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A Delicate Machine
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((So. That was what a murderer looked like.))

Just another kid. Not a miserable wretch, hollow and haggard, haunted by the weight of their crimes. Cass supposed that would require significantly more self-awareness than Jerry was showing, talking of killing while surrounded by death. They hadn't been able to make out all of the two boys' conversation during their approach to the tower, just enough to get the gist.

Was that what passed for idle conversation, now? Nothing but plans, the boring pragmatism of Wade without any of his morality, the willingness to fight of Irene without her drive to only hurt those who "deserved" it? Was there seriously nothing the two of them would rather be doing?

If that was the case, then Cass supposed they would to just follow Trav's lead and play along. This was his show, after all; his decision to do what he would with whatever justification Jerry gave him for killing his friend. Maybe it had been an accident. Maybe a misunderstanding. Maybe he was just a murderous asshole. As much as they would have liked to try and assume the best of Jerry, he hadn't exactly given them much reason to, yet.

Cass stood to Trav's right, slightly behind him. Hands in their pockets, trying not to glare. Only trembling a little. They knew that Jerry and Matt had, at the very least, one knife between them; out of sight for the moment. Cass and Trav were both unarmed; and though Trav had his MMA experience, Cass had never been in a fight in their life.

For now, actual violence remained an abstract concept; one with consequences that rippled through the world around them and left myriad wounds in its wake, but always invisibly; just out of sight. Cass could only hope that it would continue to remain that way.
a tribute for the dead and dying

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What if I told you... · The Radio Tower