"You know," Lukas said, "I almost got lost there. You almost had me. You came pretty close."
He was standing in the ocean, frigid water lapping around his waist, and his words were quiet and slow, each one forced through his teeth, each second those teeth did not chatter against each other a small victory. He knew that the collars would pick up everything he had to say. Maybe it wouldn't be broadcast, but someone would hear it.
He couldn't feel his feet anymore, and he'd only been in here a minute or two or three. It was long enough, at least, long enough for him to be well and truly past the point of no return. That was maybe what he had wanted.
"I told myself it'd be easy not to do anything, not to play along. I told myself I could do the right thing by just standing back, and I guess I almost let myself believe that I somehow wasn't complicit if I did that. I tried to save someone, and he went and killed a bunch of people. Seems like anything I picked, any way I turned, I was just another step closer to becoming your entertainment, even if that was the last thing I wanted."
The water lapped at him, the waves tiny and gentle. He'd moved out far past the icy crust that lay against the beach, and he had left his footprints in the snow, a little trail showing he'd been here. His bag lay on the beach, empty, waiting for the wind to carry it away. All of its contents he'd already let fall into the ocean. He wasn't sure if it was high or low tide, but it didn't really matter. They'd probably be buried in the sand, and even if they weren't, they'd be wrecked by the saltwater. The only thing he had left was the gun; its extra ammunition he'd left submerged somewhere behind him. His hand shook a little—not, he allowed himself to believe, because he was scared, but simply due to the cold.
"But really, any sort of participation is playing along. I get that now. My team, I'm pretty sure they were thinking I might die and then they'd use my gun to kill their ways home. Maybe it'd've worked. Maybe I could've stuck with them, played it straight and won this whole thing. I'm not gonna lie and say it's not a bit tempting.
"But it would've been wrong. And I'm not going to give the morons who make and watch this trash the satisfaction of seeing a hypocrite made of one of their most dedicated enemies. So I guess I've been trying to figure out how to make my exit in such a way as to be as useless as possible to all of you watching and everyone left in this place."
He smiled now. Maybe some intern was figuring out what he'd done, but it was too late for them to do anything about it. If they blew his collar, they'd just be showing that they were afraid of him. If they didn't, they let him set his terms and share his message. Nothing they could do, however, would get him and his gun back on shore where they might be found and used by some other sorry contestant struggling against the inevitable.
He felt just the slightest bit sorry for how he'd ditched his teammates. They'd been nice enough people, even if not exactly on the same philosophical page as him. He hoped things worked out for them as much as they worked out for anyone. Not enough to even consider trying to get his gun back to them, though.
"I guess this is to to all the other kids out there watching who may someday end up in my shoes. If you do, I hope you think really hard about what a tiny chance to live some shell of a life is worth. I don't think it's worth more than doing the right thing."
He raised the gun, pressed it to his head. He could almost not feel anything now. The water was so cold it was nearly warm again, and he felt the strength in his legs weakening, threatening to drop him into the water. It was time to wrap this up. He was to some extent going over old talking points; that was all that had let him remain so cogent so long. One last pithy statement, then, one summation for everyone to take away from all this.
"Remember, folks: if you don't play, there's no game."
Then he pulled the trigger.
Just like Lukas had hoped, the gun dropped from his fingers as his form crumpled, slipping into the dark water and out of sight.
SP1, Lukas Graves: DECEASED