#if i wanted to i could go into how this line actually provides insight into torao's mindset esp with additional context from the--

[thatfeelinwhenyou]

Omg??? Love, I didn’t think you meant a FULL on review??? Thank you so much for putting your time and effort into this! How do I even begin to reply, I’m actually overwhelmed right now 😭 and I don’t even know how to address you! Do you have a nickname you’re comfortable sharing with me?

I’ll try to reply to as many of these as I can and provide insights into my creative process!

YES! People or human beings are always going to be the world’s apex predators, dead or alive. And I might have mentioned this somewhere before, but I’ll just say it here too. Humans are very sentient beings, and I believe, when stripped down to nothing, are capable of anything. Especially in a lawless world, like the one they’re living in—there’s no consequence. There’s only life or death.

Regarding the point if she ever thought it was already too late. I definitely see where this perspective is coming from. It’s like she’s not just fighting the situation—she’s fighting herself, too. The urgency in "now" suggests she knows deep down that if she lingers even a second longer, she’ll lose the will to walk away entirely. For me when I wrote this, in my head, it’s less about just leaving but more about proving to herself that she can still leave, that she hasn’t lost all control. That’s why she’s running—not just from the situation, but from the hope that could betray her.

YES! The contradictions are a very huge part of this chapter. This is also exactly why I mentioned at the start to only read when you’re 100% awake, because it won’t make any sense unless you catch the contradiction of her internal struggles. In that sense, thank you for catching that nuance!

Funny BTS about how I write my stories, I actually brainstorm paragraphs/lines that I think would make great impact and build the scene around those lines. It’s not majority but a good number of the scenes you read in S&S are built off a singular line that I really want to include inside LOL

Exactly. It’s almost contradictory—why commit their faces to memory if you’re trying so hard to detach? But maybe that’s the cruel irony of it all. Leaving doesn’t mean you stop caring; it means you care too much and can’t afford to. And no matter how much she wants to shut it off, to disconnect, she’s still human. It’s like a silent promise that even if she’s walking away, she won’t pretend they never mattered. That their existence won’t just vanish with her absence. Even if she never sees them again, even if remembering them will haunt her. Because forgetting would mean it was all for nothing, and forgetting would mean she never cared, which is not true!!

The contradictions are to express her inner turmoil but also to make the readers question themselves too! I hope it made you question yourself HAHAHA

Yes, exactly. The fear outweighs everything else. Fear has a way of making choices for you before you even realise it. And it’s not just fear of dying or suffering. It’s the fear of what she might become if she stays. The fear that fighting for them will break her in a way she can never come back from. She sees it as a choice between them and herself, and that’s the cruelest part—because if she stays, she might win the battle for them but lose the war within herself. And if she leaves, she’ll carry the weight of it forever.

AAA thank you for appreciating the descriptions of that bus terminal scene where MC finds out about the whisperers. I actually spent an ungodly amount of time on that scene because I was fr struggling…

I don’t think she’ll ever truly understand herself, not completely at least. But I see it as she’s slowly accepting parts of herself, parts that Jungwon and the others completely embrace and love even if she herself doesn’t understand why.

Hehehe the whole conversation with Jay is also one of my favourite parts to write! I’m glad you enjoyed it as much as I did writing it. Not gonna lie, sometimes I imagine conversations in my head between the characters. I could be doing literally anything, and I would drop whatever I was doing just to write it down before I forget LOL

In Park Jongseong’s wisdom we trust!!! That whole “Anger, fuelled by hope, becomes determination” bit actually came to my head while I was lying in bed trying to fall asleep. I sat up immediately, opened my Notes app and went crazy. Not to toot my own horn, but I pat myself on the back for that.

Fun fact: the word ‘Hope’ was mentioned 69 times in part 5 alone!

Growing up I read a lot of fiction novels and I always loved how I was able to immerse myself in the world beyond the paragraphs. One of my favourite books that does that for me is Delirium by Lauren Oliver and also every book Suzanne Colins has ever released. So to think I’d be able to do that with my writing is surreal. Thank you <3

About using Sunoo as a hostage. I DON’T KNOW HOW IT CAME TO THAT. It’s not any selective process. I just used Sunoo because he was the one in-charge of taking stock and rations within the group. And thus, is most likely to encounter the lady in the basement 😅

YES!! There’s a line in the part that went “And yet, you left them here. With her.” I don’t even want to begin to imagine how shit will go down if MC wasn’t there with them to mitigate the situation.

