Something To Believe In

Lake Delta; Day 9, Afternoon. Private.

The lake itself features a deck and boathouse, mainly for small single person vessels, although there is one rotten-looking wooden rowboat sitting inside. Typically used in the warmer summer months, the lake was the preferred location for many events including barbecues, parties, birthdays, and weddings. The lake also has a small island sitting in the middle of the water, featuring a small collection of trees along with a second wooden rowboat with a large hole in the side.

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Shiola
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Something To Believe In

#1

Post by Shiola »

((Tyrell Lahti continued from A Roaring In The Blood))

A day's worth of tearing across the island, and it all led here. Tyrell hoped it had only felt inevitable. Maybe he’d find Lucas moping in a copse of trees or asleep inside one of the ramshackle houses. Even early into the morning, a day into searching, he imagined that Lucas was just around a corner, just beyond the next patch of jungle.

Every time he passed a corpse, he’d make a point of taking a closer look. Telling himself it was because he wanted to be thorough, to make sure he didn’t just step over Lucas or Erika. It was mostly an excuse to slow down, to take a moment to breathe. It was not just hunger and sleep deprivation that dogged him. Even in spite of the tropical heat, he fought off a recurring chill that seemed to well up from within.

There would come a point when willpower alone wouldn’t be enough to keep him going; when a decision would have to be made to abandon Lucas, or risk not being able to return to the Temple. A point when he’d either find him, or be forced to stop.

That point arrived sooner than he expected.

Minutes before the announcements played, he saw the body lying in the open, next to the river delta that flowed from the lake to the ocean. Flat on his back, chest completely soaked in blood. Closer inspection showed seven holes punched through his chest, six of them within a space no larger than Ty’s palm.

He was kneeling next to Lucas when Danya’s voice crackled over the loudspeaker, telling him what he already knew to be true.

“...he took his eyes off the prize, which is a rookie mistake if we're being honest…”

"You fucking idiot."

She killed him. He was probably dead before he hit the ground. Anger welled up within Ty, but without any strength left in him to express it. Dropping the crowbar to the dirt, he carelessly slipped the duffel bag off of his bruised shoulders.

Using it as a pillow, Ty took up a spot next to Lucas’ corpse. As if the two of them were just sitting out here on the coast, enjoying the sunshine instead of decaying in it.

Exactly what he thought would happen, happened. Lucas got himself killed, all the effort he’d expended to hunt down and kill Erika amounting to nothing. All Tyrell had done to try and account for his failures, amounting to nothing. Only another number to cross off the list, another shallow victory for a person who’d get no joy out of surviving this.

Is this it? Is this all it led to?

The sense of urgency was gone, with nothing to replace it. No mission, no goal he could feasibly attain in the time he had left. Nothing significant. Ty rested his forearm across his face, keeping the sun out of his eyes. The makeshift darkness was a poor substitute for the real thing. He only managed a few minutes of rest before sitting back up again, unanswered questions asked over and over again in his mind.

His eyes once again adjusting to the sunlight, he forced himself to take another look at the body. To examine their handiwork, both Erika’s and his own. Even with the collar radar, he still must have thought walking out into the open was a great idea. If that was the case, Ty thought, maybe he shouldn’t have been so hard on himself. Maybe there was no helping someone like him.

Dead before he hit the ground. So why is his first aid kit open?

There were bandage wrappers scattered nearby, crumpled and left next to Lucas’ bag. Of course she’d take whatever she needed.

Whatever she needed?

A small trail led away from Lucas’ body, towards the river. Drops of blood. Stumbling to his feet, Ty followed it until it met the rushing water. Sticking out of the water’s edge, the Uzi he’d taken from Lorenzo and given to Lucas. One tool he’d hoped would tip the odds slightly in his favour. Retrieving it from the cool water, Ty pulled the magazine from the gun’s grip. Tiny holes in the side of the metal box indicated it wasn’t entirely full. Looking ahead, the glint of brass sticking out of sand caught his eye.

He shot first.

The drops of blood continued on the other side of the stream, alongside more scattered brass casings. Lucas wasn’t so stupid as to get caught out in the open; he must have followed her here. Once he saw her, there wasn’t any other choice. Not for him. The same as Ty had no choice but to follow, to make sure someone stopped her.

Walking back to Lucas’ body, he sat back down, setting the Uzi next to Lucas. She left it next to the river, which meant either she was well-armed enough not to need it, or she was too panicked to remember to take the gun. Given the evidence, it was very likely the latter. If Ty had the time and ability to bury him, he would’ve left the gun in the grave.

A cursory glance in Lucas’ bag indicated she’d at least made off with the collar radar, though. So it wasn’t a sure thing, but it was something.

