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Ain't nobody got time for this
((Matt Moradi continued from Coming Out Of The Closet))

Outside. It felt like it had been years since he was outside the asylum, but here he was, still running for his life. Ben and Nate were dead - he was almost sure of that - and Alvaro was probably looking for him. Maybe he wanted to finish the job.. after all, he'd be the one that got away, wouldn't he? He'd mourn them later, when he had the time. And maybe he'd feel stupid if their names didn't come up in the announcement. He'd feel even stupider if Ben had managed to kill Alvaro, somehow. Stupid and cowardly, but not too much. What else could he do? Dark basement. Crazed gunman. He was the closest to the door, so of course he'd run away. What else was he supposed to do - run at him, unarmed?

Sure, maybe he'd have knocked the gun out of his hand and he'd be a big hero and they'd parade him through the asylum. Nate could be the marching band and Ben could give him a medal for being such a big fucking hero. Or maybe he'd have gotten shot in the face. He certainly liked to avoid getting shot in the face, and having had around one second to weigh his options, he chose to get the fuck out.

He started to slow down. He was tired, having just run the fastest he'd ever run in his entire life. He doubled over, catching his breath. He'd have to avoid that in the future. Getting trapped in dark rooms with violent murderers. He started to walk - he needed a place to think things out. Sit down for a couple of minutes. If Alvaro was after him, he thought, he was doing a shit job at finding him. The bell tower. Of course. Why not? Here's hoping someone already hadn't set themselves up in there with a rifle and the intent to shoot whoever walked nearby.

People. Two of them. One of them had a gun. No sniper, it looked like, unless there was a sniper and they were friends of his. He tried weighing his options - they could decide to murder him. And they would, in fact, probably have an easy time doing it. On the other hand, he was entirely alone. Nate and Ben might be dead - at the very least, they weren't with him right now. The idea of Deranged Lunatic #21 deciding to sneak up on him and drive a knife into his back was, at best, unappealing.

He walked up to them.

"Don't shoot," he said, still out of breath. "I'm unarmed." He laid all his cards on the table.

Coming Out Of The Closet
Gunshots. Deafening in the cramped basement, though he would not have listened to what anyone was saying if there was anything to say. Matt turned around, not bothering to see who'd been shot - just a few flashes in the dark, stray bullets hitting the walls. He ran as fast as he possibly could - faster than he'd ever ran in his life - out of that room. Out of the basement, up the stairs, away from Alvaro. As far away as he could get from him, the better.

He almost felt surprised to see light when he left Alvaro, Ben, Nate - and the corpse - behind. The time spent standing there waiting for him to pull the trigger.. for Nate to stop talking, stop prolonging his death, felt like an eternity. As far as he knew, Nate was dead. Ben was dead. Alvaro could be right on top of him, for all he knew. He might be next. He stopped thinking. He might be next.

He kept running.

((Matt Moradi hasn't got time for this. ))

Coming Out Of The Closet
If Nate's plan were to prolong their deaths, it was working astonishingly well. At this rate it might take Alvaro an hour or more to actually work up the courage to kill them all, whereas before he could likely have done it in ten minutes or so. If he weren't so inclined against making loud noises in a situation such as this, he'd have started clapping. He really needed that extra time to think about all the things he wouldn't be doing with his life, having been gun downed in a dank basement and whatnot. He wanted to say something. He really did.

And so he did.

"Nate, just, ah.. stop. Please."

Matt sounded nervous more than anything else. In a situation like that, he couldn't really be angry at anyone except for Alvaro - of course, that anger was mixed with fear more than anything else. He was trying to avoid speaking up - less chance that he'd be the first to die. More of a shot at running away. At getting out of here. Of course, each moment they spent here was a moment closer to Alvaro finally deciding to start.

He was hoping it wouldn't come to that, but he knew better.

Coming Out Of The Closet
Matt was looking for a way out. A chance to leave the room, no matter what it was - Alvaro deciding to start with someone who wasn't him, for example - was welcome. For some strange reason, Nate was still trying to talk to him. The reason why escaped him at the moment. Stupidity, maybe, or some kind of hidden death wish neither him nor Ben knew about. He wasn't sure. Either way, he was trying to keep a low profile. Hard to do, considering you could count the number of people in the room on one hand. All he could do now was glance over at Nate and hope he'd figure it out that the time for talking was over. Hell, was there ever a time for talking?

He wasn't too keen on opening his mouth. There had to be some way out. Maybe if he tried to run away, he'd shoot, miss and Ben could tackle him, or..

