"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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A small yelp escaped Maynard's lips, try as he might to repress it. They'd been almost like in a bubble over the three days they'd spent on the island, scarcely interacting with anybody. That was good in some respects, given how Maximillian Sawyer had killed Rebecca Everett the day before; he didn't want to think about what might've transpired if the trio had lingered at the campsite.

But here, now, was someone threatening to pop that bubble. Maynard couldn't tell exactly who it was from the one word they'd said, but he vaguely recognised the voice from History class. That could either be a good thing - like Juhan - or a very, very, very bad thing - like Theodore. As much as he wanted to believe, a voice at the back of his mind was quick to destroy any optimism he'd had left. If Joachim could kill, why not Juhan? Or Gwen for that matter?

No. Gwen would never do that.

He shook his head, trying not to let his thoughts wander off. He needed to stay in the moment, not lose himself to self-pity and fear. That was how they broke you.

He turned towards Natali, fingers creeping towards the curved handle that lay beside him. She looked utterly petrified, and Maynard could only respond to her whimpering with a blank face and the gyration of his lips as he struggled to echo the words of comfort she'd so easily given earlier. When they didn't come, all Maynard could do was bury his face in his shaking hands and pray that Adam was a capable enough fighter.
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Poor Unfortunate Souls · Roller Coaster