You left her with two parting gifts. Nice one.

It was something. A paltry bit of vengeance, but vengeance nonetheless. Depending on how bad it was, maybe it would be the thing that would keep her here. She hadn’t come up on the morning’s announcements, so she’d at least survived the night. The radar was an edge, but not enough to save her if any one of Lucas’ shots landed true.

Ty felt a pang of guilt as he imagined where she might’ve been. What kind of a wound it was, how badly it hurt. Wondering if the sight of her own blood still made her panic, or if thirteen murders had been enough to wear away that part of her.

That she was still killing was evidence enough to the contrary, he supposed.

It should’ve been over right here. If he’d gone with Lucas, if they’d worked together, it would have been. It wasn’t right that he didn’t see his task to completion. It wasn’t right that she’d still suffer, that it wouldn’t be over before she knew it. Erika didn’t want to see it coming, she’d told him. She thought it was the best she could hope for.

This is all we’ve got.

Ty shook his head, wiping away sweat and tears and taking another look down at Lucas. The heat and sunlight were beginning to dessicate the corpse, pulling the skin tight around his face. He almost looked like he was smiling. Maybe he was, in a way. Maybe he’d accomplished enough.

Maybe Diaz could still hear him.

“I’m sorry, Lucas. We should’ve gone yesterday, you were right. I should have gone with you, right then, instead of tearing into you like I did. I should’ve known better.

I hope wherever you are now, if it’s anywhere, you’re at peace. ‘Cause like, you left a mark at least, maybe a bad one. If she doesn’t make it outta here, I’d bet it’ll be because of what you did. Payback for Desiree, for Katie and Saffron, for us. You did your best, man. It’s… a hell of a better approach than doing your worst. Wish I’d caught on sooner.”

Tyrell winced, wrinkling his nose at the smell of sickness lingering in the air.

“Wish I could’ve hated her like you did, it maybe would’ve made me see things clearer. With her, my head’s still back in Chattanooga, back before all this. I’d like to tell you it’ll be me that finishes it, but honestly - she’s got the collar tracker now, and with the state I’m in like - I’d just fuck it up. End up as one more notch. I wish I could’ve done more. For you, and her. Maybe I did all I could, I don’t know. I’m sorry, I hope you can forgive me.”

It was a really nice spot. Maybe that’s what drew her here. Ty imagined it looked a lot nicer in the evening, when the sun started to go down. If there were any lingering spirits on the island, he’d imagine they’d hang around places like this. The view from the manor was nice, but this was close enough that the wind occasionally carried mist off of the sea. It made it easy to imagine possibilities, to think of what might be waiting on the other side of the horizon.

There weren’t many clues as to which ocean it was, which coastlines and busy ports lay at the end of one heading or another. Places with unfamiliar smells and busy markets he would’ve perused, looking for new tastes and sensations he could bring back home. Knowledge and experiences that would give him a bit more credibility going into the culinary world, a background that was a little bit less green.

Clout, one might even say.

Ty smirked, his mind continuing to drift to thoughts of other shores.

“Starting to wonder if I’m right to be at least a little bit jealous of you. Where you’ve ended up, the real you. Not this, what you left behind. Could be like an airport, or a terminal station, maybe some docks. Somewhere you can watch people come in one by one, all smiling and crying. Happy there’s something instead of nothing at all. I bet there’s a place that makes cinnamon buns, like it’s the first thing you smell. The best train stations have those in ‘em. That’d be one hell of a treat, after all of this.

“I used to think sometimes that my brother might be waiting there, wherever it is, with a sign that’s got my name on it. As if he was still waiting, like he said he would. Thinking of that, it made me wanna follow him more than a few times.

“Hey if - if you see him, maybe just give him a heads-up for me? Just tell him I’m on the way. He looks like me, but a little shorter and more put together. Same eyes. Name’s Elliott. I’m sure he’s been wondering if I was coming along sooner or later.”

No more than a few days.

The wind picked up from the ocean, the smell of salt and sea foam briefly overpowering the stench of decay. He was either talking to himself, or whoever decided to hang around the island instead of leaving right away.

Not sure what I want to believe.

In either case, it felt like he had said all he should. Ty gently placed a hand on Lucas’ shoulder.

“I’ll see you in another life, man.”
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#2

Post by Shiola »

Later…

A week’s worth of violence came to collect what it was owed. The journey here had cost him.

Tearing through the woods, Ty could’ve sworn he blacked out a few times. Not fainting, but losing bits and pieces of time where he wasn’t really all that aware. Occasionally the crowbar slipped from his hand, forcing him to stop and pick it back up again. The pain was manageable, but it wasn’t pain anymore that concerned him.

