"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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Lucas just looked at Peter. Listened to his speech. Wondered how thing had gone wrong.

All his fault? No. No, it was all their fault. All Peter's fault. He'd been the one to escalate. He'd been the one to make Lucas disarm. But, no, it was Ericka's fault. She'd been the one to start shooting. But, no, really, it was that other girl's fault. She was the one who had made Lucas worry. It was because of her that Peter was freaking out. She was probably laughing away back there, ready to shoot him in the back the second this was all over.

Peter was talking about stopping murderers. What did that do, though? It was...

Lucas paused. His stomach throbbed, pain winding through his body. He was dying. He realized that. He was dying, and he couldn't do anything to stop it. And as he looked at Peter, everything became clear. The real blame in this situation rested solely at the feet of one individual: Danya. The fat, murdering sociopath who had stranded them here. Everything since their arrival, all the deaths, all the betrayals, all the insanity, it all sprung from him. Lucas hadn't been wrong to mistrust Ericka, but she hadn't been wrong to return the favor. And how could he blame her for shooting at him when he had been preparing to pull the same trick on her? In that moment, he was glad, so glad, that she had fired on him, because she had saved him from becoming a murderer. Saved him from being what Peter was accusing him of. The two people he'd shot at would be fine. He could delude himself enough to manage some certainty, though he hadn't even seen the results of his shots.

Did Peter know? Did he get that this whole thing was meaningless, that they were all going to die and it wasn't even anyone's fault? That killing didn't even matter, not anymore?

Maybe he did, because he brought the blade down.

The pain shook Lucas out of his momentary serenity. He tried to scream, but couldn't. There was too much blood. Too much pain.

He blacked out, and soon even the darkness faded.

B135 - Lucas Lupradio: DECEASED
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Not an Easy Out · The Greens