It was not uncommon for carnage sisters to wound people in order to draw out more prey. A wounded infinite could yell for minutes before bleeding out, and without a good doctor, they were as good as dead anyway. But not everyone can give up on the damned, and the carnage sisters know this. The cruelty of the nurses was frequently underestimated.
Even with the Davis's announcement, Jezebel continued to drag Zachary's body across the floor. Night of carnage wasn't over until the injured were treated. Zachary's wound was deep, and simply wrapping bandages over it wouldn't stop the bleeding. But she was not oblivious to anything that was going on. She could see Krista
“I hope you're happy.” Jezebel's voice was but a whisper.
“This is so on you.” Cyrus was there too of course, moving as fast as he could. He was pulling Krista along while carying Rika, but it looked like she might be dead.
“I hope you're happy, you can totally fit your tiny microphone inside her huge chello case now.” She wheezed between breaths, but she wasn't going to stop.
“I hope you're happy” This time she looked at Daimyon.
“I'm so glad to see your bravery has returned, barf bag.” Sweat was pouring off of her face. The makeup didn't breath very well, and Zachary was heavy for someone Jezebel's size.
“I hope you're happy.” This time she looked at Calvin.
“You thought you were so brave.” she looked at Alice.
“So strong.” She looked at Max.
“Gag me with a spoon, you thought if you had a plan, it would all work out. But you underestimated them, you sacrificed lives that didn't belong to you.” Jezebel's legs gave out and she fell onto her back. She hadn't noticed it while she was carrying him, but her glove was covered in Zachary's blood. Her entire body trembled. She'd been fighting and running all night, and she didn't have the strength to move Zachary another inch.
“Why?” She said between ragged breaths.
“Why won't any of you help me?” Alexandria tip toed over to Jezebel.
”Oh golly gee! Zappy looks a little under the weather.” She bent over to place a hand on the archer's chest.
”Oh, yea. He was in for the slow boop.” She nodded.
”It's one of those boops that goes so long, you almost think someone's just saying boo! You know? Like booooooooOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOoooooooo...P!” Jezebel tried to hang on, but Alexandria was able to easily wrench Zachary from Jezebel's clutches.
”We have a lot of cleaning up to do, so you guys should think about getting some sleep.” Jezebel tried to grab Alexandria's ankle, but she was too slow.
“Give him back!” Willow Had pulled Rika off of Cyrus's back, and was walking over to Aleecia to pick up her corpse as well.
”Well fought vagrants.” Willow leaned down to pick up Aleecia's body and slung it over her other shoulder.
”I do look forward to our next encounter. I hope your swordsmanship improves Calvin, my sisters won't always be so willing to lop off one of my arms.” With the two sisters carrying all the dead, they walked into a veil of pink smoke and disappeared.
By this point Jezebel was standing over Faith, who was still kneeling in front of where Aleecia's body was. She placed a hand on her shoulder, perhapse to sturdy herself. She still had very little strength left. But... she was wearing a smile. A dark shadow covered her face, but her eyes and mouth were lit up like a jack-o-lantern.
“I totally hope you're happy.” Jezebel's voice was louder now. Anyone in the vicinity could hear her.
“It wasn't quite like you imagined it would be was it? But then again it never is. It's totally what makes adventures exciting right?” She leaned in closer to Faith, but didn't quiet her voice at all.
“Why are you pretending to be sad? You know I was actually really happy when we got split up. It's kind of a bummer that you're here doing the same crap you did in the other game.” Jezebel stood up.
“I hope you're happy, I hope you're all happy. Because this was your idea.” She laughed like a hyena before walking towards the exit.
“I just want you guys to know that next time, I'm so going to make sure nobody participates. That's a promise.” Jezebel continued to wear that smile right out of the hospital. Everyone else slowly vacated the area, going to their rooms or the support team.
When Noel entered the first floor of the hospital, it was apparent that something had happened here. There was a crumpled IV pole from when Alexandria attempted to hit Ice, the molotov had left a scorch mark, and the robot horse laid in a heap of its own oil. But there was evidence of far more evidence of a struggle than that. There was a chain gun sitting in a crater on the floor, with its severed mount still on the ceiling. Rows of spikes had been bent over and weren't able to fully retract. There was also a flamethrower pointed at a scorched wall, but there was no evidence it ever hit anything. As Noel neared the reception desk, she saw evidence of a struggle; there were knife or sword marks everywhere. When Noel peeked inside, she could see Denis sitting with his legs folded. His back was slouched against the wall, and there was a shattered fluorescent light fixture in front of his body. When Noel moved in to get a closer look at him, she heard someone call out from the darkness.
“Hello, Pretty lady.” Normally Noel would’ve rolled her eyes at Denis’s quips. But this time, she was relieved the guy was alive, at least. Though she wondered if he was truly fine slumped like that. With the way the room was looking, she could only imagine what had been going on here. Could anyone use the traps besides monokuma? But he was with the rescue team, right? She moved in closer, leaning over him.
”Pro tip, don’t flirt when you aren’t looking presentable, it works counterproductive.” She responded, then looked him over.
”Are you alright, can you stand?” “Ah, I'm fine.” When Denis stood up, he wobbled around a bit before regaining his balance.
“I was getting rest.” He adjusted his vest, but was still using the wall to support himself.
“A blond lady appeared on the screens. She said she was going to kill me but...” he brushed his hair back.
“Denis 's cunning and good looks won the day.” There were some heavy footsteps coming around the corner.
“Oh, and he helped a lot too.” Denis pointed at the figure as they came into sight. It was Justiciar.
”Justice has been served.” Justiciar sheathed their strange blade.
”I had planned on fighting the carnage class chassis myself, but Monika is an unwholesome opponent when assisting the other sisters. I came here to shut her down.” Justiciar stepped closer to Noel.
”Davis's message was rather chilling. How did everyone else fair in the fight?” Noel recoiled at the sight of Justiciar. Wait, did Denis say it had helped them? That seemed to go against everything the person(?) had done before. She tried to relax slightly, but she stayed on her guard. Who knew what they were going to do next. She helped Denis up, but her eyes didn’t avert from what could still be a threat.
”Not to well. We have two confirmed dead, and I don’t believe everyone’s accounted for yet when I left. I came to check up on Denis...” Questions burned inside of Noel. This was her chance to question the mysterious entity. At the same time, she needed to stay cautious, especially if this was another patient. That meant that it could still kill them, unlike a carnage sister.
”So, am I to make up that you saved Denis?” Noel asked it.
”That’s… uhm… well thank you.” “No make up needed, just make out!” Denis chuckled.
“Sorry, just lightning the mood.” ”Two dead, I see...” Their voice trailed off.
”I did save him, but my main reason for being here was to disable the local internet connection. I trust that is why Davis announced the end of the night instead of Monokuma. I'm not sure such a trick will work in the future however. They have a way of learning from their mistakes. Regardless, I am sure there would have been many more casualties if Monica wasn't disabled. Champion Carnage sisters are not to be underestimated.” Denis placed a hand on his head.
“What are champions?” Justiciar's gaze shifted from Noel to Denis.
”Each carnage sister has one of three grades that determines their role in the killing games. Champions are more efficient killers, and are usually dispatched in special instances like tonight. However, each game usually has a champion to act as a leader for the other sisters. The strongest are empress class sisters. There are not many that I know of. Alice Parker is one of them, and arguably the strongest among them.” ”I see...” Noel said, pondering and, more importantly, ignoring Denis’s misplaced comments. So this likely wasn’t the first occasion additional carnage sisters had been unleashed on games. That was going to make the occurrence of the night of carnage a lot more harrowing. At any time, Davis could just drop these on them? That almost didn’t sound fair.
”Then who is the champion of this game? Willow?” She pondered out loud. The champions didn’t seem to have differed much from the regular ones, besides Monika.
”This game is a bit different.” Justiciar rested their hand on their sheathed blade.
”There are two champions. I suspect this is because of the large number of patients. Both Willow and Geina are champion sisters.” Justiciar turned around to look at the clock.
”I should not remain much longer. The two of you should rejoin the others. Some of them will undoubtedly need to be counseled after this.”Two champion carnage sisters? Well that wasn’t a nice surprise. Willow and Geina didn’t seem to be too different from Nariko and Alexandria. However, what did this mean for their carnage chassis? Honestly, Noel didn’t even want to know.
It was prudent for them to get back to the rest soon. There was probably much more work to be done. But there were two more questions on Noel’s mind. Well, many more really, but two most pressing.
”Why are you telling us this? I thought you were on their side?” She asked.
Justiciar continued to walk away, not even turning their head to give a reply.
”I am on the side that balances the scales... in favor of justice.”
He stared upwards briefly as his senses began to come back to him. Had he been asleep? And for just how long? Perhaps he had overslept? He felt really weak and dizzy. Was he alright? From what he could tell, he was lying on his back. He didn't feel a bed beneath him though. Had he gotten into a fight and lost? Did he still have his wallet? There was only one way to really make sure everything was okay, and it was not by staying on the ground. With more effort than he'd have liked, Zach managed standing up, albeit barely, and tried to recall events prior to waking up just now... but could remember nothing. It was all blank, aside from his own name. Yes, all he could remember was that his name was Zachary Ackerson.
But that was not exactly the biggest problem he had currently.
The area in which he existed was white. Up, down, left, right, backward, forward... No matter which direction he chose to cast his gaze, only a white abyss greeted his vision. Even recalling as little as he did, he knew something was amiss. What even was the place he found himself in? It made no sense. It was not as though he was blind. He could see his own hands, after all. But not even shadows existed here. It was like an untextured level in some unfinished video game if Zach could still yet give such an analogy. He felt an increasing unease the longer he tried to spot something, anything, other than himself or the white expanse. What did this all mean?
"You've met with a terrible fate, haven't you?" a deep voice asked from behind him.
Startled, Zachary turned around only to meet eyes with another being. A taller, barely older man with broad shoulders, fairly defined muscles, and, in contrast to Zach's expectations, a rather arrogant look on his face. Zach took a moment to collect himself mini leap he did before speaking.
"What do you mean?" he asked. He did not exactly like the ominous question the man asked him.