Some things had healed, others hadn’t. The slash across his chest wasn’t looking good, and it smelled wrong. Hot to the touch. If he had been wearing a shirt, Ty was sure he’d have sweat through it by now. He’d been around enough crust punks to have a pretty good idea of what to expect; except no one was going to shoplift some polysporin for him. There was no clinic to stumble to, no waiting room to sit around in and pray his father’s insurance coverage was enough. Malnourished and injured, there was only one way this was going to go.

He hadn’t moved from his spot next to the river, a few paces from Lucas; the cool breeze off the ocean was something of a relief, even as the sun continued to beat down on the island. Sitting in front of his own half-open duffle bag, he stared at the sparse contents. Wondering what it was he even needed going forward, given the way things were going. Stalling a decision on where it was he ought to go.

A day, and this, and me. All I have.

The dark red stains on the ground nearby gave him one heading. Reminded him of promises he’d made, goals he’d set when all he could feel was rage. Loving someone meant wanting the best for them, wanting to make them better. Not worse. Not a killer. His flaws had drawn out the worst in himself, in people he cared about. Lorenzo didn’t seem to understand, wasn’t anything other than a scared kid at the end. Even if what she was now was some gross perversion of what she should have been, that was what she was now.

I could follow.

It was enticing. Go after her, see what Lucas had done. See what leaving her alone had wrought. If it was dire, help her face the end. If not, fix it and leave her to the hell she’d made for herself.

Or she’ll just shoot me, and then cry about it.

That kind of confrontation would make a better story than dying of an infection. It was hard not to want to end it with her. To not be alone. Even if she was just an idea, by now, instead of the person who wanted him dead and picked the worst possible way to make it happen.

Katie and Princess. They wanted me around, right?

Ty looked towards the Temple, at least where he thought it was. Far up the plateau, further than he felt like he could walk. A long way, even if there wasn’t the possibility of armed killers or people who wouldn’t buy any level of remorse coming from him. For those who hadn’t killed yet, he was an easy person to excuse using to punch their ticket out of here.

Not that I blame them.

There was only a bit of water left in his bag. Not enough to justify hanging onto it the whole way back up to the Temple. Ty picked the bottle out of his bag, swirling the contents idly as he eyed the route back to where he hoped those two still were.

As much as he wanted to cheer them on, it was hard to imagine either clawing their way past the finish line. Though, if he was being honest with himself, most of the people he figured would pull off surviving SOTF were dead already. There were surely things one could do that would impede their own survival, but ensuring it? It was a gamble, at best.

An Uzi would help stack the odds though, wouldn’t it? Fuck it, I’m thirsty.

Tyrell downed the bottle, tossing it back in the duffel bag. The water hurt at first going down, before offering the mildest sort of relief. Using the crowbar as support, he stood back up. Watching the axis of the world tilt slightly, he stumbled as sensation gradually returned to his legs.

The next time he went down was probably the last time. It might as well be with a goal in mind, a destination. If he returned to the Temple and found it empty or replete with corpses, it was at least a peaceful place to stop. A reason to die would turn up eventually, even if it was just a fever.

Folks are gonna fault me for all kinds of shit, but I’ll be damned if it’s laziness.

Rolling his wrists, he habitually tested the weight of the crowbar. It was familiar by now, a kind of lodestone. Came in handy in a few fights, though by any literal definition it hadn’t killed anyone. Ty still couldn’t help but think of what it meant for Katie and Saffron to have carried it around with them.

Through the din of the river rushing out to sea, the sound of gravel crunching under foot caught Ty’s attention. Turning around slowly, he found himself staring out at a familiar face; one he had tried his best to put out of mind. Another name on his list of people who had no business surviving all of this, who nevertheless persisted. The Uzi beckoned from his bag on the ground, just out of reach.
Unable to answer the newcomer with bullets, Ty opted for a joyless smile.

“Afternoon.”

He glanced around the coastline, uncomfortably aware of the absurdity of greeting someone in a situation like this.

“How’s life?”
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Cactus
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#3

Post by Cactus »

"Fleeting, unfortunately."

The appearance of cordiality was superficial at best; sinister at worst. In the end, it wouldn't matter. There was one person who continued to cross his path every few days, each encounter taking something away from each of them. Tyrell looked across the way, and he may have well seen him as an inconvenience or an annoyance. Someone who had taken the very small amount of agency that the boy had regarding his own fate and deprived him of a choice, that while maybe cowardly, may have spared him whatever anguish he was capable of feeling.

Claudeson looked back at him and felt no annoyance, all he felt was a sense of duty and obligation — pity, too. Oddly enough though, the pity he felt was not for Tyrell.

