like they specifically choose to keep fucking you up and you've done nothing to deserve any of it. And I can guarantee now, from here out, that I'm-

"I'm going to make this some awful fucking television."

Ivan whispers.

"Emmy, if you have headphones in, turn it down 80%."

[Namira]

There's a noise on the other end, something in the back of the throat.

Even with how much Ivan had to say, there's a long gap before Emmy vocalises again.

"I'm doing what I can. It's so, so much less than you all deserve."

[The Honeless Beard]

"Fuck that," Ivan muttered in reply, "if we deserve your best and that's what you're giving us, then you're doing a great job."

He took note of his surroundings. Two cameras, one in each corner of the rickety little flatboat he found himself on. Once again, he didn't know how he got there - where he'd travelled to get here - but he was here now, and he had a plan. He pulled out 10ga, clicked the safety off, and pointed it at one of the two cameras.

[Lilith]

Is she pretty?

[The Honeless Beard]

"Like a star."

The camera sparked as the echoing explosion rocked across the flatboat, it disappearing into glass and plastic and electronics. His collar beeped - once, then twice - a threat, a warning, as he rounded to face the second camera.

Ivan grabbed two chairs, dragged them closer to the camera mounted on the wall. He popped 10ga open, put a thumb over the unspent shell, shook her to dislodge its twin. Job done, he snapped her shut, reset the clasp, and stood on the chairs until his face - only his face - was in frame.

He stood there, his F bleeding profusely, eyes going wide, wild. A feral grin slowly crept across his lips.

He began to scream - an earsplitting, harrowing sound, spittle flying against the camera lens, his collar microphone peaking. He screamed until his eyes began to bulge, his nose began to run. He screamed until mucus formed in the gaps of his ruined teeth, scars along his head and neck ripped open, pimples formed from days of hard living burst. He screamed.

He screamed.

He screamed.

He screamed.

[The Honeless Beard]

((There was no more breath left. He had nothing but a croak. He walked on without looking back.))

[Lilith]

The shortest-lived stars may live just 1 or 2 million years total, while others survive for billions to trillions of years.