I absolutely hate when female main characters are written as useless and needy of a man to solve their problems (of course depending on context). So, that is something I was sure I didn’t want her to be when I wrote her character. That’s why her backstory of surviving alone is so important! It’s because she’s used to surviving alone that she’s instinctively coming up with solutions to solve her own problems rather than waiting around for someone else to come along and solve it for her.

To me, Jake is extra sensitive about killing people because his job is to save them instead! That’s also why he doesn’t see eye-to-eye with Jay—it’s a conflict of interest. But that doesn’t make them love each other any less 🥹🫶

I think a part of why Jungwon is able to know her so well is because he sees himself in her. You know that feeling when you meet someone and you click instantly? Yeah. Jungwon is observant by nature, and so is the MC from her experience in surviving alone. You may notice throughout the entire story that the MC always notices when he’s calculating in his mind. And that’s because they’re always thinking; thoughts always spiraling with the what ifs and what not. And that’s how he knows her so well.

 I need me a Jungwon, ACTUALLY.

“Not only does she make him feel normal and has given hope to the others. All of them have given her something she never thought she would get back—or more like she never wanted it back, because of the fear of getting left behind, or just watching them lose themselves, or straight up lose them—a team.” Took the words straight out of my mouth. I love you, let me give you a kiss 😙

“yes, they did do a lot of damage for the people in there. But they’re doing what it takes to survive.” In my mind, they care so much that they'd do anything to keep the people they love alive. And that's the thing—because when they realise that the collateral damage are strangers who probably have people they care and have people care about them and would do anything to keep them alive, but failed. It fucks with their mind, and it only fucks with their mind because they care. It's fucked up. Also “Crazy lady Kim” IM CTFUUUUU

Okay that’s everything! I know it’s ridiculously long but I wanted to give you back the energy you gave me! Thank you so much for the encouragement and willingness to wait patiently for the next chapter! Work has been picking up for me so it’s harder to find time to actually sit down and write, but it’s because of readers like you that keeps authors like me motivated! So, once again, thank you for this! ❤️

Love, Nat

SAFE & SOUND — part 5

Navigating one year post-apocalypse, when the dead began to walk and the living proved to be no better, you decide that trust is a luxury you can no longer afford. But after a run-in with a group of seven peculiar survivors, you learn that there are bigger problems than just the undead roaming the streets. You also start to wonder if there’s more to survival than simply staying alive.

word count: 23.7k

a/n: there's a lot of lore dumping in this one, please read this when you're 100% awake or you'll probably not understand a single thing. additionally, i must preface by saying that this part is all kinds of fucked up. i really urge you to read with discretion. REALLY.

MASTERLIST

People.

They’re dangerous—more dangerous than the dead. It’s a fact that’s been drilled into your mind, reinforced over and over by the world you’ve come to know.

Once stripped down to their core, people will cling to any semblance of purpose. Not just in the sense they'd do anything to keep themselves alive. But they’ll latch onto whatever scraps of hope they can find—convincing themselves that a crumbling building, a barricaded corner of a burning city, is worth dying for if it means they don’t have to face the one truth that terrifies them most: that nothing is safe. That nothing lasts.

But now you understand something even more unsettling.

The only thing more dangerous than people are people with something to lose.

That’s what Jungwon is. That’s what he’s become. He’s not just surviving anymore—he’s holding onto these people, this place, like a lifeline. Like it’s all that stands between him and the abyss.

And that’s what makes him dangerous.

You don’t keep your distance because you think you’re smarter or stronger than him. You do it because you’re afraid. Afraid of the weight he carries every day, the weight of responsibility, of leadership, of knowing that every decision could mean life or death for the people who trust him.

And maybe that’s why being alone feels safer. Because if you’re on your own, you don’t have to deal with the messy, volatile nature of human emotions. You don’t have to shoulder the weight of someone else’s hope or risk letting them down.