It was for himself.
((Claudeson Bademosi continued from Used to the Darkness))
Tyrell had not been difficult to see from a distance, his large frame milling about near to the lake. For most of the day, Claudeson had methodically scoured the area, keeping to the trees and trying to find one particular individual. Fate, it seemed, had a sense of humour; for all of the times that they had come upon one another over the last few months without intending upon it, when he actually set out to find the brutish teen, the search had been arduous.

Yet here he stood, clutching a familiar crowbar. The very same crowbar that he had assailed Claudeson with when they had first awakened. At the time, he had believed himself to be doing Tyrell a favour. Now, he knew better.

"You once told me that you were a man who prided himself on taking responsibility for his actions," Min-jae was pointed firmly at Tyrell. There was nowhere to go, but Claudeson's tone was not adversarial, more reminiscent. "You questioned what kind of a man I was; I am here to answer that question, at long last."

It was a question that Claudeson barely knew how to pose, let alone answer. For months — nay, years, he had struggled with the darkness that had formed within his mind, fighting it off with every trick that he could think of. He exercised, he volunteered, he turned to the Lord. Nothing had stopped the insidious spread of doubt. He doubted everything: faith, his path, his own belief system and himself most of all. It was a cruel irony that he needed a terrorist's game that would lead to all of their deaths to truly understand the complexities of his own mind, to find inside who he was.

"I wish to apologize," he did not lower the crossbow, but his words had some sincerity, "to you in particular."
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#4

Post by Shiola »

Here he was: the one who demanded Ty’s life had a twisted, fucked-up epilogue.

The crossbow pointed at him now was one he knew had downed Bret Carter. One of those people Ty had imagined would still be kicking around right now. Dead on account of Claude, the kind of person known to take every opportunity to do the right thing, follow every rule, meet every expectation. A teenager who readily took to any role offered to him; something about that always seemed wrong.

Was that what had led him to kill three people? He broke bad and discovered it did more for him than being an obsequious Jesus-freak?

Not exactly. There’s still something there. He’s still holding onto an idea, some explanation for this. That’s why he’s here, that’s why he’s pointing that thing. Needs a captive audience. Needs me to hear him out, feed him an excuse. Absolve him, of something.

It was strange to him to have to keep playing the role of confessor. Stranger still that Claude felt he had to explain anything to Tyrell. All of the people Claude should have had to explain himself for were dead, or watching helplessly back home.

Ty smirked, shaking his head as if he’d just heard an especially outlandish sales pitch. His tone was adversarial.

At long last. Really? I heard the announcements. Seems to me like the kind of kid you are is pretty clear. There’s no making this shit right, I hope you get that. I would know.”

He let the crowbar swing idly at his side. It was now a prop more than a weapon given what he was up against. Sighing, Ty once again tasted sickness in his breath. Like he was already starting to decay. These moments were precious, and he was spending them here, doing this. It seemed almost too perfect that he'd be stuck here with one of the last people he'd ever want to spend his final moments with, entirely at the mercy of his newfound bloodlust and whatever bountiful insights he'd picked up along the warpath.

Yet here I am. So this is what I’m doing.

He wants to apologise to me, in particular.

It’s not his kills, it’s something else.

What is it?


Curiosity felt like a fresh motivation, something that didn’t take much out of him to pursue. Watching for subtext, trying to see the complexes working under the surface, it was comfortable. Like a worn-in boot, or a familiar weight in the hand. Claude wasn’t just an obvious facade to pick at anymore; he was a facade that had killed three people.

Ty glanced from Claude’s eyes to the point of the crossbow. His demeanour softened, shrugging as he relented.

“Fine. So you want to apologize; for what?”
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Cactus
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#5

Post by Cactus »

Tyrell couldn't resist taking a combative tone, with what had happened the last time the two had stood together, Claudeson wasn't surprised. Each time they had stood face to face, Tyrell had tried to be the snarkiest person in the room, acting as though nothing phased him. His was purely attitude, each time they spoke, he knew exactly what the other boy thought of him. That shouldn't have mattered to him; who was Tyrell Lahti in the grand scheme of Claudeson's life?

But it did.

So here they stood.

"For depriving you of the ability to make your own decision."

Claudeson held the crossbow firmly in place, never taking his eyes off of Tyrell for a moment. His voice held no more malice, but it remained strong. It reminded him of a time where he didn't feel like the world was broken; like his own mind could not perceive properly. He missed that time.

"Twice now, I have interjected in situations that I had no stake in, for which you were directly involved. Both times, I believed that I was acting in your best interests," he allowed himself a rueful smile, the scratches on his face stinging as his face contorted. "I was not — not completely."

