#csgame

Alonzo:

Death is inevitable for people like them. Alonzo had learned that from a young age. They remember the deaths they witnessed as a child--the deaths that occur in the stinky alleyways if you make the wrong turn for one single night, the deaths that are preceded by aggravating the wrong group of people, and the deaths that are caused by the severe hunger that plagues the slums. Those deaths have been swift. 

The opposite was true for the people who struggled against the system, against Pharos, against the city itself. The opposite was true for the notorious Ripper who is now dying in Alonzo's arms.

There was never a good end in sight for either of them. From the moment they both tried to get the justice the city's people deserved, there was no escaping loss, grief, and death. Alonzo knows that, and yet...

"It's okay," Alonzo whispers as they gently stroke their companion's cheek with their gloved hand. This cursed hand. A reminder of their failures. A reminder of their sins. A reminder of the hatred they thought they'd never be able to let go. They struggle to remain calm as the other starts to choke in their own blood, eyes in pain and body completely still, and Alonzo leans their head closer. "You'll be okay now."

There were no lies surrounding the words that left their lips. They said what was needed to be said. No need to make promises. No need to share what they feel. Only a simple attempt to help them come into terms with what's happening.

How many people has Alonzo helped do that at this point? They don't recall anymore.

Whatever it is the future holds, Alonzo would simply have to face them alone. They were used to being alone, slowly losing the things that mattered to them as they grew older, then slowly losing the people they wanted to protect. Every one of those left them with a mountain of regrets, but they pushed forward, because there would always be more things to do. More things to accomplish. More things to protect.

But for the person Alonzo cared for the most, for the person who gave them hope they didn't know was possible, for the one who they thought they would hate for the rest of their life but learned to forgive, the time for peace and rest has come, and Alonzo shall stay by their side until they draw their last breath within those arms.

No tears fall. No more.

Wesley:

It's my fault, Wesley thinks to themself as they desperately cling to the dying person in their arms. It's all my fault.

It has been a while since Wesley last had those thoughts--within one year after the betrayal. They kept trying to convince themself they did the right thing, that there was no other choice. It broke their heart to do it, to keep their mouth from letting their partner know about the whole truth, to pry themself away from all the friends they had and from the person they loved. It was miserable, lonely, frightening. Nevertheless, they thought it was a small sacrifice to make.

Until the deaths.

Until the murders. Then the bombings. Assassinations.

The whole city was torn apart, and it was their hands that was responsible for the wheel that ran through it.

What was it all for?

Wesley presses their lips against their partner's forehead, the latter groaning in pain. They can feel the blood soaking through their clothes, Wesley's hands now stained with deep red. What was it all for, if in the end, they couldn't save the person that mattered the most?

"I never told you," Wesley starts, and they could feel a light shift around their arms. "I never told you what I did when I went into hiding. When I was alone, I mean."

Wesley has no idea why the words are coming out of their mouth. What's the point? Is it the guilt gnawing at them? Regret? Despair?

"I promised I'd stay away from any attachment when I get back. I made plans." They chuckle grimly, running their hands over their partner's head, giving as much comfort as they can give. "Told myself everything between us would no longer be the same the moment I return. Because I didn't deserve otherwise."

Wesley can sense their breathing slowly getting more ragged as the seconds go, along with the pain emitting from every inch of movement they make. Wesley almost lost them before. And they're most definitely going to lose them now.

"Because I didn't deserve you."

Silence falls between them. Wesley waits for a response, any sort of snarky retort, or maybe just a little punch. Just a little sign that they're alive.

"Do you remember when-" Wesley stops themself with another chuckle, trying to cover up the tears that begin to well up in their eyes, but it merely leads to a crack in their voice. The tears come. The tears fall. And Wesley bites their lip, an attempt to stop themself from shivering. "Do you-" they try again, but it's no use. It's useless. Everything's useless. Everything's too late.

The world made sense before, when they first met. When they sat across each other at that damn ugly table; when they talked about pranks, mischiefs, callings; when they were the ones running around the city like self-proclaimed heroes.