"Do you know what is going on here? Why is everything white?"Just to be sure, Zachary gave another glance in every direction. Nothing had changed with the appearance of this man. There was naught but an ever-expanding whiteness surrounding him. Yet the new individual did not seem disturbed at all. In response to the question, he scoffed.
"I'm am sure you'll remember soon enough. And even if you don't, you've always been quick to adapt to change, after all." Zach blinked. Did that mean this young man knew who he was? Now that he thought about it, he did feel some sense of familiarity with this young guy. Was he perhaps a friend?
"I.. am quick to adapt?" the archer repeated, confused as to what the man was talking about.
"I don't recall... I..." Ackerson kept trying and trying to bring up memories, but each attempt left a pain in his head in its wake and nothing to show for it. Yet, he knew something was there. It was on the tip of his tongue!
"Do you need a little push? I suppose, given circumstances, that's understandable." the man continued beaming a grin at Zach, who was struggling vainly not to show the absolute confusion he was still experiencing. It almost felt like they were in different worlds, and Zach was beginning to wish he could swap places.
"Here," the man began,
"Does the term "street rat" ring any bells, huh?" Zachary froze. Something was happening. Yes, he was remembering! That which was lost to him was now returning. But, what a strange choice of words to trigger it? Was there a meaning behind this? He had to know. Upon hearing the term, the world around them burst with colors and objects, sounds and smells, feelings and, of course, memories. In the distance, almost like an invisible projector was there, his earliest moments began playing. Zach watched them with fascination... at first. In mere seconds, as the memories played out, his expression turned to one of horror.
He was shown random clips of his early life, but even the moments skipped on the 'projector' returned to his memory. Vague memories as an infant were shown, a few birthdays too, and then, suddenly, everything went sour.
"Useless piece of shit!" his mother screamed at a ten-year-old Zach. She threw something at him and hit him square in the head. He would have to lie about the bruise the next day when he went to school. Unfortunately, school was no respite for him. The kids there treated him about as bad as kids their age could. They'd call him names, avoid playing with him, and tease and steal from him when he wasn't looking. Perhaps the teachers in his school were oblivious to this, which is why he never received any help.
At home, the process repeated again until, well, Zachary ran away. The final straw had been a few years later when his mother informed him of her true feelings towards her son.
"I'd be so much happier had you never been born!" she had said, meaning it. Even now, the context escaped him due to the sheer power such words had on him. The meaning was the only thing that mattered. He couldn't play it off as a joke. He couldn't pretend like he hadn't heard it. He couldn't lie to himself -- he was not welcome by his own mother, all for existing as fas as he was aware.