There it was — the truth, bursting from the seams and creeping out of the shoddily constructed box that was his mind.

"Back in Chattanooga, I acted primarily to hold leverage over the Carter brothers. You were... an unexpected presence. I did not wish you any ill, nor did I want to see anyone suffer grievous injury. I believe that we both know you would not have hesitated," he shook his head softly. "But that is a conversation we have already had."

Claudeson shifted Min-jae in his hands. This conversation ended one way, he knew that from the moment that he'd decided to find Tyrell.

"I should not have stopped your suicide attempt; though my motivations were not pure. I did not care for your well-being. Rather, the contrary. I wished to see you suffer. That is the kind of man that I am." The smile fell away, replaced with an almost sorrowful frown.

"You were right all along about me. By the time I understood that, it was too late. For the both of us; for—" He saw that face once more in his mind's eye and it pained him. "— for Bryan. For Emeka. For Christine, and for Felix."

Straightening up, Claudeson found himself coming to his point. Tyrell, currently held at gunpoint, had no chance but to listen to every word. His face was difficult to read.

"I believe that your intention was to hurt me when you demeaned my character, but I think that a part of you — however small — was trying to do me a favour."

Claudeson sighed softly, a cloud of self-loathing permeating his thoughts. Tyrell wasn't the person at the lake that he hated the most right now.

"My actions have damned us both. I should have just left you alone."
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#6

Post by Shiola »

“Yeah, I guess you should have.”

It seemed like it ought to have been a nice surprise. A relief, that Claude knew what was wrong with what he’d done; that keeping Tyrell alive in this place wasn’t playing God so much as it was playing the Devil. Of course, what followed Claude’s admission was confirmation that it was entirely his intention, to further torment another human being instead of giving them the dignity of a swift exit.

So there wasn’t any comfort in hearing it, though Ty doubted anything would sound especially comforting on the wrong end of a crossbow bolt. Even in admitting what he’d done, Claude was forming a narrative, one that seemed to begin and end with a judgement on the kind of people they were.

It wasn't one Tyrell felt at all inclined to accept. No more than the idea that he was damned to be the island's villain, some force of chaos that only served to make this experience somehow worse. This bleak assessment of their shared fate was no more palatable to him than watching people he cared about languish as monsters, scarcely recognizable after everything this place had done to them. That was why Lorenzo was dead, and why Erika was likely carrying a scar from her encounter with Lucas. There was no accepting damnation, as if there wasn't another way to cope with this. There was, and Ty knew it.

He left two names out.

Ty had stood wordless for a few moments, studying Claude's face, and the crossbow, the distance between them, and the gun lying in the bottom of his half-open duffel bag. Claude reported the casualties of their misadventures as if they were the most significant; as if Bret and Lorenzo didn't even deserve mention. Nothing that either could have done would've warranted this. Even having killed Lorenzo, even spending more time than he'd have cared to admit wishing misfortune on the Carters, there wasn't any way to honestly look at what had happened and say anyone could have deserved this. No matter who they were.

He ran a hand across his chest, across the ugly, shallow wound left by a haphazard swing of a splitting maul. Rubbing dried blood between his thumb and index finger, Ty couldn’t help but imagine those petty fights from back home. The lines they used to cross now seemed so quaint in comparison. This wasn't earned.

“Bret and Lorenzo, I guess those kids deserved to get kidnapped and murdered, then. Irredeemable, like us, right? Jesus Christ.”

Looking up, a flash of anger on Ty’s face gave way to disbelief and confusion.

“You don’t get it. So you see the worst in yourself and you just - you accepted it? You just figured hey, that’s me I guess and went with it. Is that what this is?!”

Instinctively down at the business end of the crossbow, he took an uneven breath and forced himself to start again. If Claude could offer the truth, as ugly as it was, Ty knew he ought to do the same. Anything less, and he imagined his chances of walking away rapidly approaching nil.

“Look, I wanted you to see what you really were. I didn’t think it was this. From the moment I met you, it looked like you were playing at being virtuous. The things you claimed to believe, the rules you followed, the way you acted, it all looked so hollow. It was fake.”

And I just had to play mind games, try to bring him down. Like it was helping, somehow. I enjoyed it.

“The way I went about it - yeah, I guess it was kind of a fucked up complex of mine. I never learned how to do it the right way. Calling it a favour’s a stretch. But the point wasn’t being right. I wanted you to be honest with yourself and to see what I saw. To own it, surpass it. Then maybe you’d find something real to build on, something real to believe in.

"You needed that, but it obviously wasn’t coming from your faith or all the shit you spent your time on. I could see it in your eyes, you looked fucking miserable. I can still see it, whatever you've found now - it isn’t helping you.”

