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V6 Twentieth Rolls
matt just got fucking owned lmao

Matt looked down at Nate, putting a hand on his shoulder. He remembered that almost two weeks ago, he had woken up outside of the chapel. He found Nate inside, crying. He felt bad for him, so he tried - terribly, in all honesty - to calm him down. Nate proposed that they go for a walk. Then they ended up here. Ben was there. He hadn't seen Ben in a few days. He knew that he was dead. He'd heard the announcement.

Quietly, he started to talk again. "I need you to be strong for everyone who wasn't. I need you to prove them wrong. Prove me wrong."

Matt Moradi started crying. Of course Matt Moradi started crying. He was terrible, and a murderer, and he was going to die.

B024: Matthew Moradi - Deceased
9 Students Remaining

What was there to say? In the face of insurmountable horror and tragedy, what words could suffice? With his hilariously simplistic motive discarded, anything that could justify what had been done vanished. So what could he say?


There was simply nothing for him to say - he had played the game and, as a result, proved his own inhumanity. The choice was always his.

Matt Moradi stood up and bent down to pick up the gun.

Looking at Nate, Matt spoke quickly. He had the eyes of someone who was desperate. "It's too late for me." He swallowed.

"You need to get out of here.. off the island. Alright?" Slowly, he started to unsling his rifle. He placed it on the ground in front of him.

"I can't explain why I did this.. or why anyone else did. I guess I'm just a bad person." Slowly, he started to unbutton his flannel jacket.

"You're not.. I, uh, don't really know how you did it.. but I figure there's less than ten people left right now." He looked over to the camera.

"Somehow, you've managed to make it this far without killing anyone.. you remember the rules, though, right?" He finished unbuttoning his jacket and took it off, slowly.

"You have to kill someone.. take my gun. Just make sure it's in self defense." He took a step forward and held out his jacket.

"I want you to have this. It's pretty cold, and.. uh, well, I won't need it. I'm giving up."

He fell backwards, reeling from Nate's surprisingly strong punch. The gun dropped to the ground, landing on the floor it would share with the corpses of people they both knew. Matt sat there for a moment, gasping and grunting in pain. He looked up at Nate.

"You don't have anything to say to that?" he asked, looking him right in the eyes.

He sat there silently for another moment. Winning at any cost no longer held any sort of appeal to him. He had the right to kill whoever he could on this island - exercising that right was his choice and his choice alone. No one could ever claim that he was forced to do it. Certainly, one could call this an extraordinary situation - only an extraordinary person could withstand the pressure of being here.

It was here, in the storage closet he shared with Nate Turner and Ben Fields only a week and a day ago, that Matthew Moradi realized he was not an extraordinary person. He was a weak, pathetic coward, one who rarely passed up the opportunity to ambush someone and murder them when he was put into a situation where he could feign a certain level of innocence.

Were he to ever leave this island he had planned to claim such. He was under the constant stress of potentially being attacked - he was in a kill or be killed situation - he was forced to kill at least one person, owing to the rules - and he was forced to kill others.

All of these were lies. The moment he decided to ambush Wade Cartwright and bash his skull in, splattering his brains onto the grass, he began to lie to himself. In place of having a motive for killing him - a lust for attention and fame, a mental breakdown, a laughable series of "accidents" - he elected that his motive would simply be that he was here.

When he chose to exercise his right to kill, he had lost. The cartoonish motives of their torturers were rendered all the more awful by the fact that some of the people here simply chose, almost consciously, to prove how eager they were to kill. He was counted among them. The person standing in front of him was not.

Sitting down on the floor, Matthew Moradi began to realize that winning wasn't possible. He wasn't fit to win - and, by proxy, he was not fit to live. It was a game where the person displaying the least humanity won. In his desperate attempts to prove how inhumane and terrible he was, he had lost.

He ran a hand through his hair. Quietly, he spoke up.

"I've made a mistake."

Matt burst out laughing, slinking back to where he was sitting down. After all of this, he was looking for justification. After everything that he had done - this is what he was asking him about. He didn't need to justify anything to anyone. Slowly, he placed the gun on his lap, making sure the safety was off.

"You wanna know why. I can tell. You wanna know why your good buddy Matt killed four people."

