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She didn't know what to say.

He did.

Because there wasn’t a choice in the matter. There wasn’t anything else he could do. He had to talk. It really did matter. The pain was fading out of his body and he could only feel the cold now and he knew he was dying in her arms. No. He had to talk. He had to do something. He knew this moment had been coming from the moment he’d woken up on this island and he’d been spending every waking moment here just trying to prepare for it but he wasn’t ready. He didn’t want to go. Not here, not now. There were still things he had to do. People he had to see. There was a world out there of people fighting and dying and he knew that there were people he knew out there but he couldn’t do anything about it. He was in here. Unable to do anything more.

So no.

He had to talk.

They were his final words.

He had to make them count.

“No, I-”

Because there was Emma. She was out there. She was somewhere on this island. She was his friend. One of his closest ones. They’d talked. They’d worked together. They had fun. Maybe he did occasionally say weird shit to her, maybe he did tend to creep her out every now and again, but it didn’t matter. She’d never minded that. Maybe she even found it funny, occasionally. It was a natural part of him. It was a natural part of them being friends. It was why he had to find her. He had to be there. She was hurting. He knew that. So he had to make her smile. He had to make her feel better. He had to at least try. If he didn’t, then he couldn’t call himself her friend, right?

And there was Serena. She was out there, too. Somewhere on this island, fighting and dying and doing who knows what. She was also his friend. A close one. She was that shy girl who never seemed to talk to anyone else but talked to him that one day he was third violin and who kept talking to him afterwards. She’d gotten him into Survivor. She’d made sure he’d become obsessed with it and she’d made sure that he’d always have something to talk about whenever he was with her. He knew that she didn’t have many other friends, so he’d made sure to always keep her company. And that was what he had to do here. Find her. Protect her. Keep her company. If he let her die alone, then that meant he failed. No ifs or buts about it.

And there was Al. He was also out there. On the island. The newest challenger to take up the game, apparently. He was quiet, back then. Having a conversation always seemed to be a little more difficult with him than it was with others. The effort had paid off, though. Because they were friends. Good ones. They could talk about anything and it’d be entertaining enough for Jeremy to want to continue on with it. And he could talk. He knew that. He could talk Al down, just like he’d done with Alex. Al had killed three people. Jeremy wanted to know why. Once he did he’d know what to say. He’d know how to calm him down. Maybe Al would have been a threat. Maybe he was going to be someone Jeremy had to put down, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to do that without trying first.

Then there was Alex. He wasn’t here anymore. He wasn’t on this island. He honestly wasn’t even really a friend, either. Not before this. Jeremy had only really recognised him as a face. Not until he’d killed. Not until Jeremy had met him. Not until he’d taught Jeremy something far more important than anything else he’d been told on this island. He’d taught Jeremy to not take things at face value. He’d taught Jeremy to listen first before making a judgement. He’d taught Jeremy that the people who killed weren’t the monsters, it was those who were weak. The ones who had fallen into the game so easily. The ones who so easily called others monsters for things they were considering doing. Even if Alex was dead, even if he couldn’t act upon his deal anymore, he still had to live. He still had to be strong. He still had to be better than those beneath him.


The syllable choked itself out of his throat. His hand clutched. Scratched. Tore at the hand of Fiyori’s he was holding on to. Maybe it hurt her. Maybe he shouldn’t do that, but he wouldn’t stop. He didn’t notice.

Because there was Ben. He wasn’t here anymore. He was probably on that roof, his carcass serving as food for the vultures or the birds or whatever was up there. Because hey, look, Jeremy had done it. He hadn’t killed anyone else. You’d challenged him and blustered yourself up and put Jeremy through tooth and nail just to prove your goddamn point and you succeeded. Maybe he hadn’t been able to give the bag back, maybe he hadn’t been able to find Penelope, but at least he died in pain and fear on this floor before he’d been able to do anything about his goals. You happy about that? You happy that he failed in doing most of the stuff he wanted to make sure he did?

Because guess what? That wasn’t entirely because of you. Because there was Josh. Because there was Jasmine. Josh was a friend. A close one. One of the kindest people he’d met and one of the easiest people he’d been with to get along with. And he was dead. Killed on the very first day by Caedyn’s fucking bitch before Jeremy even had a chance to find him. Even then, he’d wanted to do something about that. Find his corpse. Find Jasmine. Figure out why it happened. Give his last regards. It wasn’t much, it wouldn’t have compared to being able to see him in person, but it would have made him happy. He would have been okay with doing that.

But he couldn’t now.

Because he was in this room, in Fiyori’s arms. Dying. The cold was spreading and his sight was weakening and he knew that he wasn’t leaving this room alive. He’d been saying it since moment one.

Jeremy Frasier, 0% chance of winning this game.

Jeremy Frasier, 0% chance of doing anything he wanted to do before his time came.

Well, no, actually.

There was a chance.

Because there was Fiyori. She was here. Holding his body. Putting him close to her. She was… a friend. Maybe an acquaintance. He still wasn’t quite sure. Maybe there was a point where she’d annoyed him. Maybe she did blame him for something he didn’t do. Maybe she did bring up bad memories. She was still fun though. Friendly. Gave him food, that one time. Gave him company, for a brief moment. He wanted to say sorry, about that. About leaving. He’d gotten angry and he’d raged his way out and he’d never been able to talk with her, after that. So he wanted to say sorry. He wanted to make sure that got out. Even if he was dying here, even if he wasn’t going to be able to achieve anything that he wanted to, he could still do that, right?

So no.

It did matter.

He had to say something.

They were his final words.

He had to make them count.

No regrets.


He looked up. Into her eyes. Brought the syllable out of his mouth.


The metallic feeling filled his throat. The syllable could only barely choke itself out. He tried bringing another.


He’d kept his head up, for a few seconds.

And then the world never saw his face again.


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