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V6 Nineteenth Rolls
RIP Vine

((Enzo continued from Summertree)).

Enzo's hand hurt.

They'd done their best job at binding the injury with a bandage, wrapping it tight and clumsily working through their depleted medical kit—for all the good their attempts had done anyone—but they didn't need to be a doctor to know that they'd done some serious damage to themselves. They'd changed the dressing twice over the course of the day, and each time, the blood had still wound up seeping back through. Slower, now, but Enzo was pretty sure they must have broken their knuckles, maybe a couple metacarpals.

Whatever. In the grand scheme of things, it didn't matter much.

They'd done their best for Coleen, too. Once it stopped—not hurting, cause there was no way it wasn't going to stop hurting—but making them want to scream to look at her, Enzo had picked her up and laid her on one of the pews, covered her over with a jacket from their own duffel. It was less than the least she deserved, and if Enzo hadn't already been torn to pieces, it would have ripped them up that it was everything they could do for her. Here, it was just another nail to drive into their heart.

It had taken them some effort to make it up onto the chapel roof. However, it wasn't like they had anything better to do. One chair on top of one pew, some judicious use of the vines crawling up the side of the building, and Enzo had managed to clamber their way up there.


Well, the view wasn't anything to write home about.

The terrorists had been thorough. There were even cameras up here, scrutinising Enzo with their beady little eyes.

"Oh give it a rest," Enzo told the closest one.

They lay on their back, looking up at the clouded sky.

"You watching, BB? Told you that you shouldn't be. Definitely not Brady."


"I'm sorry, guys. I really let you down. Turns out you take my phone away from me and I'm pretty much useless.

"Wish I could have done more out here. I'm just... I guess I'm not that kind of person. I don't have the genius ideas or the one-in-a-million plans.

"I'm kind of just that cheerful idiot who makes dumb videos."

Enzo sat up.

"I'm out of moves, guys. I don't know what to do. There's like a dozen of us left and I don't have it in me to try and stick it out to the end.

"I haven't killed anyone, but the longer this goes on, the more folks die all around me. What difference does it make, you know? I can keep a clear conscience, but I fucked up anyway. Everyone died on my watch. So what's the point? I get to the end, and then what? Keep holding hands and praying for some kind of miracle?

"I... don't have it in me.

"This goes on any longer, and I have to pick between my life and someone else's, and I'm not doing that. I'm not letting these people make me do that."

Enzo turned the knife from their daypack over and over in their good hand. This was the first time they'd even held the thing.

"Brady. BB. I love you both."

They took a deep breath, let it out. Another deep breath, slowly let it out.

"Okay, here goes. One in a million."

The scraping of blade against metal echoed lonely around the chapel.

A half dozen seconds of frantic scrabbling later, there was a muffled pop.


((Enzo continued from Run))

Too slow. They were too slow.

The second Coleen managed to give Enzo the slip, that was what they were dreading. Maybe it had caught them off guard, maybe it was that they'd tripped. Maybe it was that when gunshots split the air, they panicked further, got turned around, couldn't properly identify which direction they were coming from.

Maybe it was any number of those things.

By the time it all finished choking them up, slowing them down, and drowning them with worry, they'd fallen far, far behind.

And when they moved on again, from one dead body then another, then another, knowing that it didn't damn well matter how fast they were now, that dread swallowed them whole.

Enzo burst through the chapel's doors, slick with sweat, gasping for air. They'd long since given up calling Coleen's name, saving their strength and breath for running as fast as they could.

And they knew it was her the second they laid eyes upon her body.

Enzo collapsed.

"Fucking—damn it! God—"

They punched the floor.


Another punch.


They howled it out, a rending screech from the pit of the stomach and the depths of pain.

Every time. Every fucking time.

They found Cameron, they let her die.

They found Vanessa. They let her leave. She died.

They found Coleen. They let her out of sight. She died.

Every fucking person they'd set out to watch over, every person they'd promised BB and Brady they'd keep safe, Enzo had let die.

What good were they? Everything Enzo touched got killed. And here they still were, doing what, exactly? Keeping on keeping on? Hoping that somehow it would all be turned around at the eleventh hour?

The cavalry wasn't coming. The cavalry had never been coming.

Enzo fell back onto their butt, head ringing, chest pounding fit to burst. They couldn't feel their hand, and were dimly aware of the blood streaming from smashed knuckles.

They couldn't bring themselves to cry. They definitely couldn't bring themselves to look at Coleen.

What good were they?

It was a long, long time before Enzo moved again.

((Enzo continued elsewhere))

V6 Nineteenth Rolls
Ideas for me yes good.

A Wild Beard Appears; A Pathfinder Experience
[01:16:27] RUSSIA'S GREATEST LOVE MACHINE: oh actually I have a question for when you see this, elena
[01:16:36] RUSSIA'S GREATEST LOVE MACHINE: is there any way I actually could have helped that dude?
[01:19:51] Namira: yes
[01:21:36] RUSSIA'S GREATEST LOVE MACHINE: well shit

A Wild Beard Appears; A Pathfinder Experience
I have to say I'm with Jack on this one

My (Now Hopefully) Complete List of Cannon Fodder
my question is whether he is the daddy or

My (Now Hopefully) Complete List of Cannon Fodder
Uncertain whether he really is into daddykink or just treats it as a meme.


((Enzo continued from Empyrean))

They fell twice, scrambling after Coleen.

She was fast. How the hell was she so fast? She'd gotten a headstart, but she wasn't an athlete.

Panic slowed them down, made them clumsy, made their ears play tricks on them and messed with usually fleet feet.

The first time was a trip. Just clumsy, just stupid, thinking they saw something out of the edge of their eye, trying to turn too fast and winding up skidding on a muddy patch, wiping out. No injuries, a streak of dirt all the way down their body.

Slowed though. Too slow.

The second time.

Gunshots. Enzo started, tripped over their own feet, crashed painfully to the floor chest first, landed on something hard, right in the ribs.

The pain was superficial. They knew, they knew who that gunfire was.


((Enzo continued elsewhere))

I'll draw your character when I'm bored

I'll draw your character when I'm bored
Very impressive Kotori!