The wind picked up off the sea, the cool breeze tearing a blanket of heat from Ty’s exposed shoulders. His heart felt like an overworked engine, sputtering and choking. It felt like he’d never feel warmth or comfort again. Almost started to seem more than just a feeling.

Yet, here he stood.

Desperately, almost spitefully claiming a choice when it seemed so evident there wasn’t one.

“It wasn’t too late, Claude. Not for either of us. All you had to do was take a good look at yourself, at whatever it was that wanted to see someone hurt, recognize it, and turn away from it.”

Standing defiant, at the end of a noose.

“Knowing what you’re capable of and trying to be better, in spite of your worst instincts - that’s what makes a good person. Fighting back against what this fucked up world wants you to be. We don’t have to just accept it.”

Claude had to understand, he had to see it. Still, he'd not responded. Holding that same look on his face, waiting for Ty to say his piece. Ty hoped, if Claude had truly seen him and thought he deserved to suffer, maybe hearing this from him would mean something. They hadn’t suffered for nothing. There could still be some kind of a victory, in all of this.

Maybe I can still save someone.

“I - I tried to. I don't know if I ever made it. I hope that still counts for something, on the other side of all of this.”
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Cactus
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#7

Post by Cactus »

"I forgot about Lorenzo," he uttered softly.

The honesty came from him as only the first reply to Tyrell's bitter repose. If he were being honest, most of his focus had been upon the innocents that had died as a result of his action, as a result of Tyrell's. The path of destruction had not been limited to just those who in his eyes, may have deserved it, like Bret Carter. Lorenzo was not someone of whom he interacted with at school, though he had the reputation as a miscreant. It was no wonder that Tyrell would have reacted with such anger. As he spoke, Claudeson could not help but look inside of himself. The things that the boy was saying were true; would he truly be able to face the darkness within himself if he admitted that it were there? Knowing that something was there and having the ability to affect it were two very different things, and try as he might, Claudeson had never been able to change the way that his mind worked.

"Faith is immeasurable, Tyrell. One cannot quantify the amount of their faith or how effective that it is to curtail the impulses or the thoughts within. All that one can do is work through their trials the best they can, with the information that they had available to them. My own," he paused, looking down at the ground.

Claudeson grimaced. Something Tyrell had said — it wasn't too late, Claude — once upon a time, the roles were almost reversed. He had been the one professing that there was another way, that things could change.

They could not.

"My own challenges," he continued, "would not permit it. Choice is a luxury and probably truer still: a fallacy. Did Bret deserve to die? Perhaps not, but I still cannot be certain that he deserved to live."

Looking back up, understanding that the boy before him would likely strike the moment he had an opportunity, Claudeson's eyes teared up but his grip upon the crossbow remained steadfast. Would Tyrell's effort — any of theirs, would it count for anything when this was all said and done? What came next was anyone's guess; his own shaken faith aside, he prayed for an answer, a resolution.

"I hope so too, Tyrell. Sincerely, I do. God or no God, I am sure that it must count for something. I am sorry that I misjudged you. I hope that somehow, you could forgive me for all that I have done. I am not certain that I know how."
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Shiola
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#8

Post by Shiola »

Maybe I could have. Not him, not now.

Claude suggested he failed to make different choices - no, that he couldn’t have done any different - and it stung. Made Ty wonder whether or not he had any right to suggest he’d tried to be more than the worst he’d done. He couldn’t tell whether or not his words had any impact, whether or not this conversation had a foregone conclusion they had yet to see through.

All that said, and yet you want to be forgiven. No one else gets to make this better. No one can fix this.

Forgiveness wasn’t in the cards. Even if saying the words would’ve ended this encounter, Ty knew he couldn’t. Finding clarity and a sort of peace in these last few days was gratifying, but it was a poor replacement for the endings he’d imagined for himself.

The first he’d considered was at the end of a bender, some time before he was old enough to take life seriously. The second was alone, sometime after eighty, when she had gone before him. The third was nine days ago, refusing to debase himself for the terrorists that kidnapped and murdered everyone he cared about.

He couldn’t put all the blame on Claude; it was his own cowardice that refused to lead him to the cliffs to try again. Yet it was that one moment, when he had the courage to do it, that Claude had stolen. It wasn’t coming back.

“Right before I jumped, I thought of one good memory. A space to exist in, at the end. After everything that’s happened, with what I know now, I’m not sure I’m going to have that the next time around. I can’t forgive you for it, and I’m definitely not the one to forgive you for all the rest. I’m sorry. That part’s on you.”

Ty locked eyes with Claude, his face absent the warmth he’d displayed moments beforehand.

