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((Wayne Cox continued from 白色雑音))

He didn't know what he was doing anymore. Or rather, he did, but he didn't want to admit it. He didn't know how to continue even if he did admit it.

He was working at cross-purposes with himself.

He'd thought - or had he said? He couldn't have - that what he wanted was someone who was worth it to make it out of this place alive, to go back and make something of themselves and make sure everything that happened here was paid back in full. A doctor, a judge, a teacher, a spokesperson to rally the masses and make a real change. Someone to give the world something that mattered that would make the loss of everyone here just a footnote to the things they would accomplish.

It was too high a pedestal. He couldn't name a single past winner who had done that much. He didn't know much about them, but he knew that some of them were dead, and others out of the public eye.

Out of everyone, anyone, Asha and Dorothy had deserved to make it to the end. This point had come up again and again, looping through his thoughts. He knew there had been more than good in them, more than noble intentions. Even they felt or would feel the same things under the surface. Hate. Fear. But those things were buried deep, not acted upon even when the impulse came - that was how they were different from him.

Wayne let the taser cartridges spill through his fingers into the open bag below. He'd been sitting here for a while, staying low, staying out of sight. Just a little distance away was the bridge, the only way he could get to the other side of the island without returning down the slopes that he had traveled with them and back to the beach where he had committed his first crime.

He'd eaten breakfast earlier, or at least what counted as breakfast. The bread was long gone, eaten on the first day before it would have grown stale and moldy. Today - a protein bar. Half a bottle of water. The ones that had been assigned to him. The ones that were untainted. He'd separated out the bars on top, the ones from the beach, and only taken the ones on the bottom.

He zipped Asha's bag and slung it over his shoulder. He'd considered dumping one bag into the other to mix the contents. To hide his guilt. It didn't seem to matter anymore.

People were dead. People were gone. Nancy was the one with the axe. Conrad, student council member, someone who was supposed to lead, had killed and been killed. So much for leadership. Kimiko had killed too, and won an award, and all he could think of was that day where he'd thought she'd been checking out Jerry's butt.

So stupid, to wish for the past. But there was nothing for him in the future.

Half measures, always half measures. All he was doing was making enemies. If he had really wanted an advantage, really wanted to win this, he should have gone all the way. He should have slit Asha and Dorothy's throats in their sleep. It would have been quick. He could have told himself that it would have been painless. It didn't matter that his name hadn't been read out this way. The next time they saw him, the next time the girl on the beach saw him, the next time anyone they met and told saw him - he was done for.

And all for bags that might be laying around everywhere as time went on and people died. Even a mass murderer wasn't going to bother to take the supplies of everyone they killed.

So what now?

Time to run from it a little longer. Time to move on.

He began walking across the bridge towards the three people he couldn't avoid.
The Present

The Past
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In A World Of Shit · The Connecting Bridge