Zachary saw his early childhood. He recalled the emotions he felt then just as strongly as when he experienced them. Tears threatened to flood his cheeks, yet he could not look away. He hoped his memories would take a turn for the better. He hoped, but...
Being told what his mother had told him convinced Zachary to leave, even if he had nowhere to go. His father was never home, always away on business trips because that was the only way to sustain the family, given their poor economic situation. Even as a youngster, Zachary understood the gist of their situation at home. That's why he left. One less, unwanted mouth to feed. If his parents could be happier without him, then why stay there? Wouldn't that be a selfish thing to do? He wasn't very old and he wasn't very big, but he knew just enough to get by. His meals weren't a consistent part of his life when he ran away, and he somehow survived on scraps and luck for a couple of years.
"So..." Zach exhaled.
"...that was me..." These memories... they weren't making him feel any better than when he was clueless. Zach would actually prefer that, now. And this was just his childhood! If things... if things were going to continue to be like this, then maybe he'd be best off without them! Zach dropped to his knees.
"I... I don't like this! This sucks!" Something about the man had changed but Zachary wasn't sure what. He looked... maybe older? Weird. More importantly, however, was how angry he also now seemed, compared to before.
"Stand up!" he demanded.
"Shape up, boy! You're not done yet." and with this order, Zach found himself rising once again. It was an unconscious action because he was still devastated. And now, he was terrified. Does that mean there's even more to this horror movie that was his life?
This memory was the darkest, yet brightest moment in his life. It was a defining period in his life that made him the adult he was in the present. Even having not recalled it yet, Zachary was made aware of this the moment the 'projector' started playing. He clutched his chest in feeble preparation for the moments to come.
He remembered the rain pouring that day. It had been doing so the entire week. The young, runaway Zach was cold and shivering, constantly in a state of discomfort. What kind of life was this? It was horrible and meant nothing. He lived off what he could find, spoke to nobody, and could never trust that he'd live to see tomorrow. If someone stabbed and murdered him, would anybody even care? No, probably not. His mother obviously wouldn't.
He wondered... would his father?
Zach barely remembered his father's face back then. It was rare to see him back at home, after all. Sure, he smiled and occasionally played with him, but he was married to the woman who despised him. Perhaps that was all lip service?
As the rain hammered down and Zach wondered what fate had in store for him, he noticed some suspicious activity nearby. A couple of thug-like boys were causing a ruckus. Nothing particularly out of the norm. Thugs do cause a ruckus, but his guts told him that something was terribly wrong. He wasn't sure why he followed but chalked it up to those shows he used to watch the few times he was able to. The ones of heroes and good guys, the ones where people were happy, the ones... he really envied. Plus, sitting around and freezing his ass off simply wasn't the most appealing of ideas.