Why doesn't it make sense now?

"I wanted to stay." They were crying now. There was no point in hiding it--they've done enough hiding. "I know I tried to give you up but I wanted to stay." Wesley buries their face into the other's neck, desperation crawling through their insides, and they feel them slowly going limp on their arms. "Please. Please don't leave me."

Owen:

Owen remembers the first time a patient died in front of him. He remembers the helplessness, the way his mind went blank, the urge to let it all out right beside that table. He remembers not eating for a couple of weeks, recovering only when his parents and sisters paid him a visit. He remembers how it took him three months to return to his former self.

He eventually learned to accept that death exists. That in a doctor's life, there are moments when there's nothing else to be done. People die, and doctors are not gods. Doctors are not omnipotent.

But he is not a doctor today. No, at this very second, he's just a simple man, about to lose someone very important.

Here he is, tears running down his cheeks, with the person the city once called Ripper dying on the ground right in front of him, and he refuses to believe what he sees. He refuses to believe that they're dying. His right hand clutches on the coat he removed from himself earlier and presses harder on his companion's wound in an attempt to stop the bleeding. He knows it's not enough--he arrived too late for that--but somehow, somehow he still refuses to believe it.

He believes in miracles; surely this is the right moment for one.

He believes in a higher being; surely this would be the time to send help from above.

But why? Why is the blood still flowing out, staining his hands in deep red? Why, of all the days they've survived even against the odds, why do they have to die today?

Their eyes meet for a second and Owen immediately turns his gaze away, not liking what he saw--acceptance, relief, surrender. But when their shaking hand grasps Owen's own, bloodied fingers interlocking with each other's, his breath hitches in his throat and he raises their entwined hands to his lips.

"Please. Please," he repeatedly says as he closes his eyes, his voice cracking. "Oh, god, please."

He doesn't know what else to say. A goodbye? But that would mean he'd given up. A reassurance? But he doesn't want to make false promises.

Before he could settle on a decision, the hand joining his own goes limp and he feels his world turn upside down.

There was no need to look, no need to check their pulse. Owen was sure of it now. They're dead.

Dead.

Nothing escapes his lips further, not even a muffled sob, but beyond the appearances of tranquility, his mind fights through an invisible war.

People die. People die. He should be able to accept that, but he can't. Why, of all those who live in this forsaken city, should they have to die?

He won't be fine for a while once again. The helplessness will return, the urge to lash out will be there inside him for every second, and this time, it would take more than three months to return to his former self. If he ever will.

Jade:

This wasn't supposed to happen. They made her believe. After all the people who had made all the false promises, this person has started to make her believe. A future for the city--a future not only for their kind, but also for the powerless, for the ones who cannot fight for themselves. A future where Pharos does not have to exist, and without the underground organizations killing for territories.

How was she supposed to achieve that goal if the person she trusts the most, the one she cares for the most, who had made it all possible in the first place is right here dying, slumped against the wall?

How was she supposed to do it all on her own?

How was she supposed to live on her own?

Maybe it's her fault. Everything she touches...Everyone around her...Her parents turning to a life of crime and disappearing without any word, her brother getting himself involved in a conspiracy that's gotten more people into trouble, her own comrades dying, one by one, every time she made a move. And then this, the most important person in her life on the verge of death. What if it's all her?

Jade's thoughts are interrupted when a bloodied hand lands gently on her cheek, stroking it, tracing it. It's cold. Their hand's so cold it almost makes her flinch, but there's also the softness she'd come to known for the past few years they'd been together.

They look at her; she looks at them. Then she begins to understand. No words were needed to be spoken. Yes. This was the same hand that saved her more than a few times from her reckless plans. The same hand that convinced her not to live in the past, to stop blaming herself for things that were out of her control.

The gesture was not meant to hurt her. It was meant to tell her to keep moving forward, to remind her that she will never be alone--because they made sure she would never be alone. But even with the strained smile they offer as they caress her cheek, even with the determined eyes they keep staring at her with... tears start rolling down her cheeks.

