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Oh my god you guys The Riz killed Cara what do!?
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"Don't worry, I didn't kill anybody, but someone in here did."

Logan opened his eyes. The second he'd noticed how loud the shattering glass was, he'd screwed them up, a moment of cowardice overtaking him, not wanting to see his imminent death approaching, not wanting to see the shotgun-wielding psychopath turn to face him.

But apparently, luckily, against all odds and by the grace of God, Allah, or whoever the bloody hell else was watching over the damned students, Bill was no psychopath. He was definitely shotgun-wielding, though, that hadn't changed, and remained something for Logan to bear in mind. Crossing him took pride of place at the very bottom of his list of priorities. Funny how one rethinks their to-do list when there's a lot of buckshot involved.

"If you want to help me, go the other way and we can corner them. I've got no problem with you."

But Logan didn't want to help him though. He wanted to get as far away of this bad choice of destination as was humanly possible. He wanted to curl up in a pile of leaves and sleep until the sixth morning's announcements. That wasn't an option though, and it didn't take someone with a hobby-level interest in body-language to realise that Bill wasn't asking for help. He was politely demanding it. And hell, who was Logan to argue? He was the one without the shotgun, that's who.

"By the way, what's your name?"

Looked like the other boy had realised where they both stood as well. Well, it wouldn't be too hard for Logan to let Bill turn around, then bury the faintly-gleaming head of his hakapik in his skull, but that wasn't about to happen. As he'd worked out towards the end of his partnership with Daisuke, and in a situation not unlike the present one, Logan was no killer. The other boy was, or at least still believed he could be. What choice did the poor lanky young man have? He decided to answer, as concisely and honestly as was possible.

"Logan Reynolds, I... uh... yeah. I'm not going to help you kill someone, if that's what you mean... err, I mean, not actively at least, but if you're going to do it anyway, and they deserve it, I can help, I suppose?"

He realised he'd put his foot in his mouth. Uncharacteristic, but pretty easily traced to the mortality-based panic he'd just come out of. At least he'd said it quietly, whoever they were after probably couldn't hear. Probably. He took a deep breath, told himself to calm down, to think clearly, to stop going off on tangents and focus. Scatterbrained-ness didn't become him, and it wasn't a good habit to fall into when there were shotguns involved and murderers to hunt.

"I'll just..."

The just trailed off, he didn't want to talk much at all, didn't want to embarrass himself further, and didn't want to even appear the slightest bit blasé about any of this. Everyday death wasn't something he was planning on getting used to. Following that rather timid addition, Logan lowered his weapon, and started to creep off in the direction Bill had pointed him towards, using the long-handled tool to brush away any more glass that might be in his path.
Every time you fall asleep you die. Someone else wakes up in your body, thinking they're you.
You are alone and trapped in your own mind, the world around you is your lie.
Soon you will be nothing, you will never again hear sounds, never again see colours, never again be anyone.

Riley Moon appreciates that Action Needs an Audience, but it's hard not to watch. Hair Status: Bubblegum Pink
Parallel with: The Heavy Weapons Guy

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