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You hate kings and you think kings are really stupid. They are petty, bossy tyrants and are really full of themselves and are basically awful in every way.
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See, Jeremy was no stranger to death threats. Can't hardly count how many times he was in the middle of a joke and someone told him to just shut the fuck up or I will kill the shit out of you, can't hardly count how many times he was back in action, yakking away, maybe thirty seconds after hearing that. He was pretty zen about that kind of thing, pretty forgiving. Death threats weren't something to be feared, they were something to be expected. Fuck, even welcomed. They were a sign that things were operating as usual. You say you wanna kill Jeremy? Well daaaaamn, son, pull up a seat and you guys can work this out. Just keep your wits about you or you're gonna accidentally buy a 12-pack of Doritos.

The terrorists did not look like they would be buying any Doritos today.

Which was just as well, since Jeremy didn't have any. And guess what, assholes, you are not preferred clientele. So even if he were to magically receive a shipment out of the sky right now (which you would have to admit would be totally awesome if he did), they were gonna go to someone else. And the terrorists would each shed a single tear and Jeremy would not give a single fuck.

Okay, okay, maybe too zen about this right now. Maybe these terrorists and their death threats and their countdown... maybe they meant something. Maybe Garrett, telling him that he should get the fuck out of here right now (oh and by the way Garrett, Jeremy doesn't really mind the “do whatever the fuck you want, honestly” part, since he fully admits that you have no reason right now to think he's anything other than a useless asshole), meant something. Maybe, maybe, maybe, maybe...

Was it a dick move to just run off now? A dick move to Liz? Maybe, maybe, but maybe not. It was... okay. First off, an admission: Jeremy knows full well that anything he says here is gonna sound like pathetic attempts to rationalize saving his own ass. Second off: fuck that admission. You wanna disagree with any of Jeremy's points, go ahead. Just try it, and he will rhetorically kill the shit out of you.

See, staying here and trying to protect Liz wasn't gonna do shit. He couldn't take a terrorist and he couldn't even distract a terrorist. He just didn't have enough in his arsenal to even be an annoyance to a bunch of assholes with guns. He physically stands in the way, he gets shot or his head explodes. He tries to lead them astray, they refuse to give any fucks about him and just keep going after Liz. Nothing in his arsenal at all. So staying and delaying the terrorists was a great plan, provided his goal was to be a giant ostentatiously suicidal douche.

That wasn't really on the agenda.

Because fuck all that noise, he still had a miracle up his sleeve. And when someone gives you one of those, you don't look it in the mouth and you sure as fuck don't get yourself killed straight away. You don't, Jeremy, you don't, you just don't. You live on- yeah, yeah, just a few days more and then you're probably dead anyway, who gives a fuck- and you start to actually implement those four-dollar words you're promising. Miracle. Philanthropy. Nice-sounding shit like that.

You make those words happen, Jeremy Franco. You bring them to this godforsaken island and you burn them across the sky till everyone sees them, everyone thinks them, everyone believes them.

And until then, you run.

(Jeremy Franco continued elsewhere)
Jeremy Franco is alive. You can write a better ending, goddammit.

Charlie DuClare is dead. And nothing was easy anymore except to smile.
Julian Avery is dead. Courage was the man with a gun in his hand.
JJ Sturn is dead. Fuck it, all good things gotta come to an end.
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The Gully · The Tunnels