"We tried to be better, but we aren't. I don't think anyone could last more than a week here if they weren't willing to do bad things." - Alba Reyes

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Yugikun
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He could hear her crying.

He could hear what he had did.

HeÖ

Fuck.

He didnít want to be here.

So he stepped away, into the room itself. He could see the circle of chairs, in the centre. There was one on the ground, crushed to pulp. He couldnít really guessed how that happened. He stepped forward, further in. The light from the windows illuminated the trail of blood on the floor. He couldnít really guess how that got there at all, so he went forward. Step by step. Moving forward and just hoping there was something, someone here. A person, a thing, an event, he didnít know. Anything to make him forget. Anything that could just distract him, for one second. Anything that could just get him off this island for one single moment. Anything that could make him forget about the gameís newest competitor. An-

Oh.

Hey Jasper.

He had made it through the room, past the chairs. Far away from Jordan and Hazel, at this point. That was where he saw the corpse. Jasperís. He was - used to be - a friend, sorta. A talkbuddy. Maybe not one of his best friends and maybe not someone he made sure to talk to every couple days but that didnít really discount anything regarding him. They talked. They were nerds. Sometimes they were able to share war stories about Caedyn. That meant something. Maybe it didnít mean as well as the people he had put on the list but it did nonetheless. He was Jasper. He was his friend.

And he was dead on the floor, bullets fucking everywhere on his body and being dragged out here.

That was Jasper.

And that was all he was now.

And all heíd ever be.

But there was something that clicked in his head, when he saw it.

This was Jasper.

This was what happened to him.

And this could happen to anybody. Maybe you, although that wouldnít be too bad. But maybe itíd be Serena. Maybe itíd be Emma.

No, no. That was right. He was on borrowed time here. He had to find them, before it was too late. People were fighting out there. People were dying out there. Maybe it could have been someone like Adelaide or Brendan or someone else he didnít really give a shit about, but maybe it wasnít. Maybe it was important.

And there were problems, yeah. Al had killed. Hazel was crying. But he couldnít think about them. There was work. He had to do this. He had to find them. There was that thing - Jeremy Frasier, 0% chance of winning the game - that he had known since here. No. He had to do it now. He couldnít distract himself. He couldnít think of anything else other than that.

So he had to do it. There was a list, there was a goal, and there was an entire island of people out there waiting to be found.

So he had to do it.

And he would.

He knew that.




There was a note, left beside the corpse, after he had left. Maybe he had left them - well yeah, he did - and maybe they hated him for that.

But if they didnít, well, theyíd know where to find him.

((Jeremy Frasier, continued in Noland the Liar))
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