He eyed the gun Alvaro was holding. He wondered if he was any good with it - or if it was even loaded. There really was only one way to find out, wasn't there? The shittiest game he'd ever played was the one he was currently participating in, really - maybe he'll miss. Maybe you'll get shot in a dark basement.

There was only one way to find out and finding out terrified him.

Coming Out Of The Closet
Weapons. What a joke. Between the three of them, there wasn't half of something even approaching a weapon. If it gave the crazed gunman that his companions somehow knew any peace of mind, then sure. He'd drop his 'weapon'. He quietly hoped that his gun jammed if he decided to fire it, before thinking about a more proactive solution.

"Uh, alright.. I'm putting it down, now. Just, uh, keep cool, alright?"

Slowly, he started putting his selfie stick down. He fantasized about knocking Alvaro upside the head with it, but that's all it was - fantasizing. Even if he did hit him, this thing wasn't sturdy enough to do more than annoy him. Maybe he could get out, run away, something like that. It was dark. He might miss. He might hit someone else. He might not even fire at all, he didn't know.

A million different solutions ran through his head, none of them seeming to be worth it. So he stood his ground, hoping that someone braver than him would do something. Or maybe he was waiting to get shot in a dark basement and have thousands, if not millions of people see it - who knew?

That really was the funniest death he could imagine, really. The ultimate game show ending.

Coming Out Of The Closet
Matt could philosophize about whether or not any of this bloodshed was necessary all day long if he had to, but he preferred not to do it in a dank basement that smelled of Sandy's rotting corpse and reminded him of his own dwindling lifespan. Nate's proposal to talk down serial murderers having been quietly shot down, Matt felt somewhat relieved. No objections to self-defense, he guessed. He let out a short, quiet sigh - barely audible. Maybe they were going to make it. Maybe they


It's him.

And he has a gun.

That's good.

Great. The best thing he's seen all day, really, not counting the mutilated, decaying corpse in a dark, waterlogged basement that was presumably about to become his grave. He woke up this morning, smiled and said "I hope my life is threatened today. I really hope someone points a gun at me in a dark fucking basement." Except he didn't. He didn't hope for any of that. In fact, he had hoped for the opposite, believe it or not. This was, objectively speaking, a turn for the worse.

Slowly, he half-raised his arms towards the ceiling, not wanting to get shot for making any quick movements. He smiled - so fake it could turn your stomach outside of any other situation - and spoke up.

"He has a gun," he said, through gritted teeth. Just loud enough for the other two to hear. Ever since he was dumped onto this rock, he had feared this. Going face to face with someone who had a gun. Going face to face with someone who had the drop on him. He thought that just maybe, he could avoid it. Of course, deep down, he knew that it was going to happen sooner or later.. everyone but him probably had luck on their side when it came to getting a weapon. He got a flimsy metal pole. This evolutionary throwback who he thought probably fantasized about killing in a guilt free environment got a gun, pointed at him.

In the back of his mind, he hoped that the gunman would shoot one of the others. The thought escaping to the front of his mind, he wondered if they would call him selfish if they knew. He didn't care.

Coming Out Of The Closet
Matt agreed with Nate. Nancy doesn't have to do this.

Of course, Nancy had already killed a handful of people. He doubted whatever Nate wanted from her - an apology, or something, that he would perhaps graciously accept on the behalf of all those she's violently killed - would be even remotely sincere. Nancy was, as far as he knew, a psychopath who decided to start murdering other people.

Decided. That was the key word for him. She knew what she was doing and she probably thought she could get away with it. He could only guess what drove them to make that decision. Maybe, deep down, some of classmates really wanted to kill someone. Maybe it was the circumstances or maybe it was the fact that there was no guilt in killing someone if you tell yourself that you had to do it. He didn't know. He just didn't know.

Matt tore his eyes off of one of Nancy's many victims and turned towards the door, towards Nate. He didn't know, and to be frank, he didn't fucking care.

"She's fucking crazy. I don't give a rat's ass if she was your fucking girlfriend, dude, we gotta stop her before she kills anyone else. I, shit, I don't know." Sure, he wanted to do something about the ever lovable psychopath called Nancy Kyle. Maybe that something was pushing her off a cliff, or maybe it could be something less lethal. He didn't know.

"I guess you can try talking to her if you want, man. I don't think it's gonna work. I really, really don't."