Trailing the thugs (there were two), Zach found that they were planning a mugging. How silly it felt at the time. Did people normally just speak about plans to mug people out in the open? Well, to be fair, Zach was in hiding. He knew the police were searching for him, presumably to arrest him for stealing. That said, he only ever stole! He never harmed anybody, so he was not all bad, right? At least better than these two, who were going to threaten people or injure them just to get some money! Yes, that had to be it. Hearing about such cruelty lit that hero spark in his heart, the one that had laid dormant for so long! How cool! How kind! How... foolish.
Without having an actual plan, Zach stalked the two until they attempted to make their move!
And then,
Z̸̲̹͎̺̣̹̙̗̹̬̤͗̎̄̍̚͜͜ȧ̴̢̛̛̝̘̦̮͎͚͇̙͌͋͒̈́͌̓̑̀̽͛̀̇͘̚̚̚̚͜͜ͅc̶͚̲̭̥̉̑̓̒̓̈̔͛̓̂͂͝ḩ̸̢̢̛̛̛̬̖̪̟̈́͊̌̽̎̔̓́̉͊̽̓̿̃̐͋͆͘̕͝ ̷̡͍͔̜̥̥̟͉̘͉͔̗̘̥̹̎̒͌̈́̔̔̃͒̊̑̐̈̌͘͠͝͠-̸̢̨̢̢̗̖͈͉͕̦̱̦̰̭̠̫̱̣̱̦͆̍͑͌͠-̸̛̮̘͐̃̈́͗̾̋͐̇̃͆͌̇͑̅̓̌́͊̎́̕͘͝-̵̯͙͍̥̬̱̿̅͒̑͜ͅ-̶̢̣͕̤̰̭͍͕̞̬̮̹̮̘͙̩̲̻̯̼̫̲̔̾̌̽̆̎̑̍̈̇͗̄̅͋̍͂̀̇̅͒̀̎̃-̶̧̧̟̜̙̭͔͇̲͚̥̭̼̜̝͑̃̃̊͑̀̆͑̐́̓͌̂͜͠͠͠͝ ̴̢͈̙͉̞̦͕̗͕͍̟͇̟̦͖͕̋͋̇̀͑̍̎͗͌̆͂͛͌̈̎̊̎̆̿͒͘̚͝s̵̹̮̜̞̝͎̰̩̑̀͑̂̓̃̒́̎̅̄͊̄̕͠õ̶̢̭̀̎̏͝m̷̡̨̛̜͙͓͔̫̼͎͍̣̯̗̯͖͔̺̂̍̊́̈́̓͊̃̅̉̇͒̏̐̚̚̚ȩ̸̠̥͙̞̜̞̳̜̲̩̥̜̳̦̜̘̥͇̦̦̓́̄̐͊̌̐̈͗͑̚͜͝͝ơ̵̡͙̣͇̳̙͓̞̦̫̺̙̭͙̭͓͇̳̙̫͍̬̄̓̿̂̂͐̍̓͂̔̂̃͠ͅn̵̡͕͓̉̓́̈́̈́̌̈́̿̈́̅̑̚͘̕e̴̡͈̯̬̰͌̍̒́̀̽̎̽͒̋̾͐̚̕͠͝.̶̧̹̜̤͓̲̗̰̟̳̻͔̞̫͍̯̄̈́̈́̐̓̀́͜͠ ̷̨̡̬̩̪͎͓͖̜̥̣͔͚̩͎͙̮̭͈̫͈͙̮͆͐̍̀̆̌́̿͆͠͠͝B̴̥̭̭͌̈́̀͑̐́̓̇͝ư̸͎̹̺̙̼̮͚͉̣͇̿͑́̋̄͑̏̿̈́̈́̒̌̈́̎͒͊̚͘͝͠ͅt̶̛̪͍͇͓͍̖̰̻͓̮̤̣̙͉̳̺̦̼̘̱̘̐̽́͋̅̃̒̈́̈̎̓ ̶̡̛̻͖̮̙̤̫͔̻͍̣̣͋̋͊͊͗͑͑̌̊̕ͅi̷̛͈̋̀͊̈̏̈́͌͋͂̆̀̉̓̉̀̄̚ţ̸̢͙̦̺͎̜̖̠̞̠̭̇̊̃́ͅ ̶̡̤͎͌͑̑w̵̲͚͔̗̞̠̯͎͔̦͓̜̩͉̯̽̿̉̄͐͋̎̈́̏͗͆̊̊͗͂̍͂̄̉̆̈̚͠a̷̧̖̬͓̣̭͆̃͒̄̉̑̔͆̀̅͛̈́̊̔̉̽̈́̀̎̈́͘͝͝s̵̨̧̲̦͓̤̥̥͍̝͓͇̐̈́̈́̄͐͜n̸̢̮̗͖̙̩̩̠̰̻͚̙̫̭͍͆̑͜'̵̧̛͙̼͉̝͙͕̺͆͗́͂̆̐̉͘̕̕͠t̸̩̫̙̙̬̱̰̫̄͌̅̓͆͑͒̆̏̆͜ ̸̧̨̡̡̠͉̻͚̥̳̣͎͎̳̺̮̯̐̈͂̆̐̒̽͌̈́̃̕ͅͅh̴̨̔̇́̈́͂i̷̫̍͑͂̉͗͛̊̌͒̽̄̚̚s̸̟̳͎̩̠̦̯͑̓̑̇̒̓̆͠ ̵̧̡̛̛̻͉̖̱͎̣̱̬̪͇̝̮͇̦̼͗͒͛̂̀͋͠ͅf̵̡̡̢̢̡̛̟̹͎̠̗̟͉̗͎̭̯͕̤͎̈́̊̓̽̀̌̑͌̄̆̀̄̊́͘̚͜͜͜͝͠a̶̧͈͚̼͎̖̩͍̼̮̻̫̙̣̅̈́̍͜ů̸̪͇͔̱̬̼̯͇͈̰̪͖͉̪̤̲̲̖͉̝̆͜͜͝ͅĺ̵͉̱̲͎͖̺̰͈̳͖̹̯̒ţ̴̢̛̛͈̤̱̺̳̫̩̎͋̒̎͋̆̒͒͝,̶̧͓͙͇̰̥̼̲̮̲̼̆̉̑͌́̃̍̆̓̾̚ ̷̢̢̡̛̦̳̤̪̖̠̹̮̹͇̹̗̪̏̃͗͒́̎́̎͆̾͜͠į̵̣̮̘͚̞̻̪̝͍̗̫̻̜̩̻͓̤͑̈́̏̇̌́̎́ṭ̶̡͎̝̪̻͍̞̳̖̜͍͚̱̜͎͌̿̌̓̌̔̉͊̏͌̋͂̕̚̚̚̕̚̕͜͜͜͝͝͝ ̷̛̩̜͇̟͈̠͓̱̟̣̙͙͚͊̐̀̑̏̿̔̌͌͂̓̈̈́w̶͕̼̍̅̾̀͘â̸̧͙͕̠̤̰̼͈̫̲̖̩̦̫̼̺̈́̉͗̍̅̀͘͝ͅͅͅͅs̵̢̡̪͓͉̤͈̩̜̝̖͓͔͇̰̽͛̀͜͝.̷̨͈̫̤͔̯̩͍̘͔̰̤̩͕͉̣͈̲͍͖̯̎̀̃̌̿̇͛͛̆͆͐͐̔͐́͒̃̉̃̏.̷̛̛̗̘̫̖̙̟̙̜̜͕̙̰͍̏̀̅̓͗̈́̓͛̀̓̀̀̏̒̏͗̀̀͘̕͝͝ͅ.̷̡̨̼̯͇̘͍̤̠͈̤̮̤̳͍̮̀̇͌̈́͆̓̔͒̕͝ ̴̧̬̺̲͚̅͗̋̈́̉̋̎͠ä̶̹̗́̀n̵̢̢̧̛̙̼͇͇̬̙̭̯͔̹̪̞̻̰̤̳̲͇͇̬͑̓̿̅̋͌̈́́̕͠͠͠ͅ ̶̡̡͖̺͚͍͍͈̼̽̅̈́̈̊̎͂͐́͗͗̋̈́̎̒̕̕͜͝͝͠͠ͅą̵̹̻̮̠͕̪̠͔̤̙̬̥̓̄͊̒͛̈́̓̐́̽̔͂̐͛͒̉͘͘͝c̸̨̨̛̛̫͕̩̲̮̹̹̝̹͚͎͎̟͔̬̭̰̳͗̃̌̾͗͆̈̓͛̈́̾̐́̎͂̋̈͝c̶̩̉̊į̷̧̛̛̺͔̲̹͉͇̻̹̩̭̪̖̫͍͎͈̮̲̙̭̖̏̆̃̿̀͗͝͝d̵̢̛̙̺̘̈͌͐̽͌̂͗͌̊̀̈́̀̑͋̒̂́ë̵̡̡̛̱̗̤͚̙̙͈̞̪̥͍̩̤̜͎͖͓̩̱̦̟́̀̾͂̂͒̆͗͠͝͝͠ń̴̡̨̛̛̻͍͙͈̤̟̠̻͍̣͇̙̌̽͑̄̽̔̐͆͑̆̂̅̋͑͘̚͝t̴̗͓̻̖̪̟̦̏̔͛̌͋͗͒̆̓͛̕͝ͅ.̶̧̭̱̱̩̭̯͎̻͖͖̤̖̣̘̫̂̈͑̄̓̽͆̊̄̕͠ͅ ̵̢̢̺̳͈͓͙̙̟͈̠̥̪̬̖̺̻͉̻̞̙͛͜N̶̡̢̢͖̼̮͈͉̯̼͕̱̻͙̬̖̰̺̤̎́͗̈́̇͛̌̌̏̆̍͌͜͝ͅo̵̡̧̢̯̞̱̭͔͍̝̪͓̦̫̹̰̩̰̪̜̼̘̤͊́̅͊͝ͅ,̴̨̳̗̣̘̼̩̦̺̥͈̱͙̘͍͚͙̓͌̎́͋̊̀̋ ̸̡̛̥͇̪̰̲͎̰͔̾͆̋́̿͌͌̾̄̈̾̊͌̀̓̐͝͠ḩ̶̳͇̮̮̲̣͇͇͂̌ě̸̡͔̜̪͓͓͍̞̂͑͆̓̈̏ ̸̤͙̈́̂̀̽c̴̨̨̱̫̮͈̠͍̖̗͔̲͎̤̺̤̫͚̻̘̗͔̰̀́͜ǒ̵̢̬̹̻̲͇̲̩͉̫̠̬͖̤̻́̿̿̔͐͋̕̕̕u̸̯̥̼͖͆̋͐̋̏́́̅̅̎̈́̃͆̂͊̚l̶̢̍͗͊́̋d̶̡̨̡͚͍͕̬̝͍̱̪̓̆͋̈́͐̂̓̀̽̽͒̉̌͊̕͘͠ͅͅn̵̢̢̨̢̺̠͚͙̻͔̗̘̰͇̜̪͉̩̳̾̿̾̄̂̈́̂̀̿͗̓̏̀͒̎̕͘̕͜͠͝ͅ'̸̡͇̜̼̰̭̤͙̹̺͙͕̱͆͛̂́ţ̴̛͍̭̥̻̫͎́̿̾̋͑̐̄̀̂̑̅̑̚͜͝ ̶̝̐̄́̇̀̃̐̂͊̏̊d̴͉̲̲̟͔̳̩̼͍͖̬͚͇̜̒̑̌̓͐͒̊̑͛ò̵̠̜͇̭̥̰̠̮̽͐́̂͗̋̾̓̓̄̏͋̀̅̂̏̀̽͘̕̕͝ ̷̝̫̫̻̬͎̻̟̘̓̂̈́̓̇͆̾̋͊͛̀̋̀͒̈́̎̍̕͝͝ţ̵͙̠̺̙̐̿̂h̸̛̛͔̳̠̣̭͈̼̱̺̦̼̩̜̭̱͇̦̲̥̗͛̆͂̐̓͊̾̏̂̔́̓́͒̓͘͝ͅa̵̧̧̧̯̜̲̩̤̰̫̗̥̳̪̬̰̪̦̤͗́͌̎̐̀́̈̂̇̓͒̓̽̀̅̊͒̈͘͜͝t̶̡̤̮͖͚̙͖͉̅̋̔̀̎̐̉̈́͜!