“I guess we both have our limits.”
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Cactus
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#9

Post by Cactus »

A good memory; somewhere to exist, in the end. It was poetic.

The sun was beginning to set, the lake looked beautiful as the reddish sun bounced off of it in the distance. The water was calm, there was no wind to disturb the surface. The death and the collars aside, this was once a beautiful place. Eventually, once this death game had come and gone, it would be so again. Of that, Claudeson was certain.

Blinking a few times as he looked at Tyrell and nodded, a tear rolled down his face. The crossbow named Min-jae felt heavy in his hands, and the tip started to dip. A sad smile crept over his scarred face. Right now, he couldn't think of a good memory. Everything was tainted. "Perhaps in another life, we could have been friends."

Instead of a memory; a nice possibility, perhaps.

"But not this one," he whispered.

Claudeson didn't even bother wiping the tear away from his face as he depressed the trigger on the crossbow, sending a bolt flying forcefully towards Tyrell's chest.
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Shiola
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#10

Post by Shiola »

Their conversation had run its course, with little more to say. They both had to know what was coming next. Ty knew he had to take any chance, any opportunity to clear a path back to the Temple. Away from Claude, away from the past, and towards what little future there was left to him. Back to those who might still have a future.

“You-”

Tyrell flinched as the bolt loosed from his cradle, only catching a brief glimpse before it plunged into his abdomen. The crowbar fell from his grasp, clattering loudly against the rocky gravel at his feet. Legs buckling out from under him, Ty fell to his knees. Pain shot up his hands at first, as they fell hard to the rough ground.

He felt the bolt well before he saw it. Pain ripping through him, a deep and smothering sensation he’d never experienced before. Looking down, he saw the shaft sticking out from his gut, a few inches below his rib. Reaching down, he grasped the aluminum bolt, his instinct to tear it from his body.

The shock of even touching the bolt caused him to lose his balance, and his hand shot out in front of him again, bracing him against the rocks. It was slick, covered in his own blood. A grey fog began to accrue at the edges of his vision. Reaching behind him, he felt the head of the bolt. A sharp triangular spike. Designed to tear through everything, to cause damage even if it was removed. It didn’t even matter; what had been done couldn’t be undone. Fate really had come calling, here.

Not me. Not my dead friend. Not the one I loved. It’s going to be you?!

He hissed through gritted teeth, before an agonized scream erupted from his throat. Unable to let himself fall, unable to stand back up, he rose to meet Claude’s gaze, hand still cradling the bloody spike sticking out of his gut.

The duffel bag was now behind him, out of reach, keeping silent the only real answer Tyrell had to this.

There was no dignity in this, no catharsis. Once again, he'd fallen to someone else's cruelty. He remained a victim, far too many times over. No agency, no choice.

It was someone else’s decision, how Tyrell's story ended.

Someone else, in control of his fate,

a person who didn't deserve that responsibility,

who didn't even know him,

who barely knew himself.

This is the last time.

Cold hatred gleaned from his bloodshot eyes.
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#11

Post by Cactus »

Tyrell went down with about the same expediency as Bret had, the only difference in circumstance being that when he'd shot Bret, there was little to no chance of the boy getting back up. The bolt had embedded itself within his throat, and near-instantly, the world had been down one less Carter. Tyrell fell to his knees and the inhuman half-scream that he let out informed what he needed to do next. Lowering Min-jae to the ground and bracing the weapon with his foot, he drew the string back and locked it in place.

Unlike the encounter with Bret, Claudeson derived no pleasure from what he had to do. Something about their conversation had given him a sort of understanding. Tyrell was the sort of man who — much like Lori, fought against his true nature every day. He possessed the ability to do the kind of introspection that Claudeson could not. His words, while hurtful, were not meant to destroy, but only to wound.

To draw attention to the abcess that he had seen growing within his soul.

He had seen it before any of them.

Why was he so blind?

How could he have been so obtuse?

The lake still looked beautiful in the distance. Slinging his pack around, Claudeson unzipped it and quickly removed another bolt from within his bag. There were only eighteen left, and while he still had the pistol tucked within his pants, it felt important that Min-jae was the object of his deliverance. The boy looked up at him with unbridled hatred; Claudeson didn't feel that. He barely even felt the sadness anymore.

This was a wounded animal that he needed to put down.

"Perhaps we shall meet again some day," he paused as he slid the bolt into the crossbow. "Whatever comes next, I am no longer certain of anything."

