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Yugikun
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i'll be your light, your match, your burning sun
[ *  *  *  *  *  * ]
The adrenaline had worn off by this point.

((Alvaro Vacanti, continued from How Can I Turn Off This Mask?))

He had stopped running, a while ago. His breath had ran out. He still had to move, though. He knew that. They were following after him. They were chasing him. He knew that. They wouldnít have stayed there, they wanted to kill him. He got away from them, so they followed. It was as simple as that. It was as easy to understand as that. They hated him. Everyone did. He had killed Barry. He had killed Jasper, and now he had killed Irene. That was what he did. That was what they knew. That was why they hated him. Jonathan. Lily. Scout. Matt. Michael. Maria. Irene. Serena. Melanie. Aidan. The list grew bigger and bigger. Every person he had met. Every person he hadÖ hurt. They were just adding to the list. They were people who knew what he did, and they were people who hated for it.

But they didnít know, right?

What had really happened.

That he thought they were going to attack them.

That he thought he needed to do something. To stop them. To keep himself safe.

That he was scared.

He was like them. He just wanted to stay alive. That was why he did it. That was what he was telling himself. He wasnít like Isabel. He wasnít like Nancy. He hadnít done what Oskar had done. He hadnít done what Min-jae had done.

He was like them.

He was scared.

He was him.

He was human.

Right?

He didnít know.

The building was dark. He hadnít been in here before. He knew that. It was the storehouse. That was what the map said. He wasnít entirely sure what was in the building before he came here, but now he did. Boxes. Shelves. Corridors. Corners he couldnít see. Maybe there were people, as well. People he couldnít see. People following him and stalking him and waiting for the perfect moment to shoot him or bring a knife or a sword or anything else he couldnít think of down on his back while he wasnít looking. He tried not to think of them. He tried not to believe himself, but they were there. Maybe. He knew that. Maybe they werenít, but he couldnít prove that. He just had to keep his guard up. That was what he needed to do.

So he walked.

Stepped forward.

Through the storehouse.

Through the darkness.

He wasnít really sure where he was going. He was trying to get through. He knew that. Was he actually doing that, though? He didnít know. He wasnít sure. Maybe it was a straight path through to the end but maybe it wasnít? He didnít know. There were turns and there were corners and there were paths with different options but he didnít know which one was the right one. He still had to move. He still had to get away. They were following after him. He knew that. They wanted to kill him. So he had to move. Simple as that. Easy to understand. He just had to move and get away from them and be safe and figure out what to do-

He heard a noise.

Someone was behind him.

His body turned. His arms - his weapon - went up.

And once again, noise filled the air as the trigger pulled.

It rang.

It hurt.

It hadnít, before. He remembered that. The gun had hurt others and it had hurt him to use it but it had never been like this. The noise of the gun was piercing. Painful. Not like before. Maybe it had been piercing before, but it hadnít been in this way. His ears rang. His ears hurt now. They were sore and they were dry and they hurt now and he didnít know if it would go away and he didnít know and he didnít know and he just needed to be out of here he just needed to be out of the dark out of the storehouse away from this island not playing this game and he had to go he had to run he had to-

Run.

He had fired the gun.

They could hear that.

And they would come.

So he ran.

Down the corridor. Around the corner. Through the storehouse. Away from-

There was a thump and a splutter from Alvaroís throat as he fell backwards to the ground. There was pain. From his ears. From his body. His head. His chest. He could feel it. It was dull. Throbbing. Aching. What had-

He moved his body. His foot went down. It stopped.

Oh.

That was-

That was his fault, wasnít it?

The wall was in front of him. The storehouse was around him.

And, as time passed, he realized that there was nothing behind him.

And, as time passed, he stayed, as everything left the hall except for the sound of his breathing.

It was nice.

It was peaceful.

And nobody was here to ruin it.

Nobody was here to see him.

And nobody was here who knew.

That was nice. That was good. It meant that Alvaro didnít have to do anything. It meant that Alvaro didnít have to fight. It meant that he didnít have to kill.

And it meant that nobody would judge him for it.

Yeah.

Itíd be nice, to not have to explain. To not have to talk. To not be accused of lying when he had been telling the truth to them. Itíd be nice, to lie down like this. No Irene to pull a gun on him. No Serena, Melanie, Aidan to try to pin him down. To try and kill him even after he had told the truth. He had did it, yes, but he had told the truth. He had been scared. He hadnít thought things through. Heíd thought he had to do something and that was what he did.

Ö

That wasnít an excuse.

Because no. No. No. No, it wasnít. He killed them. He ended their lives. He had been scared, yes, but that wasnít a reason to kill them. He knew that now. He had been scared. He hadnít thought things through. Heíd thought he had to do something. So that was what he did. That was why he killed them. That was his reason, but no. It wasnít. He wasnít innocent. He had done it. He had killed them. They were right. It wasnít a good reason.

He had killed Barry. Because he had been scared. He had gotten to close and he was allied with Jonathan and heíd thought Barry was going to hurt him. No. That wasnít it. Barry had been trying to help. Barry was his friend. His teammate. His ally. There was no way that he would hurt Alvaro.

And yet he had pushed him off the bell tower. Because he was scared. Because he saw Jonathan standing right next to him and didnít think things through.

He had killed Jasper, because he had to do something. He was scared. The two people, in the room. They had run. They were going to do something. He acted back. Fired. Hit Jasper. Jasper was his friend. Teammate. Customer. He had to do something. He had to stop his pain.

So heíd shot him. Killed his friend. Because he was scared. Because he saw two people running away and didnít think things through.

And he had killed Irene. Because he didnít think things though. She had kicked him. She had pointed the shotgun at him. She was going to do something. She was going to stop him. So he had to do something. He acted back. Fired. He had shot at Irene. His friend. His customer. His chess friend.

And he killed her. Because he was scared. Because she was standing right on top of him and he didnít think things through.

He did all of those.

Irene. Jasper. Barry. They were dead.

And it was his fault.

They were right.

He was a killer.

A monster.

MaybeÖ maybe he deserved his death. Maybe he deserved being here.

Maybe he shouldnít have tried to move. Maybe he should have let them kill him.

Ö

No.

No no no no no he couldnít. He didnít want to. He didnít want to die. He didnít know why. He just knew that whatever was out there, whatever laid beyond, wasnít good for him.

So he had to live.

And maybe he could. He had killed three. MaybeÖ

He stood up.

Maybe he could do more?

Because there were people who knew. People who hated him. People who wanted to kill him for what he did. People who were going to attack him.

But maybe he could fight back.

Maybe he could think of himself.

Maybe he could be a little more selfish.

Maybe he could do it, for once.

((Alvaro Vacanti, continued elsewhere))
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How Can I Turn Off This Hatred That Fills My Eyes? · The Storehouse