"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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So this was how it ended.

For a moment, Jeremy thought he had her.

And for a moment, Jeremy thought he had been able to make her stop.

And then there was another crack as the bat came down once again and smashed against his chest.

It didnít work.

Talking hadnít worked.

The bat had come down again and again and nothing he could say could stop it. He knew that now. Maybe he didnít know why, maybe he didnít know what he had done, but at the very least he knew the consequences, now. He was going to die. The bat was just going to hit him again and again until there was nothing left to hit. Junko was going to go off and do something after, he didnít know what. The game would end and only one person would be left standing and although he didnít know who it would be the one thing he knew for certain was that the person deemed the Fittest wasnít going to be him.

Jeremy Frasier. 0% chance of winning the game.

...Well.

At least he knew it was coming, he supposed.

Because yeah. It sucked. Dying wasnít fun. It was dull and it was painful and the hits of the bat lingered on his skin but he supposed he at least saw it coming? His friends and the people who cared about him would lose him but maybe they were like him too and they saw it coming and-

Wait.

No.

No no no no no what was he thinking? No. He couldnít. He couldnít die here. There were people and a list that he had to fulfill and people who were out there probably looking for him and he couldnít just let it all end here. No. He wouldnít let it. He had to do something. He had to get away. His arm went out, trying to find something to grab and he needed to think he needed to figure out a way to stop her and he

Found a giant revolver.

Just sitting there on the ground.

He looked up at Junko. Met her eyes.

...He couldnít do it.

She was his friend.

He couldnít kill her, couldnít he?

But there was nothing else. He couldnít think of anything. He couldnít move. He couldnít fight, otherwise. He was dead in the water. He was gone.

But he couldnít die. There were still things he had to do. There were people out there. His friends. HisÖ other people. He had to find them. He had to give himself that closure.

He had to live.

His hand was reaching out. Touching the gun.

The bat went down again.

There wasnít a choice.

He clenched his hand. Lifted his arm.

Looked away from her eyes.

Pulled the trigger.
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