He picked the gun up by the barrel and held it out for Nate.

"Look around you. That's your reason. I'm not a winner or a loser. I'm just one guy. What am I supposed to do in this situation? Heroically lay down and let someone else kill me? Start killing everyone for attention?" Slowly, Matt started to rise to his feet, still holding the gun out for Nate to take.

"I can't tell you why I won't kill you, Nate. I can't tell myself why I killed or didn't kill anybody. I can't even remember half the people I've killed." Slowly, he started yelling.

"I want to know the point of all this. I want to know what any of this is supposed to prove about who I am as a person. I don't want to win. You think that's what this is about? Winning some shitty little game?" He started approaching him. The gun was within reach.

"Trying to justify any of this is pathetic. It's just about the most thoughtless thing I can think of!"

He hadn't been keeping track of how long he'd been here.

All he knew was that he really needed to shave.

Nate stood in front of him. Just one pull. That was all it took. Change so many lives with so little effort.

He lowered the gun, slowly.


The door opened. Nate came in with - of all things - a blood soaked machete. Matt was in the middle of reaching for his gun. Briefly, he hesitated, before picking it up and scrambling to his feet. Slowly, he started to back away from Nate. He raised the gun towards him, finger on the trigger.

All he really had to do was pull.

"Nate," he said. He tried to make idle, worthless conversation. "How's it going?"

He'd been here before. The three, maybe more, corpses (some fresher than others) were certainly an interesting new change in decor. He couldn't entirely recall how many days he had spent in here - two or three, at least. Just him, Nate, and Ben. He hadn't seen Nate in a while. He knew he was still alive. That could change, today. Ben was dead. He'd been dead for a long time, now. Almost a week.

For one brief moment, Matt felt something resembling sadness. Days after the fact, he mourned the death of someone he could consider a friend. A good ally, at least. He sat down, placing the gun he had just been rewarded onto the floor in front of him. He looked down at the buffalo wings. They looked delicious. Golden brown, slathered in sauce - he wondered if it was eating bread he'd taken off of dead bodies for days that was making them look so good.

He looked around for a camera. He was never particularly good at spotting them. Past a certain point, he just stopped caring about them. Eventually, he found one. He placed the basket of wings next to the gun and rose to his feet, moving towards it. He looked up at it, not entirely sure if anyone was watching him. Could they hear what he was saying?

He briefly glanced back at the spot he was just sitting in. He looked back to the camera and felt desperation welling up inside of him. The question that had been gnawing away at his sanity since he had first come here.

Quietly, Matt asked why this was happening.

He was met with silence. No answer.

Slowly, he moved back to where he was sitting.

Waking up and finding out that an explosive collar a shadowy group of terrorists with inscrutable motives put on you after they kidnapped your entire class might explode was definitely one reason he was running. Another reason was that he had been rewarded again, this time for murdering Serena Waters. He dreamed about her, that night. It was the same but his father was watching him. When he was beating her, he said nothing. When he put a bullet into her skull, he said nothing. And when he left, he said nothing.

He woke up on the beach, that morning, next to Alessio Rigano's corpse. Danya was speaking to him. He had earned a reward and everywhere outside the asylum was no good to stay in. He got up that morning and he started running.

He saw the chapel where he had first woken up. The announcement ended with Danya stating that things were drawing to a close. Soon - and very soon - there would only be one person left.

Right now, though, he was hungry. And he was going to eat up. He slung his rifle over his shoulder and picked up the cheap little sub-machine gun he had been gifted by his torturers. And then he saw something much, much better. A basket of buffalo wing.. coleslaw.. some Dr. Pepper. He quickly picked up the Dr. Pepper, shoving it into his bag. He knelled down, devouring the coleslaw here, before picking up the basket of buffalo wings. He could eat these somewhere else, that wasn't out in the open.

((Matt Moradi continued somewhere else.))

V6 Twentieth Rolls
My first time being rolled.. very exciting! So, I've really enjoyed writing Matt - this has been an awesome first version.. this late into it, however, I'm wondering if it's even feasible to get hero'd. If anyone is feeling super, ultra generous - well, all I can really say without going over the top is that I'd appreciate it a ton.