It hurts. It hurts so much and she just wants to scream at the injustice of it all. They don't deserve this. After all the suffering they went through, after all the loss and grief they had to endure, this...this is not what they deserve.

They close their eyes, heaving a tired sigh, and the hand on her cheek slowly trails down. She bites her lip, the desperation winning over her frustration for a second, and she leans forward to gently give them one final hug.

Then she whispers beside their ear, so close she's certain they'd never miss the words. This is the last time. She has to make it count. "I will fight for you. I will fight for everything you fought for, I will protect everyone you cared for, and we will win. No matter what. So take a rest, and leave the rest to me."

"What do we do when this is all over?"

The question pulls them out of their reverie and they glance beside them only to notice that the notorious Ripper is already there, staring above with a laid-back posture, their gaze focused at the cloudy sky covering the stars. The gloom in their eyes seem to rival the darkness that swaths their surroundings tonight.

Above. Below.

It's a simple difference, one that people normally won't draw conclusions from. But Alonzo sees it anyway. How that difference matters. How it shows Alonzo more things than it should.

"What do you want to do when this is all over?" It's a very thin line they're crossing, Alonzo realizes, answering a question with a more complicated one.

"I don't know. What do I want to do? It's been ages since I thought about that." A dry chuckle escapes their lips. "Do I even deserve one?"

"Deserve what?"

It is then that Alonzo sees it again, the one thing they've been dreading. Ripper—as much as they hate calling them that at this point—offers them a cold, scornful smile as they face them. The sight sends a chill through Alonzo's nerves. It's an expression he'd expect from Roy, or from Morpheus, but not.... not from the person they love. Not from the person they want to be there beside them for the rest of their lives.

"A future."

Alonzo clears their throat. "You were just asking me earlier what to do when this is over, and now you're telling me you don't deserve it?"

"Achieving a goal and deserving that end are two different things." The smile falters. "I should have died three years ago."

"No."

"No?" They gently place a hand on Alonzo's cheek, caressing its surface like any lover would, but beneath those gestures are eyes that turn cold. Murderous. Coming along with them is a soft whisper, "Don't you want to kill me?"

"I don't."

A lie.

Or is it?

They had been thinking about it, ever since they'd first witnessed this terrifying change. Ever since their companion had embraced the name that was forced upon them. Using it as a weapon. No, more than a weapon. An identity.

A true killer.

Alonzo knows someone needs to stop them, bring them to justice when this is all over. Kill them.

And it has to be Alonzo that deals the final blow.

But can they do it? Can they really force justice on someone who had been denied one, over and over? After all they went through? After all they had to sacrifice?

"You're lying, aren't you?" Another smile. A genuine one. "I can see you're lying."

Alonzo lifts their hand to touch the one still resting on their cheek, carefully holding it within their own grip. It's a sad fate, to be so deeply in love with the person they're supposed to kill. To be so enamored with the memories they shared—all the laughter and bitterness alike. If they let this go, if they proceed with the plan that has been plaguing their mind, will there be another chance for something as grand as this?

Would they even want that?

"I've lost too much already," Alonzo finally says. "I don't want to lose more."

Lies. Lies. Lies.

How many times have they both done that? Lie to each other? Hurt each other?

Nevertheless, a newfound surprise frames their face, and Alonzo can feel the guilt gnawing their insides.

"I'm not going to lose you, too." Alonzo presses their companion's hand against their own lips and kisses it softly, hoping that the other won't notice the light trembling that ensues. "Not again."

Will that turn into a lie? Will it not?

Alonzo can only hope it will be the latter, but then another question surges through their mind.

Can they let go of the one single virtue they've held onto all these years just to make sure the one person they have feelings for gets to live?

Will it be worth it? One life in place of many?

They'd have to make a decision soon, but tonight... Tonight they simply want to get lost in this moment, however unwise it may be. To get lost in a familar embrace. In a blissful kiss. In a night that they shall make their own.

Let go of the guilt. Let go of the anger.