You glance around the camp, taking in the barricades, the makeshift beds, the worn-out faces of people who are holding onto hope with everything they’ve got. You’ve already done enough for them.

You’ve gotten them the medicine they need. You’ve made sure they have enough food and water to keep going for however long the heavens permit them to stay alive. You’ve fought alongside them, bled alongside them, and given them more of yourself than you ever intended to.

But that’s it. You’ve reached your limit. You don’t have to hold yourself back for their kindness anymore. You don’t owe these people anything more than you owe yourself. And what you owe yourself—more than anything—is your chance at survival. And with that renewed mindset, you steel yourself.

Quietly, you gather your things. You don’t need much. Just what you can carry. The essentials—enough to keep you moving. Enough to keep you alive. Your hands tremble slightly as you pack, but you don’t stop. You’ve survived this long by knowing when to walk away. 

And that’s exactly what you’ll do.

At this juncture, you have to walk away. Now. Before it’s too late. Before hope takes root in you too, and you lose the capacity to leave. You told yourself you’d do it once the immediate danger had passed. Once you were sure they were safe—at least for a little while. It seemed logical, practical. The right thing to do. 

But now, standing here with that gnawing sense of dread in your gut, you realise that even that thought in itself was hope.

And hope is stupid.

You can’t stay. You won’t survive if you do—not just because of the imminent danger, but because of them. Because losing them would destroy you in ways the world never could.

The only thing more dangerous than people is people with something to lose.

And you have something to lose.

“I don’t want to see you lose yourself.” your own words echo in your mind, sharp and piercing. They’d felt like a knife to the chest when you said them, and they still do now. Because what you didn’t realise then is that it’s not just about Jungwon, or the group, or the rest stop. It’s about you. You’re afraid of losing yourself, of what you’d become if you stayed.

When you die—because everyone in this world eventually does—you only hope you can die as yourself. Human. Both physically and mentally.

It’s the one thing you’ve clung to since everything fell apart. The idea that, no matter how bad things got, you’d hold onto your humanity. You wouldn’t let the world take it from you. Because once that’s gone, what’s the point? What’s left of you then? A shell. A husk. Something that breathes but isn’t really alive.

You’ve seen it happen to others from the community building. People losing themselves, bit by bit, until there’s nothing left but desperation and violence. Until they become unrecognisable—barely different from the monsters they’re trying to survive. It’s why you’ve kept your distance, why you’ve chosen solitude time and time again. 

Once you stay, once you put down roots, the danger will come for you. Because in this world, the danger never truly passes. It’s not something you can outrun or wait out. It’s relentless, always coming back, always finding new ways to haunt you. It’ll keep chasing you and every other survivor until it slowly, inevitably consumes you—or worse, you’ll have to stand there and watch it consume the people around you. 

You’ll then risk losing yourself as their deaths start to carve pieces out of you, leaving nothing but jagged edges and hollow spaces.

And you can’t afford to lose yourself like that. 

Not to them. Not to hope.

Tonight, you’ll take the first watch, sit through the long, silent hours, and leave without waking anyone for their shifts. Just before the sun rises—before they stir, before they have a chance to notice you’re gone—you’ll disappear.

It’s the best time to disappear—when the world is caught in that liminal space between darkness and light. This way, they won’t be in any immediate danger. They’ll wake to the sun rising over the horizon, unaware of your absence—at least at first. It’ll give them time to adjust, to make plans without you. And it’ll be easier for you to convince yourself it’s for the best.

The thought repeats in your head like a mantra, though it does little to ease the ache in your chest. You pull your jacket tighter around yourself, trying to ward off the chill creeping under your skin. The others are tucked away in the convenience store, huddled in their sleeping bags. Jake is next to Jay, keeping an eye on his breathing. Sunoo and Heeseung are resting against a stack of supplies, their heads lolling to the side in exhaustion.

Climbing onto the roof of the rest stop to take up the watch, you’re greeted by a perfect view of the vast horizon. The landscape stretches endlessly before you, dark and quiet under the blanket of night. From here, you’ll be able to spot a threat from miles away—long before it reaches the camp.

The night air is still, save for the distant rustle of leaves. The barricade feels impenetrable for now, but you know better than to trust in fleeting security. Nothing in this world is permanent. Not safety. Not peace. And certainly not the fragile connections you’ve built with these people.