Coming Out Of The Closet
For a few seconds, Matt could find nothing to say - he just stared at the corpse. At what was formerly known as Sandy, currently a rotting corpse in a waterlogged basement in the middle of stark fucking nowhere. The level of decay was a lot worse than he thought it was, initially.. still recognizable, but definitely not a pretty sight. That, combined with the cause of death - it didn't take a genius to figure out that his final moments couldn't exactly be considered enjoyable - was enough to make him feel sick. That, and the smell.. the smell, of course, couldn't really have been helped - he wondered what it was. The corpse, the room, or the combination of both.

He fought back the urge to vomit. Whoever Sandy was, he didn't go peacefully. He didn't go quietly, either. He could only keep staring at the body as he imagined how hard he must have fought in his final moments - at least, he hoped he did.

"Fuck. Fuck, I wasn't ready for this. Fucking hell."

Slowly, he started to back away, towards the door.. stopping just short of exiting the room entirely. Then, Ben spoke, reminding him that there were other people with him. The closest thing he had to friends. Why are we letting this happen, he said. That's a good question, Matt thought. Why is anyone letting this happen - the fact that his esteemed peers from Cochise had seemed to immediately degenerate into wanton, senseless violence boggled the mind. Oh, he was certain there were more than a few justifications.. like the sword hanging above everyone's head - one person has to be killed per day or else everyone dies. He knew that. Everyone else knew that, he was sure, but how many murders can you justify that way?

He didn't care to think too long on what their justifications were. He certainly knew he had one; stopping them. He only considered it for a moment before asking the question.

"Who the fuck did this?"

Coming Out Of The Closet
((Matt Moradi continued from Forget About What I Said))

The announcement came and went. He really, honestly, didn't care. No one he knew, just like last time. Still, he made sure to listen closely - maybe there would be someone he did know. That'd certainly ruin his day. But it hadn't happened yet - and he wasn't sure if it'd ever happen, so he had to question whether or not it was worth it to really listen closely to anything other than the names of the killers. People to avoid.

This whole asylum, he thought, was a place to avoid. He also had to question why he'd come here - Nate dragged him here. Nate also let Henry in, but he couldn't really fault him too much for that. Henry didn't look like a threat, sure, but anyone can be a thief. He wondered what he'd do if he ever ran into him again. Nothing, probably, but he fantasized about kicking his ass if he found him alone. The right thing to do, in his mind.

Walking down the stairs, the first thing he noticed was the smell. The smell and the water. The whole place was waterlogged, he thought - anything worth taking in the past was either rusted to the point of uselessness or too filthy for him to want to touch. The filth, of course, was something he didn't want to think too hard about. The entire place was, in two words, fucking dirty.. not thinking about it was an uphill battle.

"Oh, fuck this." was all he had to say on the matter. Fuck this basement and fuck this entire island, he thought.

The room he had entered was worse than he could imagine. Tubs filled with water that hadn't been drained for what must be years and, somehow, the smell had gotten worse. Worse than anything he'd ever smelt before. Almost on reflex, he covered his nose and choked out the words, "What the FUCK is that smell?"

Then he saw it. The source of the smell.

A corpse - something he was sure he'd see sooner or later, but also something he'd have enjoyed to see under better circumstances. A stupid fantasy of his. It was still somewhat recognizable, so he could likely recognize them if he knew them. He couldn't look long enough to tell. He froze in place and said some choice words, trying his hardest to look away.

"Fuck this. Holy fucking shit, this is fucked."

He didn't care to think about how the others would react.

Forget About What I Said
Maybe find them, Ben said. Sure, why not? Go on ahead and seek out violent murderers. Ones who probably have swords and shit. Sounded like a perfect idea to him, really. He honestly couldn't think of anything he'd rather do. Grab his god damn selfie stick and run up to someone with a knife and start swinging. It could only go one way - well.

No, wait, actually. The idea of doing that struck him as fucking stupid.

Looked like everyone else wanted to get out of this storage closet. After sitting in it for about three or so days, he couldn't help but agree. As much as he loved sitting in the dark and talking about absolutely nothing worth remembering all day long, he was more than ready to leave. After hearing Ben saying 'we gotta move', Matt noticeably perked up. Move? Somewhere that isn't the storage closet? Sure, he thought. He could do that. He was certain there was a time when he had done more on this island than sit inside a closet, but he couldn't quite recall when that was and what he did.

"Alright," he said. "We're leaving?" He could almost smile, really, if he weren't on this stupid fucking island. "Alright, uh, just gotta grab my shit." He went over to grab his bag - opening it, he pulled out his selfie stick. "I guess I can.. hit someone with this. If they're looking for a fight."

He went out the door, glancing back at the closet. Maybe he'd come to miss this place, someday.

Yeah, wait, no. Fuck closets.

((Matt Moradi continued to Coming Out Of The Closet))