̶̡̨̛̛͉̲̥͈̭̰̠̞̓̓̌͌̽͋͗̒̿́̐̏̀̋̽͌̈́̽̚͜ͅ ̴̨̗͍̬̗͔͈̮̣̣͈̻͔̤͙͖͎̮̫͕̱̳̬̈͑͂́̅͐̀̒̈́̑͆͘N̸̥͙̗̣̼͍͇̿̓̈́̐̀͋̍̈́̂͛̀͛̆̇̇̚͘̕̚͠͝͝o̷̡̦̹̯̼̗̪̖͚̹̫͐̎̒̓͊͂̇͜͝͝ͅ ̴̨̢͓̪͊̊̏̀͒̒͌̀̾̒͊͐̉̌̓̅͂̐̕̚͝͝n̵̨͙̪̹͇̤̆̓̅̆͆̽ớ̷̢̰̪̥͎̝̆̕ ̸͑̂̓̈̉̉̈́̿͋̈́̀̂͛̎̄̏̒̂͂̕͝͝͝ͅn̶͇͈͖͈͕̪͉̓̏̆̌̽̂̂̍͗̌̐͘͠͝ơ̸̤̬̽̿̋̎̔͑̊̀̊́͂͑̀̒͂͝͝ ̴̨̙̪̱̫̣͙̤̣̹̙͋̿̓͊̓̌̇́̕̚̕͠ņ̷̛̬͕̹̝̤̹͉̞̮̥͖̲͇̞͈̗̖̮̜̈͗͊͒͆̌̒͐̐̈̅̏̈́͒͑̀̾̋͊͜͝͝ͅǫ̴̛̪͇̪̥̮̦̺̫̤̯͉̗̳͌̓̈́͑̽͂͜ͅn̵̢͙͚̙̭͔̉̓͋̈́̀̽͑͑̐̎̒̋́͘̕͝ ̷̛̘̹̈́̐̑̿̓̋͗͊́͒̽͗͗̀͘̚͠͝ọ̸̟͖̠̘͗͒͐̐́͊͆̑͛n̵̡̢̧̨̛̗̫͕͓̤̗͕̘͚̩̬̰̰̒͌͋̏̾̈̐̍̍͒̈́͊ǫ̶̛͉̞͙̻̫̽͒̃͐̿̇̆́̆͛̄̈́ň̵̜̹̝͙̦̬̝̜̼͕͂̈́̒̈́̍͊͐ớ̴̡̟̞͎̭̭͈̮̯͈̅̄̓̈́̍̉̈́͒͒̈̓͆́̈́͂̿̄͒͋͜n̴̨̧̡̘̱̳̝̗̙̩͕͙͇̠̆̊̕ͅò̵̜̜̼̪̤̘͈̲̭̝̩͓̠͓̝̲̠̮͖̮̅ͅͅn̷̥̮̟̩̦̥̟̯̱͖̟̿̾̿̀̍̂̍̾͜o̵̧̨̡̠̺̠̮̠͚̫̦͙̘̊̿͆̒͂̎̆n̶̢̟̜̬͉͕͇̺̝̔͂͂ͅơ̴̡̧̧̛̭̻̻̻̥͉͚͎̜̲̬̖̮̞̔̉͆̎̇̽́̅̎͛͐̽͛̈́̀͝n̵̡̢̡̘̘͓̩̳̳̰̱̟͙͙̪͖̒̇̍̍̕͠ờ̵̛̦͎͙̪̲͓́̀̐̐̐͂̎̾̀̀̌͝͝n̷̗͒̎͋̀́̎̃̑́͑̿̆͂̋̕͝͠͝ǫ̶̨̨͉̳͚̗̮͔̠̼̠̹͙̩̓̔̉͑̀̓͒͒̽̉̔̆̾̚͠͠-̸̧̢̛͙̲̳͉͓̣̝̤͈̰̱̤̰̥̼͒̂̈́̽̊̋̇̆̀͌͐̀͆̊̈́̈́̕͜͝͝͝-̸̢̛͖͍̟̟̻͙̩̮̫̥̫͚͎̦̥͓̩͎͔͙̃̓̔̈́̽̾̈́̎̀̿̿̄̍͠-̷̨̛̤̰̬̆͐̎̾̿͗̓̌̍͘-̷̧̨̨͕͚̞̥̲͚͚̙̤͖̳͔̖̳̦̩̯̟̙̦͊-̸̨̣̲̙̞̩̘̬̦̮̣̪͖̽̈́͗͒̈̍̔̊̐̆̌̕-̵͔̱̹̞̕-̶̧̨̛̠̘̥̭̓̑͂̅͑͘̚ͅ-̴̧͇̱͕̫̘̻͙͇͙̮̺͎̙̙͉͉͚͖̰͇̞̟̒͗̐͆̂̉̀͋͜͝-̵͈͕̫̖̀̔͛-̸̢̛̟̻̺̖̪͉̼̫̯̖͂̃̀̈́̓̋̔̀̃̃̿̀̉͐͐̈́̐͗͘͜͠ͅ-̶̘̣̳̭̫͇͓͍̼̏̄̓̽͛͛͛-̸̧͖͈̬̗̑̂̐̈́̌̐̄̈͘-̸̧̹̖͙̰̹̞̥͓̘̠̹̗̣͙̹̙͇͕͒́̈́̃̑̃̽̓́̃̌͘͘͠͝-̸̡͉͎̜̽-̵̡̘͉̘̼͍̯̘̜͈̮̞͙̿̌̋͐͊͋͌͋̔͘-̷̧̨̨̢̘̼̭͔̜̜̠̼̪͈̠̯͇̪͈͖̉͛͠-̷̨̡͕̻̜̰̫̦̹̼̤̘̙͒̽̋͒͋̂́̔͂͂͒̇̽̓͗̅͌̑͛͘͘͝-̵̨̛̠͓͙͚̳̖̟̜͎̫̭̖̺̈́̓̿̑ͅͅ-̴͕̞̩̬͓͇̩͙̀́̈͗̆͋̐̄̽̓̎̋̀̏̈́̾̃̅͝-̷̡̢̡̥̺̱͕͎̘̜͇̻̩̫͓̝͓̣̼̤̄̈͛̃̊͛́͐͂̃͜ͅ-̴̨̢̛̛̟͉̼̞̼͎̫͓͚͇̤̊̎̒̊̃̒̊̓̋͒̓̈́͗̒̆̓̚͘̕͜͜͠͝͝-̸̢̭̮̙͙̪̣͈͕͕͓͚̙̏̿̈́̄͗̽̑̽̈́͒̈́̓̈́͂͊̇͗̚͘̕͝-̸̡̨̮̺̘͇̘̭͑-̷̜̻̥̠̲̬̺͚͕̤͉̖̻̯̰̺̰̈́̒̂̀͜͜-̸̡̢̟̹̠̯̙͇̗̰͍͙͌́̌̏̊̓̈͋͘ͅ-̷̢͈̣͙̦̭̺͈͕̞͙̻̲̥̤͇̫́̿̌̔͗͝-̴̧̝͎̩̞̫̥̬͇̮̺͍͔̣͎̰̭̱̮̮̮̼̏͂͐͛͂̀͊̓̃͘͝-̵̡̢͖̝̳͎̺͈̙͕̫͖͍̟͎̬̻̜̗̍̓̈́̌̄̐̏̓͑́̽̓-̶̧̣͔̯̱̪͓̈͌̊̈́̏͋̃̓̾̆̃̿̃̓͝͠ͅ-̶̤̠͇͈̳̩̫̮̩͖̜͕̹̝̟̪̱͙̞̘̖̙͐̿̊̽̀͋̀̉͛̈́͠-̸̢̝͖͕̺̳̘̗̜̮̩͙͖̜̥̹̹̋̃̈́̊-̵̧̛̭̻͎̥̳͓͇͂̓̌̆͑͝-̵̝̼̤̫͚̣͍̩̯̳̟̞̜͓͔̩̘͙̤͐͆́͋͂̎̈́̀-̴̡̡̦͇̻̱͍̺͍͉̫̳͎̹̬͚̣͇͍̘̤͓́́̾͋͑͊̏̀̉̚͜ͅ-̷̟̜̮̹̺̖̹͔̦̱̝͇͂̾̅̎̒͘-̵̢̧̛͚͇̰̭̦̲̩̼̏͌̃̏̏̓̓̇̆̓̓̿̄̚̕͝͠-̸̨̛̛͖̂̓̔̊͛͑͆̃̀̑̚͘͝-̵̨̧͓̙̹͇͚͓̣͈̹̗̥̜̹̺̔͊͒̎̾̔̃̎̃́̒͐̈́́̊̓̆̚͝͠͝͠͠ͅ-̴̢̛̛̪̹̞̼̰̯͚͇͓̟͊̔̔͌̆͋̈́̇͆͑̎̐̓͌̋̕͘̕͜͝-̷̡̢̱̹̳͚̺͇̦͖͔̱͈͍̻̲̪̝̻̹͓̭͗̚-̵̡̢͔̥̫͓͇̞̭̼̣͔̠̳̟̫͚͖̞͛̑̀̎́̔̉̌̅̾̆͂̔͠͝-̷̧̼͓̞̲̙͍̘͖̙͌͌̍̌̈́͛͊̏̐́̿̽̇̀̈́̒ͅ-̸̧̘̙͔͍̲̭͇̩̼̫͎͙̀̑́-̴̡̣̳͉̝͈̮̭̰͎̮͚̥̗͗̇͊̾́͗̏̕-̴̢̭̝̯͉̮̲̣̩̫͐̓́̃-̴̨̛̤̦͎̹̥̬̳͈̠̱͕̞͎̪͉̘̒̽͒̿̿̈́͂͐͑-̵̡̧̡͕̳͇͇̜̘̭̤̞̳̖̤̻̙̳͙͔̩̻̼͖͛̓͗͐̒̎̚͘͠-̶̢̦̭̻̼̦̜̝̞͗̑͐̀̎̄̒̍̇͌̓̽̋̋̾̈́̌͂͛͒̕-̵̡̢̰͔̯̜͚̺̓̃̓̐̇̊̌̈́̐́͒͐͑̄͐̕͝͝͝-̸̧̨͎͍̥̹̟̠͔̼̺͇̘̭̬̑̊̌̋̒̅̈́͋̉̃̈͛̅̔-̵̧̼̻̤̻̟̝̥̣͇̺̩̻͔͙̻̲̞̣̦̱͆̑̃̿͌͒̇̅͋̏͐̑̅͆͂̍̍̋͐̏̊͝ͅ ̴̛̲͖̮̼͈̬͉̆͊̓̋́̂͂͜ǎ̸̡̖͓̳̱̬̓̉͘͜n̷͙̗̹̦̉̔̀̇̋̈͒͆͋̂̃̂͒̾̎̈́͂̚̕͝d̸̟͍͉̘̘̦̼̜̤͉͍̞̠̽͌͗͒̀̒̉̈́̏̇̏̄̏̐̈́̏̓̽̾̚̚̕͝͝ ̵̡̨̧̰̫͓͍̹͚̝̼̰̪͇̣͉͉̉̓̌̏͌̑͆͘͝͠t̸̡̡̢̛̛͈͇͙͇̬̖̦͈̝̠̥̒̓͛̃̍͌͜͜͝h̶̤̘͎̩͎͉̳̲̤͚͍̟̼̲̹̘͊͒͛̈́͊͒̐̏̑͊̐̇̉̈͠͝ͅe̵̡̨̧̩̜̺̞̘̜̤̤̪̞͓̙͐̀͝n̶̡̢̝͎̖͕̲̠̣͍̤͖̻̲̹̠̹̤͙͇̯̈͜ ̵͖̒̿̋h̶̪̖̬͖͕̼͖̟̮̊̊̌̿̓͛̎̌̕̕̚͝͝͝ͅę̸̧͈̯̘̪͚̠̝̅̓̂͗̑̈͊͐ ̵̧͔͋̌̐̈́͌̍͛͆̈̾̽͊̈́̇́̐̅̂͝w̷̛̭͓̑͌̔̈͒̈́̅͒̾́̒̈̆͑̔̏̊ả̷̡̟͙͓̮̳̹͕̲̹̼͐̕š̸̛͚̭̮̞̲͎̲̪̗͔̙͗́̓̆̓͑͘ͅ ̵̡̡̧̣̦̥͎̝̱̺̪̦̺̇̋̾̓̒̂̈́̽̓͒͛͋̽̃̈́͘͘̕͠͝s̵̛̲̘̗̠̟̠̲̍̉̐͒̒̓̆̓̉́̀͊̋̍͆̂̓̽̚̚͠͠a̴̛̛̦̩͈̟͇̟̭̫̟̰̔͑͐͛͐̏̈̍͊̔̇͋̈́̂́͆͝v̷̨̨̨̛͙͓̖͖̗̾̋͗̽͑̈̕ȩ̴̧̩̳͔̳̖̣̥̙͙̦̼͌̀̄̄̌̿́͌̄͛̅́͑̈̌̋͘͝d̸̡̢̲̫̩̹̬͕͇̞́͐̎̈̉̑͗́̏̍͐͛̅̔̅̊̈́̅͘ ̵̨̧̦͔̤̫̺̻̥͍̝͙̩͇̹̝̳̙͉̝̖̘͗̄̀ͅb̴̪̠̫̣̻͈͆̆͑́̐̓̌̚ͅỵ̴̢̺̰̒͝͠͠͝ ̸̧̡̱̜̭̬̠̞̝͓͙̞̫͓̬̯͖͑̀̅̆̍̑̆̅̅̆̄̉̂̈͒̊͐͋͐̕͘͘͝-̶̢̺̀͊-̸̫̱̎͆̊͒̏̃̈́̋͐̔̇̃͐̅̊̈͋͌͆̆̔̐-̸̡̛̙͕͔͖̫̖͉͔̲̉̀̌͂̅̆̃͊̈́̎͑̓̀͜-̷̧̧̡̲̪͉͔̺̠̝͙̑̔̅́͋̅̈́̐̿́͝-̴̢̭̹͎̘̗͇̇͑̌̄̍̓̋͗̽͒͜͝͠-̴̢̡̞̮͈̙̤̹̩̯̝͆͌͝-̸̧̛̛̣̣̘͇̄̎̉͑̈́̀̎̋͂̀̇̂͌̑͊̋̂̕͜͝͝-̴̨̡̢̢̝͉̺͙͓̲̦̠̩̝͈̠̻̭̼̬͊̋̈̀͌̌̀̇̐͗̀̑̑͗̆̌̍͛͜͠ͅ-̷̡̨̝̼̳̥̥̮̖̲̪͕͓͚̟̟̩̪͉̖͓̉̀ͅͅ-̶̡͚͖̟͍̌̔̓̈̓̀̈̓́̒̈̿͆̐͛̅͠-̷̢̼̪͉̯͈̙͕̦͖̙̬̮̲̙̗̙͒̓͑̈́͝ͅͅ-̷̦̰͉̞̞̞̱̬͈̰̠͖̜̜̓̾-̴̨̨̛̞̣̜̖̗̬͚̘͎̫͖̝̬̪͈̩͓̤͍̪̈̉̓̏̉͘-̷̨̛̰̩̩̦̪͎̝̖̬̰̈͌̓̿͂̄́̍̒̅̉͆̈́-̵̯̩̘̰̪̹̠̍̅̕͜ ̷̛̝͉̪̮͎̻̭͚͑̓̿̾̒͜͜͝ṫ̸̢̡̛͙̯̝̥͔̟͎̞̙̳̪͕̲̙̙̝̩͓͋͛̉̇͆̏̓̍̊̏̕͝ͅḩ̷͓̥͇͚̬̼̎̽̉̂̈̈̐̑͐̏̋͋́̂̅̑̅͊̋̈͋͒ǒ̷̢͇̹̱͇̪͕̠̳͔̦͈̣͚͔̝̍̀̓͜ǔ̶̢̥̲̥̼̠̯̹͖̟̻̜̝̮͍̜̲̣̣͇͓̥̓̈̋́͋̈́̔͌̒̅͐́͆̂̀͊̋̌̚̕͝g̶̨̡̡̬̫͉̜̤̺̭̹̹̼͖̦͖̺̤̗̥͖̲̮̈͐̽̈̊̃̃̀̾̇̑̕͘͘͝ͅh̵͙͇̼̖́̎̓̈̈́̓̉̒̈́͑͛̃̈͑̿̆͋͛͗̏͘͠ ̶̧̲̲̣̮͓̯̞̘̱͓̗̈́̍͌̄̾̈́̉̄̃͑̒̈́̾̚͝ͅḩ̶͚̭̞̲͔̼̟̬̮̗̟̻̣͚̆̐̈́͒͋̎͠è̷̡̦̭̪̦͉͇̹̼̬̖̫̣͕̳̺̹̥̹͓̏̄͜ ̶̧̗͔̝͖̏͂̈́͆͑͐͌͗̾̽͑̚̕ċ̸̨̯̱̥̱̮̯̤̹͖̟͎̙̥͖̺͎͓̺̪̬̩̤͂̂͆͒̌̄̌̊͋́̄͋̓̓̓̿͋̾͝͠ǫ̴̜̼̘̻͚͇̻̹̜̜̗̗̹̘̼̩̰̫̮̩͐̿͒̏̇̎͊̍̓̏͐́͑͆̓̉̇͛͒͝u̸̢̠̞̝̤̒̎͗͆̈́͆͗́̓̊l̴̘̹͖̠͔̯̼̥̥͉̀̕ḑ̶̗͔̩̘̯̺̹̹͖͓̹͉͖̙̤̟̆ ̴̛̛̤̆̌̓̍̒̊̈̕ņ̶̢̧̨̖͕̟͇̭̦͓̟̝͕̙̩̯̝͖̭͊͊͊͋̃͑͌́̀̇̾̈̉̾́̕̚͝e̸̢͇̳̰̟̥̰͕̜̘͓͌́͑̊͘v̴̛̙̠̹͚̖͈͙͍͇͋̑̃́̃̄͒̋̈́͝e̷̡̢̛͉̙̺̣̘̱͇̗̗͖̬̔͛͘ͅr̷̨̡̧̯͍̺̖̤̜̈́̾̔̽̋̅͆́̈̈́̽͆͘͠͝ͅ ̸̨̛̛͖̣̙̉͊̈́͒͊̏̋͋̉̎̂̅͝ǵ̸̢̭̠̗̟̰̙̙̭͉̦ę̷̧̡̛̙͖͕̣̬͇̼̮͈͔͇͔̜̜͔̯̀̌̇̑͒͋̇͒̅̄͋̅͐̅̊͜͜͠t̵̘͈̯̐͋̌̕ ̷̢̧͉̳̦̗̭̝̫̪̘̪͍̱̈́̔̿̀͛́̈́̓̓͝ǫ̵̡̛͉̫̯͉̳̲͎͓̼͈̪̗͍͓͙̫̪͊͆͋͐̎̕͠͠v̷̡̱͇̞̩̪̪̯̺̼̬͔̺̞͂͑͊͋͗͌͂͑̽̐̄͊͋̏͝͝ę̶͚͚͓̲̹̜̲̲̮͉͎̖̪̫͇̱̲͗̓́͊̒̔̈́̎͛͗͊̂̈́̄̚͜͜͝͝ͅr̸̡̛̥̋͐̅̃̓̈́͋͘͝͠ͅͅ ̶̝̼̪̖̹͇̦̯̻̝̺̬͈̒̉̈́̎̐͋̈̏̏͌̈́́̑̿́̒̔̏͝t̶̡̝͖͎͉͇̣̗̣͈͖̹̠̗̝̬͈̥̟͇̻̹̞̎̄͛̽̿͊͋͐͋̍̈́͠ḥ̶̣̖͉̖̼͚̝̙̥̙͔͔͆̋̔͆̀͆͋̍̑̐̂͘͜͝͠͠͝ẻ̵̡͍̰̙̦͈ͅ ̴̡̨̛̞̩̖̝͓̘̳͉̳̝̺̩̘̖̊̈́͆́̐̑̆͗͊̽̐̊̾̈́͒̂̋͘͜͠f̸̨̹̤̪̺̰̳̜̭͓̜̜͎̳̪̦̝͇̯̭̹͇̲̈͑̓̐̃̂̄̽̀̐́̓́̒͜͝͝͝ą̶̨̛̫͓̯̟͍̠̼̤̼͈͔̱̖̇̐̏̂̀̎̊͂̂̑̀̔̀̏͗̾̍͜͠͝͠c̵̡̲̠̯̤̹̬͇̪̞̖̝̞̝̝͖̠͆͋̑͊̆̚t̶̨̗̼͙̗͉̼̟̭̺̭͖͈̠̰̑͐͛̈́̄͂̄͊͑̄̊̓͘͝ ̴̥͚̜͕̫͙͍̙̻̩͗̓̐̐̃͛͗̇̀̈͂̈͂̏̕͜t̴̛͉͓͖͇̦̦͈̫̘͑̔̏̆̈́͑̓̈́̉̑͑̕͘͜͝ͅh̷̼͔̼͔̀͂̊̈́͆̇̈̎̇͂̓́̏̓̾̈́̊͑̀͘a̴̢̢̠̪̯̗̜͈͍̠͇͈̝͍̝̪̰̜͗̎̅̈̂̿́̎́̈͂̾̑̾́͘̕͜͜͝͝͝t̸̲̗̙̲͎̤̬̼̤̱̳͈͍̩̖̜̪͊̏̈́͆̀͐̀̔͋̈́̆̍̐̎̾͋̀͗͝ ̶̨̧̨̥͉̟͓̳͇͎̺̲͓̫͇̙̯͔̫̽̆̎̔͑͊̽̊̓̍̒̓̀̆̕͠͠͝͝-̸̡̡͇̼̙͉̜̜̼͙̝̫̤̝͕̮̰̭̩̮͎̹̥̑̆͜-̴̧̡̛̛͖̦̯͉̖͉͚͉̲̰͍̬͎͓̪͍͆̂̀̃̉̄̐̓̍̔̽͂̚͝ͅ-̸̡̛̗̥̭͎̫̃͊-̸̧͔͚̩͙̞̯̩́͑̋̈́͌͗͗̑̒́̒̈̒͛̈̾͜-̸̨̧̹̮̻̩̝̭͌̃͆̀̒̋̉̍́̓̐̕-̴͇͔̠̘̻̖͔̬̹̤͖͌͐̏͛̂̒̅̌̋͋̄̈́͂̏̈͜͝-̵̡̨̡̜̥̲͓̰̘̼͖͚̖̰̠̳̦̟͐͑͋̈̍͋̈́̈́̔̚-̵̛̖͔̹̼͎̭̪̑̆̊̓̈̆̅̃̾̌͛̉̀̀̇̚͘̕͘͝ͅ-̷̙̣̰̊̄̈̄͗̄̓͐̑͑̀͐͑̅̆̒̓̿̑͘̕͠-̸̨̧̨̪͈̞̙̙͊̃̈́̓̐̊̊͐͐̍̈́͜-̷̢̧̯̣͇͉͇͎̟̭͉̠̞͕̗̪̥̟̂̒̌̉̋̽͘͜͜͝ͅ-̷̢̫͇̪̤̼̻̙̱̯̼͈̬̰͕͗̀̓̈́̽͛̀̈͑̀͗̿͐-̵͙̪͇͎̺̭̹͎̫̝͖̮̦͕̯̳̬͕̘̭̀͗̒̒̽̅̾͛̃͛͌̀́͑̏͝-̵̧̛̛͇͍̏̏̋̈̓̈́͗͑̎̽̇̉̈̎́̆̑̎͝-̶̢̨̪̻̹̙̟̻̝̠͍̤̟̲͎̈́̓̆͑͛̿̓̀-̶̡̢̧͕̞̲̻̥̯̤̞̙̝͉͕̯̗͑̈́̌͑̋͛̈́̍̄͆̇͘͝-̶͚̹̠̝̟͚̥͈̒̀͠-̸̟̺̊̽͛̓̍͠ͅ-̶̡̧͍̪̣̣̗͎̥̥̙̄̀̈́̅͗́̈́̎̒̒͗̌̚͝ͅ-̵̧̻̙͓̖̙͔̭̘̗̏̅̽͒́͆̑͆̌̈̎͌-̴̛̛̣͓̟̰̩́͑̈́͛́͂̓͗̀̆̂̀̍͆̃͛͆ͅ-̸̧͖̖̼̰̬̙̳̯͖̜̪͇͔̯̤̠͍̳̗͓̖̰̑̉̌͗̍̈́́́͂́̑̌̍͑͊͆̚͜͝-̴̢̡̨͉̰̞̤͕͇̣̜̺͋͒́͛͒͐̒̿͒̽̌̓͛̂̃̅̇̒̈́̀̐̍̚͘ͅ ̵̧͍̯̱̣͚͙̓̾̾̑̂̀͋̿̄̀̽͐͊͂͌͐̍͒̇̍͘̕̕H̴̛̫̦̠͒̃̽͛̇͒̒͗ȅ̸̡̧̡̻͓̫͓̹̳̣͍͈͈̙̺̞͍̻̲̦̰͇̑͐̅̈́͒̀́̈́͛̉͊̽͌́̇̅̿̒̕͝͝͝͝ ̴̰̅̇̔̅́̃̇̀̈́͂̋͌́͝c̴̨͚͍͇͙͍̰͍̰̻̥̺̬̜̥̀̎̏͌̉̆̆̌͂̀͑̕̚͜͝o̷͍̪͍̪̲̪̯͍̺̱̗͇̘̮̣̽̈́̎̔̎̉̀̑̈́́̂̈́͂͒̕̚͜͠͠͝ṷ̸̻̃́̔̽͒͑͂̓͐̽̀̆̎͐̈́̽͛̋̊̌̑̚͠l̶̰̟͙̪͖̗̰̲̎͊́͊̽͑̋ͅd̸̟͖͛̒̃͒̾̏͛̈̔͒̏͆̓̉̎̾̚̚͠ņ̶̰̖̯͚̬̜̦͍̠͖̖̖͖͉̟̬̪̙͇͐̐̓̈̈̍̅̀͒͗̓̏̅͒͂̃̚̚͜'̵̨̧̢̛̻͇̪̱̩̦͔͇̖̮̺̗̥͓̥̥̣̬̟̤̻̐̉͛̈́̔̀͑͠ṱ̵̢͔͙̾̓̎̆͂͂̆̋͗̒͆̈̋̓̉͑̐̆̓̾̾͌̇͘ ̸̡̨̛̛̝͇̙̰͙͚̤̪̣̠͔͉͖͚̙̟̾̔͊̽̉͒̾̀͗̉̾̀̈̆̄̈́͂̅̕͝͝͝-̴̜̺̹̟͉͖̲̱̗͔̩̥̏̈́̈͐̈̓̇́̑͂̂̔̐͂͘͜͝-̷̤͙̙̺̩̫͇̭̯̓̌̃̋̎̚-̸̨̮̱̮͕̜̤̖̲͍̖̼͇̭͉̯̪̮̓̋̏̊̐͆̅̅̄̅̇̚͘͜-̸̻̊͐̅͗̓̇̀̈́̃̌̓̿͆-̶̧̧͈̝͈͓͙̻͖̯̦̟̗̣̻̺͖̖̉̈́̈́̎̀͂̀̔̉͂̽̔̈́̓̾͂̀̂̀̚͝͠͠-̴̡̛̜̜͍͙̼͇̬̲̹͍̞͈̘̿̾͗̂̽̾̕͜-̷͎̳͊̋̈-̸̨̺̟̼̮̞̦̙̰̖̦̘͚̙͓̱͖̰̹̞̯̱͔̔̋͋̈͌̇͐̀͆͐͐̇̎̽̌̂͐̚̕͝-̴̼̼̪̫̖͉̦̘͖̳̻̀́̈͊́̔̐͛͑̀͆͑̽́͛͆̃̽̀͐̈͝͝-̷̢̛̛͉̘̯͙̝̂̀̄̇̚ ̶̢̧̞̰͍̙͕̳̉͐̍̋̉ͅḧ̶̥̘̥̫̦̰̥͕̱͇͖̳͔̬̳̯̙̖̯͉̆̇͗͂̓̈́̒̉̽̓̀̈̃̉̅̃͐́͘͝ę̷̖̼̈́͒͑̊̎̇̆̍̎͐̈͗̓̇̃̆́̚͘͠ ̷̢̺̳̤̺͗̑͒̿͒̈́̈́͋̆͆̎͆̍̎́̿̎͛͌͝ͅn̷̨̛̻͙̲͔̮̯͇͓̙̭̤̱͕̙̮̪̰͈̼̰̭̺͌͗̓̂̊̀̄̈́̅͝e̸̬̬̖̺̫̳̳̖̹̦̞͉̥͊̾̐̅̂̅͆͒͂͐̈́͒͐̆̒͆͗̃́͘͠ͅḙ̵̜̥̠͛̓̐̐d̷̢̰̞̟͍̤̥̻̟̯͙̣̹̂̀͐̀̅̋̾͐̈́̓̈̾̅̀̋̆̄̽́͊̓̚̚͝ȩ̴͇̠̖͔̳͙̤̣̠̥̜̳̣͉͚̈́̏̾̊͆̔̂́͊̊͛̂̈́͌̐̓̋̓͛̚͘͜͠͠ḑ̶̀̉̂ ̸͈̱̠̰̥͙̈́̃̉̌͌͛͝t̸̹͎̂̃͑ǫ̴̧͎̥͚͚̣͍̑̑͜ ̵͎͋̎̈́̂̏̀̌̒͋͑̑̌́͌ͅ-̸̧̛̟̲̤͈̠̪̻̼̞̙̼͔̗̥̖̝͎͎̈́̐͋̊̂̇͑͂͗͊̎͐̿̿͘ͅ-̶̢̛͔̞̪̮̜̝͓̄͑̿̎̈́̃̉͒̾-̵̢̲͕̤͕̺̟̤̼̞͓͕͍̲̫̺̯̼̝͕͚̊̀̀̓̽̍̓̅̾̑̇̄͘̚͜͜ͅ-̶̡̧̡̧̛̹̺̟̮̺͕̘̳̼̪̺̪͕́̏̔͆͂̋̂̎̅̓̈́̚̚͝͝-̷̧̹̮̥͔̳̥͙͚̾͠-̷̧̧̝̹͉̹̰̟̻͆̇͋͂-̵̠̺̞̼̯͚̙̐̽́̐̐͋̈́͌̏̈̃̾̕-̴̨̢͎̲̭͕̰̉͊̒̓͋̌̉̓̌͆͝͝͝ ̵̢̛̭͇͇̗̱̻̦̪̞͕͉̯̞͕̳a̶̡̧̢̨͕̟̻͎̳͚̦̠̯̩̥̹͖͔̱͚̐̂̂̏̾͘ṅ̷̡̨̛͎̭̱͓͌͑̀̉͂̆͛̅͐͐̓̍̏̄̇́́̈́̆͝ḋ̴̡̡̤̭͚̖̲̯̙̝̺͕͕̦̻̝̩͓͙̟̇̅͜ ̸̨̡̨̛̳͙̥͕̬̜̦̫͈̗̼̼̣̹͉̎̀̏̆́̊͒͜͜͝-̴͈̪̲̀̒͗̑͌̒̃̔̒̑̀̇͛̽̀̒̏͐̍̈̚͘-̵̧̨̢̢̢̜̻͕̺̱̮̘̗͍̳̝̤̙͂̊͊̉̂̉͌͒͘̚͝-̴̢̡̗̬̱̺̩̪̠̗̎̒̓̃̉͒̔̊̚͘-̵̘͈͉͕̥͚̖̬͓͎̳̗̻̣̙̬̤͉̗͚̤̑͆͋͋̈́͛̅͜-̷̧̱̼̲̠̜̟͇͔͊̌͆̓̊̂̒̃͘͝͝-̷̢̘̫̺͖͉̻̹͙̗̄̊́-̷̡̢̛̛͚̰̝̺̟̣͈͎̹̳̞̪͖̦̙̀͂̈́̿́͑̇̂̿̅̓͘̚̚͝͝-̷͇͙͈̲͕̯̭̞̘̦̰̱͓̆̈̈̒̓̃́͑̚ͅ-̶̗̥̓̽̿͝-̸̨̗̻̻̯̻̱̣̻̮͚͈̥͍̭̭͙̱̋̊̂̋͠-̵͔̀̉͆̉̄̑̈́̑̀̆̓̀̑͒̈́̑͘͝ͅ-̸̧̨̳̗̙̹̺̘̲̟͔͔̬̯̖͈̝̟͖͖̬̩̰͆͂-̵̣̣̫̼͚̘̠͙͕̞̠́͑̆͛̈̅̈͆̄͐͊͋͛́̐̋̓̌͘̚-̷̮̩̳̠̬̺̘̽̌̽̒̿͌́͒́̽̅̒͆̓̌̈̍̃̈́̇̚̕-̶̨̲̞̞͍̼͇̥̟͕̍̓̾͐͒̀̓̈́̈̈́̌̈́́́͌͝-̴̛̩̻̯͔̦͉̞̲͙̥͑͑͛̏̓́͒́-̵̡͚͓̙̹͈͓̟̥͕̠̰̹̫̣͂̆̃̋̇̐̕͜͝͝-̷̪̄̃́́̇̓̾̒͑͒̽̔̐̑́̚̕͠͝-̷̳̝͈̂͂̈́̿͂̊̑̇̎̒͌̌͋̑͗̓̈͑-̸̛̤̠̣̤͖̱̮͉̼͖̣̦̄̆̑̾̀͐͆̅̋̈̽̈́̿̕̚̚͘͠ͅ-̵̨̗̣͓̠͚̰̘̘͕͓̮̟͔̩̗̩̘̤͖̏̀̀͋̉̈́͗̃͋͆͗͋͜͠-̶̻̬͓͔͇̲̩̹̬̙̖̱̱͆̆͗̆͠-̵̼̦͎̬̐̾ͅ-̶̨̢̺̞̱̝̯͍̝̹͙͇͓̤͖̞͌͜͜ͅ-̶̧̦̰͔̪̟̠͖̦̙͕̝̼̬̜͋͂̓͘-̵̬̼́̈́͋͑̀̊̿̂͛̑̔͂͗̆̈́͘͠͝-̷̢̢̼̜͔̠̹̯̜͔͚̜̥̣͊̑̉̀͌͊̓͊͌͆͌̈͂̐͑͘̚͝͝͝ͅͅ-̴̡̡̨̥͔̣̭̣̞̪̦͉͔̪͈̰̩̪͖́̒̉́̀̊̈́͆̀͐̿͐̓̍͛̚̕ͅ-̶̮͈͚͍̱̬̳̗̰͔̱̻̦̱͕͙͒̓̌̈́͛͋̄͒͊͗͂̀̔̅͝͝-̵̡̮̲̟̻̱͙̑͛̏̾̕͝-̴̢̧̪͎̞̙̗̭̟͔̗̣̪́͆-̴͖̱͈͔̠̰͊͌̐̎͆̇͌͗͋͆͋̉̎̈͗͛͒̂̎̇͝-̷̧̛̪̳̙̟̯̫̼̻̰͌ͅ-̸̧̨̡̡̢̻̦̰͍̗̤̫̟̟͍̫͖̫͇͕̲̮̑͜͝-̵̗̎̉̐̈́́̅̀͂̓͐̒̀͋͌̈̚-̸̧͔͇͕͎͉̪̟̫̤̱̗̼̰̙̼͓̫̙̋̄͌͂͑̆̑̀̓̈̒̌͌̉̅̕͝͝-̶̧̛͖̺͚̩͉͎̼̞̣̜̣̈́̾̀̏͂̆͂͂̇̐̕̚͝-̶̹̀͛-̴̛͔̦͎͋̐̊̏͛͊̌͆́̂̂-̶̡̢̨̨͓̹̘̭̳͖͖̱̤̤̺̱͚̜̫̬͕̉̽̓͐͑͑̒́̎͂̈́̽͒̌́̍̍̍͝-̵̖̪̹̲͉̘̟̪͙̘̲̞̺͇̹̰̰̼̟̤̯̂͒̈́̕-̷̧̨̡͉̰̻͔̬̤̱̞͉̦̟̟͎̞̖͍̮͚͂͗̚͘-̶̹̹͐̓̌̊̊̑̚-̵̡̢̻̰̺̣̫͎̬̖̘͉̬̩̤̋̓̊͌̔̏̂̀͘ͅ-̵̢̡̡͔̪̟̻͇͔̖͙̯͇̣͇̼̫͍͕̅͜ͅ-̸̧̡̛̠̯̱͎̯̹̳̝͉̰͖̬̫̬̗̃̌̑̄͒̓̃̀͒̅̏̎͒̎́͑̀̕̚̚̚͝͠ͅ-̷͔͕̻̳̦̗͚͕̳͎̞̻̳̪̠̥͔͎̹̂́̀̄̈̓-̶͔͓͉͉̮̝͖̦̳̓̇͋͋͝-̴̡̧̡̛̛̛̲̻̺͈̤̺̘̗̹̮̦̠̳͖̣̣͉̩̏́̍̑͊̆̏̄̈̒̑̏̑̐͊̚͝ͅ-̸̨̧̛̯͇͇̖̠͙̩͓̟̤̼̙̯͓͉̏̂́̀̽̀̓̈̉͗ͅͅ-̶͚͉̘̻̫͂̎͛͆͂͜-̷̧̹͔͇̩͛̿̀̈̓͆̏̇̎̂̓̈̽̑̈́̋̀͘͜-̵̨̥͘-̵̨̞͍̬̰̜̪̤̼̤͓͙̰̻͔͍̝̮͕̌̓͗͜-̴̭̻͚͚̮̭̹͚̘͖̍̅̍ͅ-̶̨̢͓̬̱͓̺̜̝̣͉̞̠̯̝̥̿͋͋́͌̅̑̒̆̇̓̉̉͆̕͝ͅ-̸̛̛̤̹̠͇̩̠̝̃̔̌͗͗͛̈̀̋̿̎͛͒͒͛̀̾͜͠ͅ-̶̢̢̛̲̙̥̤͚̲̥͍̝̤̦̣͔̻͍̆͊͌̇̈́́͐͆̓̍̓̔͊͗͌̌͌͆̐̂́̎͛ͅ-̶̢̫̠͕̻̻̜͈̐͂̅̍̅̌̎̔̇͒-̶̢͖͚͇̖̖͖̱͓̤͓̗̳͉̭̱̫͕̇̈͛̇̾̍͒̑̾̋̍͒̾͂́͆́́̌̏̃̃͘-̸̧͚̙͇̜͕̘̠̫͔̝͙̭̖͚͉̼̲͛̌̇̇͂̾̆̅̎͘ͅ-̵̛̛̱͔̘͉̥͍̌̽̇̽̈́̓͗͋̄̔̓̍̐́̔̔̂̈́́̕͠ͅ-̶̢͇̠̮̤̠͖͈̇͒̈́̀́̊̔͐̈́̕͘-̵̧͔͙̺̜̺̤̣̣̥̻̯̣̥͖̙̘͕̰̱̞̮̭͔̔̌̀̓͐̎͆̄̄͋̓͗̓̿͐̿̾̏͠͝-̶̨̧̡̜͈̥͇͔̲̪̹͎͉̪̪̼̎ͅͅ-̶̨͔̺̙̖̲̹̥̳̪̼̦̻͍̀̏͌-̵̛̛̖̭̠̳̻̫͔̗̽̈́̏͐̽̀́̈̎̓͛̋ͅ-̵̖̮͌́̾̅-̶̼̹̬̥̮̝̞̫̥̼͙̼̯͔͒͆-̸̨̹̪̫̯̟̝̲̠͉̈́̄̅̓̚-̵̨̤̝͇̝̺̙̻̙̦̲̮̳̤̺̪͎͕̱͈̱̬̆̃̔͛̋̀̓̄̃̅͊̆́́̅̾̄̆̅̈́̊̕̚͝-̶̧̛̛̖̘̲̲̬̠͎̬̣̳̐̿̀̎̀͆̓͋̑̕͜͠-̵̢̛͎̼̩̰̜͔̤̹̜̜̘̖̞̠̞͖̹̃̂̅̑̓̂͋͂̈́̋̊̎̇͂̏͛̕͜͜͠-̷̡̣̬̬̟͙͇̃̅͐̒̽͒͑̂͒̒́̓͘͠-̶̨̨̢̡̩̟̭͖͓̰̤̣̤͙̣͈̂͋̀̒̆̉́̽͒̃̋̈́́̐͌͘͝͝-̶̧̹̱̟̱̮̘̉̚̚-̴̢̢̛̫͉͉͈̥̜̂̀̊̑̔̂̆̉̓͆́̓̈̌̅͑͗̈́-̶̡̨̝̲̼̟̼͔̪̯̣͚̙͚͑̉̊̓͛̆̎̐̌͗͂̓̈́̐̒͐̎͘͘̚͘̚͠͠-̵̨̘͚͖͉͓̤̞̱̮̻̱̜͔̹̃͑͊̒͂̈́̿͘͠͝ͅͅ-̷̡̨̡̞͈͈̝̣̜̈́͋̿̋̅̈́̀̎̑͑͒̀͋̍̕͝͝-̵̘͇̱̲̫̗̠̲̅̈́̈́̉̉̈̔̾̆̅̔̊̈̾̎̈́̈́̕͝-̵̡̞̙̳͈̫͉͙̘̠̻͕͖̬̟̬̼̅͌́̾͊̈́͊̔̿ͅ-̶̢̲̣̰̖̟̦̦̜͕̜͈̣̱͎̱͉̎̿̈͌́͒̂͗̔̽̏͋͒̾̊̎̏͘͘̕͝-̶̡̢̖̣͍̤̘̥̦̜̫̞̞͇͕̼̯͚͚̯̤̔̽̎͜-̸̨͚͔͉̬̩̱̭̜͍̖͕̹͛̈̋̐̑̎̑̃͝ͅ-̶̢̲̘̫̲̱̪͓̫̲̍̂̃̅ͅ-̴̛̗͎̈̎̀̒̾̆͂͑̈́̈͐̔͘̕͠͠-̴̧̨͎̪̗̞̬̦̱͓̜̼̖͖̰̰̼̝̫̈̽̾̈́̒̈̉͗͌̀̕͝ͅͅ-̵̞̩̘̤͔̟͉̼͕͔̅̂̃̋͑̈́̃̐̐̉͗̇͌̄̎̌́͑́̉̕͘̚͝ͅ-̴͔͛͋̀͐̏̿́̈́͋̔̄͘͘-̸̢̢̧̧̞̫̥̫͉̤̞̻̯̱̦̪͖̼͐̇̈́̐̏̇̓̄̈́͊̽͌͋̒͆́͘͜͠ͅ-̴̢̗̲͙̦̞̖͈͍̖͛͗̿̕-̵̯̪̜̯̇́̑̃̔́̐̎̂̏̉̃̍̈́̓̈́̽͗̓̑͜͝͝-̴̛̪̩̯͍̻̖͙̱̟̖͇͖͖̱̠͖̤̯̳̫́̈̓̀̑̑͂̈́͆͒͂̌͐̋́͗̓̈́̿̐̆̽̚ͅ-̶̢̛͙̰̻̲̩̲̰̱̩̪̩̖̹̦̥̘͆͂͐͐͑̔̽̅́͜͝-̴̡̧̢̦̙̳̖̮̳̲̝͈̜̖͉͒͛̀̉̓-̸̢̨̱͎̯̺̟̬͓̤̦̖͍̱̱̘̭̈͂͋̇̎̽̉͝ͅͅͅ
It hurt. It hurt so bad. It hurt. It hurt. It hurt. It hurt. It hurt. It hurt. It hurt. It hurt. It hurt. It hurt. It hurt. It hurt. It hurt. It hurt. It hurt. It hurt. It hurt. It hurt. It hurt. It hurt. It hurt. It hurt. It hurt. It hurt. It hurt. It hurt. It hurt. It hurt. It hurt. It hurt. It hurt. It hurt. It hurt. It hurt. It hurt. It hurt. It hurt. It hurt. It hurt. It hurt. It hurt. It hurt. It hurt.His head was pulsing with a pain that felt like it'd been split in two with an axe and the same could be said about his heart. He couldn't watch what happened next, even if he could vividly remember it all the same. This was the moment, the very moment he'd become the Infinite Archer. And yet, he never wanted to see this moment again.
