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He fell backwards, reeling from Nate's surprisingly strong punch. The gun dropped to the ground, landing on the floor it would share with the corpses of people they both knew. Matt sat there for a moment, gasping and grunting in pain. He looked up at Nate.

"You don't have anything to say to that?" he asked, looking him right in the eyes.

He sat there silently for another moment. Winning at any cost no longer held any sort of appeal to him. He had the right to kill whoever he could on this island - exercising that right was his choice and his choice alone. No one could ever claim that he was forced to do it. Certainly, one could call this an extraordinary situation - only an extraordinary person could withstand the pressure of being here.

It was here, in the storage closet he shared with Nate Turner and Ben Fields only a week and a day ago, that Matthew Moradi realized he was not an extraordinary person. He was a weak, pathetic coward, one who rarely passed up the opportunity to ambush someone and murder them when he was put into a situation where he could feign a certain level of innocence.

Were he to ever leave this island he had planned to claim such. He was under the constant stress of potentially being attacked - he was in a kill or be killed situation - he was forced to kill at least one person, owing to the rules - and he was forced to kill others.

All of these were lies. The moment he decided to ambush Wade Cartwright and bash his skull in, splattering his brains onto the grass, he began to lie to himself. In place of having a motive for killing him - a lust for attention and fame, a mental breakdown, a laughable series of "accidents" - he elected that his motive would simply be that he was here.

When he chose to exercise his right to kill, he had lost. The cartoonish motives of their torturers were rendered all the more awful by the fact that some of the people here simply chose, almost consciously, to prove how eager they were to kill. He was counted among them. The person standing in front of him was not.

Sitting down on the floor, Matthew Moradi began to realize that winning wasn't possible. He wasn't fit to win - and, by proxy, he was not fit to live. It was a game where the person displaying the least humanity won. In his desperate attempts to prove how inhumane and terrible he was, he had lost.

He ran a hand through his hair. Quietly, he spoke up.

"I've made a mistake."
Edited by Privyet, Aug 10 2017, 01:38 AM.
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Amen · Storage Closet