Clicking the bolt into place, he looked back up at Tyrell and for a moment, his blood ran cold; he froze.
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#12

Post by Shiola »

Ty looked down. Drops of blood leaving a small pool beneath him, he reached down in a vain attempt to stymie them. From ahead, he heard the click of the crossbow’s string being drawn into place. Words he didn’t have the strength to address, to interpret as coming from anything other than an adversary. Something to be destroyed. Someone who victimized, who didn’t even deserve the paltry consideration Ty had attempted to give. Who did so, knowing what it was he was doing.

You accept it.

There was only rock, and steel, and blood. Only the pain, the encroaching darkness, and the effort it took to surmount both. His own cries barely registered, involuntary, let out because they needed to be.

Too much. This was too much.

Nothing left to achieve. Nothing to leave behind. Nothing for the cameras, but this.

Only however long it took to die. To wait for another bolt, cutting his time even shorter.

All of it, only to die on someone else’s terms.

Even if they were all here because of the terrorists, this seemed worse; it was personal.

The Temple still felt far away, yet it seemed like there was no distance between this moment and the one they shared on the first day. Back then, he could’ve left him alone. Stepped off the cliff, continued on that path unimpeded.

We shared nothing.

Yet he’d seen something he couldn’t leave alone; another path. A chance for something more meaningful than an act of defiance.

You stole from me.

It was a lie. Against this place, there was only defiance.

Only a moment like this.

Tyrell reached out, his hands finding the familiar purchase of hardened steel. Plunging the straight end of the crowbar into the ground, he used it to brace himself. Staring at Claude, at the crossbow, at the island, he stood.

The shaking in his legs abated, moving to his hands. Darkness threatened to close in the corners of his vision, but he couldn’t let it. Not now, it wasn’t the time. He blinked away the fog in his vision, pupils narrowing as he stared down Claude.

“I... I am certain.”

He stepped forward.
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#13

Post by Cactus »

The crossbow bolt should have put him down. Min-jae had yet to miss, the aim was true and he had seen the quiet violence with which Bret had perished. This should have been the same. Tyrell should have been down on the ground, bleeding to death. Instead, like something out of an old horror film, he pulled himself up and lurched forward. Furrowing his brow, Claudeson inhaled through his nose, an effort that took considerably more than he would have preferred.

All thanks to Tyrell; back on that first, fateful morning.

Claudeson knew that he had said everything to him that he needed to say, so the fact that he was still standing and even worse — coming towards him? That was not the way this tale needed to be told. Min-jae would not fail, he would aim true.

So Claudeson aimed the crossbow for Tyrell's neck and pulled the trigger, the weapon made a sound — not a good one, and the bolt fell harmlessly to the ground less than a foot in front of him.

Something had gone wrong, his heart started to pound. Fumbling with the strap, he moved to discard the crossbow. Min-jae was only human, after all. The poor boy whose namesake he had given the weapon had returned to society a hollow shell of himself, by all accounts.

The strap caught on his pack.
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#14

Post by Shiola »

Could’ve just been enough to die standing. To show he wasn’t going to just be put down, cowering and screaming. Not for a moment did he take his eyes off of Claude’s, suppressing his natural instinct to flinch when he depressed the trigger on the crossbow.

Yet the next bolt didn’t fly true. It ejected haphazardly from the end of the crossbow, flipping end over end and clattering to the ground. He’d heard him load the weapon, seen it waiting for him. It should have been over. There was every reason for it to be over.

It isn’t.

Tyrell stopped for a moment, watching Claude fumble with the strap of the crossbow. Wiping the blood off of his hand onto the uneven stubble of his face, he adjusted his grip on the crowbar once again. It no longer dragged across the ground, no more an improvised crutch. Claude's mistake had bought him time. It would've been a waste not to use it.

He took another step forward, more confident than the first.

Then another.
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#15

Post by Cactus »

Grunting under his breath, Tyrell continued to slowly close the distance between them. It would have been fitting for him to end the boy the same way that he ended Bret, but fate would have other plans, it seemed. Fate. The very existence of the fates, or Gods, or any particular plan that was set out in lieu of free choice was something that he'd both been absolutely certain of and completely dismissed, both within a week's time of one another. Fate was someone's idea of prescribing meaning to unrelated events. God had no plan, because there was no God. So many times, Claudeson had begged and pleaded for an answer to his prayers, a reply to signify that his tearful pleas were being heard.

A reply never came.

Tossing the crossbow and his own pack to the dirt, he saw the determined sense of confidence that spread across Tyrell's features, like a sickness. Claudeson had taken the first shot, but the boy still continued to lurch forward. He did not, however, account for the gift that Tyrell himself had blessed upon him.

Reaching back, he drew the Walther P99 from the waistband of his pants and pointed it at Tyrell's head.

His hand was almost steady; he straightened his shoulders.

The safety was off.

"Farewell."

Claudeson pulled the trigger.
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