"I..." he stopped and turned to face the man once again.
"...but then, I remember who you are...!" More importantly, it was the moment that allowed him to finally recall who this guy was. The man was noticeably older this time. He appeared to be in his forties or early fifties. Tears began streaming down his face.
"...Dad...!" he cried.
"...I missed you so much I...!" but as soon as they began, he realized that there was still something very wrong.
Why did he miss his dad? After the incident, they were together and Zach began his life as the Infinite Archer, but...
"Yes, you're almost there, Zachary." his father encouraged.
It was then that his time as a prisoner to a hellish 'game' began playing on the 'projector'. His arrival, the dread he felt while hiding under a calm mask. The anger he felt when his captors taunted him and the rest of the 'patients', his anxiety when people tried speaking to him and touching him, and, of course, the blooming friendship he shared with Jezebel, despite clowns scaring him. He even remembered denying it when Jez called him out on this. The fear he felt when Geina almost killed him, the inability to think properly when he thought he'd assisted accidentally in Marianne's death, the irritation at being insulted by Cyrus and just how silly the trial had become, that short time he spent with Krista which had made him realize he might just be able to make friends! Of course, he also remembered getting into an argument with Jezebel over rescuing Krista, the pain he felt during it, and then...
"...I died?" he immediately asked his father. The man did not speak with words, giving a sorrowful smile in response. His dad motioned towards the 'projection'. It began to display Zachary's last moments, and the Infinite Archer watched as he helplessly tried leading his friends to victory with an odd way of using his bow, only to be overwhelmed by the sudden appearance of two other Carnage Sisters. Of course, it started skipping and stopped just as Zach's consciousness back there did -- right when a thumb found itself deep inside his eye socket.
"N-no..." again, Zachary dropped to a knee.
"That's... I can't be..." rather than relief, the tears he now shed were those of a man who had lost hope.
"You're... you're telling me I died like that!?" the word 'composed' could not be used to describe the archer right now, but was an applicable synonym.
"That's impossible! That's horseshit! I can't believe that!" he glared, teary-eyed at his father, who still did not speak. But Zachary wasn't done. He couldn't be! This wasn't just his life he was talking about! He wasn't allowed to die like this, die so suddenly!
Planting his fist into the ground, he'd come to realize the area was beginning to darken. It was not all white anymore, but the 'sky' was shattering. The white was being replaced with black. Zachary began to panic.
"There's gotta be something I can do, right?" his eyes begged his father to answer him, but he remained silent.
"Please...! Anything..." the world continued to break and piece after piece, the world slowly became black.
Finally, as the last of the white was removed from the world, his father spoke to him.
"Come, it's time to go.""...then... there's nothing to be done?" realizing he was going to get nowhere, Zach hysterically laughed and fell backwards onto the floor. He raised his hand to the black sky and made a fist.
"How cruel...! I've done nothing to deserve this... this escape." It wasn't the fact that he died that hurt him so bad. It was the fact he died without atoning for what he'd done. He told himself that he couldn't just die whenever he wanted. He owed it to someone not to. But, even still... he perished? Crazy killer game or not, that was no excuse. His life was more important than that! His life wasn't his own, so losing it like this was unforgivable!
But then... what could he do? Zachary's father was a strong, great man who was perfect in every way as far as he was concerned. Somebody to aspire to be. So... this man he'd been talking to was not his father.
His father couldn't be dead, after all.
So that meant this had to either be some weird illusion created by his subconsciousness to help him move on, or it was God. Or whatever deity turned out to be true. Honestly, that didn't matter. What did was that he simply couldn't go against something like that, that was for sure. But if he was God, or even the Devil, did that mean it was alright to die?
"I suppose... it's alright to leave, then." Zach sighed and slowly began to get up. His face still red and covered in tears, he offered a strained smile to whomever it was taking the visage of his father and tried to wipe away what wetness on his face he could.
"Where... are we going?" he asked.
"I cannot tell you, you'll just have to wait and see." he was told.
"Can you at least tell me what it's like?" Zach asked.
"Is it a bad place?" His 'father' laughed.
"I guess that wouldn't hurt. It's a wonderful place. You'll love it, I'm sure." the older man informed as he began walking off. A door appeared a few feet before him, a bright light escaping beneath it. When Zach saw this, he couldn't help but feel how cliche this all was. Really, this all sounded like some cheesy way to send a character off in a book or a movie. To give closure. He recalled how he felt that, objectively, these kinds of send-offs were too unrealistic. It was more likely that you experience nothing but blackness when you die, assuming you do not believe in any higher power. Zachary was never an optimist, so he didn't quite have any faith. Though, given his current situation... well, it would seem those kinds of fiction proved to be correct in how they handled the afterlife.
The door opened, and behind it was a blinding light. It wasn't possible to SEE what was inside, but he could certainly HEAR it. The beautiful laughter of a woman. And from that laughter, he could tell whom it was. It was a very familiar woman doing something very unfamiliar given her character. The sound of his mother having a good time, enjoying herself. He'd never heard it before. Truthfully, he never came to resent his mother. He never had that sort of confidence. It was certainly his fault she got so angry, after all. So, with a smile, Zachary took a step towards the door along with his 'father', who was smiling just as bright as he'd ever done.
It was so strange. In his entire life, he never felt like he deserved happiness. He'd been a burden to his parents and he'd stolen just to eat for a while. And then, after that he... well, that wasn't important now, was it? Still, he lived with no intention of being truly happy, for he never believed he deserved it. Yet now he had no choice but to be happy. Such a silly thing it was. He never did what he set out to do in life, but since this was death, it would seem like that didn't matter anymore.
Zach took one last look behind him, at the black world. Ignoring the door he was about to enter, the only light was from the 'projector' that had shown him his memories. It still barely displayed one last image. It was hard to discern at first being so blurry, but he had come to realize it was Jezebel. A needle piercing his heart wasn't a good enough comparison. The pain he felt from the realization she witnessed him die was many times more than that. He frowned. There was nothing to be done, but he knew that'd simply be another regret he'd have. Zachary knew there was simply no way to do anything about it.
"Forgive me, I couldn't even say goodbye."Turning away he stepped through the door along with his dad.
“I hope you're happy.” her voice echoed.
“I totally hope you're happy.”The pain in his heart was amplified by the pain he felt in Jez's voice. He made a promise to himself that, even here in the afterlife, he would never forget his first true friend. He only hoped that she could find it in her to forgive him for bowing out so soon. But she was a strong woman. Much more mature and a better person than he. Hopefully, she and the rest of the crew could figure their way out of that mess with no more casualties. But it was in their hands now for he was retired.
And so, Zachary shut the door.
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"No, now's not the time to be dead!" Zachary had yelled at the top of his lungs, a challenge to fate. The door was shut before him, separating him and his 'father', along with whatever it was he was being led into. Happiness? Was that what that was supposed to be? How cheap! What kind of person would Zach be if he allowed himself to be happy his only friend was sad? Zach wasn't the kind of filthy casual to play Fire Emblem on Phoenix Mode! He was a Classic, no restart (or so he claims online) kind of guy! When happiness is handed out to you like that, is it even worth it? How could he be satisfied with a victory he didn't earn? The answer was no!
It did mean the least to him that there was a chance this was anything more than some weird chuuni delusion he was having at the doors of death. Even if it was God himself wearing the face of his father, he wasn't going to allow himself to stay dead. Preferably, he wouldn't become a zombie, but if he had to... well, he was inserting his last coin in and hitting continue no matter what! He wasn't quitting this match or his team just yet! And so, with a spirit full of fire and burdens more than he was willing to lose...
Zachary Ackerson awoke.
The following day was not one many would meet with much enthusiasm. Bliss typically woke up early to start breakfast for everyone, but she hadn't left her room. Jezebel seemed to have vanished into thin air, and Denis was still recovering. In fact, many of the infinites would need some time to recover from their physical and mental wounds.
But not all were that way.
Lucy had discovered the wondrous study while running away from a hillbilly Junko kill bot. She had seen it on her e-handbook, but held off on coming here earlier because of all the other strange stuff going on. But now that she knew there was a good(?) killer robot guarding the place, she was confident she could study here at any hour she pleased. It was certainly less risky than getting a midnight snack during the night of carnage. She sat at one of the tables, pouring over a book. She'd need to have Thomas look at her wounds later. But for now, they had been cleaned and bandaged, which would probably be enough for now.
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