Your gaze drifts toward the campfire, where the flames flicker weakly in the dark. Jungwon sits there, motionless, the rifle resting across his lap. Sunghoon and Ni-ki are beside him, their quiet conversation dwindling as the fire dies down. But Jungwon hasn’t moved since you started your watch. His posture is tense but controlled, his gaze fixed on the flames.

You wonder what he’s thinking—if he’s still replaying the events of the day in his mind. If he’s questioning the choices he’s made. The burdens he carries are etched into the lines of his face, visible even in the dim moonlight.

A part of you wants to go to him. To say something. To apologise for what you’re about to do. But that would be cruel.

Instead, you sit in silence, letting the minutes crawl by as the night drags on. Every second feels like an eternity, your heartbeat loud in your ears. You keep your gaze on the horizon, but your thoughts keep pulling you back to Jungwon. To the people who’ve come to trust you enough to leave you on watch alone, unaware of what you’re planning.

Slowly, one by one, they start turning in for the night. Sunghoon is the first to get up, quietly disappearing into the convenience store beneath you. Then Ni-ki. But before he goes, he pauses, glancing up at you on the roof. His expression is soft, boyish in a way that reminds you just how young he is.

“Don’t forget to wake me for my shift,” he says quietly.

You don’t think you can trust yourself to speak without your voice betraying you, so you simply nod, managing a small, tight-lipped smile.

Ni-ki lingers for a moment, as though sensing something is off. But when you don’t say anything, he finally turns away, disappearing inside.

And then it’s just Jungwon.

He hasn’t moved. The fire has almost gone out now, leaving only embers glowing faintly in the dark. His silhouette is barely visible from where you sit, but you can still feel the ghost of his presence.

Another hour passes before you sense it—a subtle shift in the air, the faint crunch of footsteps retreating into the convenience store.

You glance toward the campfire. It’s nothing but darkness now, and Jungwon is gone.

You don’t even know how much time has passed when you notice it—the faintest hint of dawn creeping over the horizon. The dark sky softens to a deep grey, the first light of morning stretching across the landscape. 

And you know. It’s time.

You descent from the rooftop quietly, careful not to make a sound. The camp is still, the soft snores of your companions the only indication of life. Your gaze lingers on each of them, committing their faces to memory. 

Your feet move silently across the gravel, carrying you toward the gate. The path ahead feels both endless and final, the weight of your decision pressing heavier with each step. You push open the metal gate just small enough for you to slip through, pausing only to adjust the strap of your bag.

Freedom.

The word feels hollow as you take your first steps beyond the safety of the camp. The road stretches out before you, bathed in the soft glow of dawn. The world is vast and empty, and for the first time in a while, you’re completely alone.

But as you take another step, a voice cuts through the silence.

“Y/N.”

You freeze.

Slowly, you turn around, your heart hammering in your chest. Jungwon stands by the gate, his silhouette outlined against the rising sun. His rifle hangs loosely in his hand, but his posture is tense. His eyes meet yours, dark and unwavering.

“You’re leaving.” It’s not a question. It’s a statement—a quiet, resigned truth.

You swallow hard, your throat tightening painfully. There’s no point denying it. He’s always been able to read you too well.

“I thought you might. After everything… I knew you wouldn’t stay.” His voice is steady, but there’s a roughness to it, like he’s holding something back.

Jungwon takes a step toward you, but you instinctively step back, creating distance between you. The space feels heavier than it should, like the air between you is suffocating.

“Don’t. Don’t make this harder than it already is.” Your voice is barely above a whisper, but it cracks under the vulnerability of your own emotions. The real shock is in the pain you hear in your own words—pain you weren’t ready to acknowledge.

He stills, his gaze never wavering. There’s anger in his expression, exhaustion and a deep sadness that cuts through you like a knife.

Jungwon’s jaw clenches. “Last night, you said you were going to share the burden with me.” His tone is quiet, almost hollow. “Was that a lie?”

You clench your fists at your sides, your nails digging into your palms. “If you already know, why ask?”

A humourless laugh escapes his lips, the sound hollow and bitter. It echoes in the quiet of dawn, amplifying the ache in your chest.

“I had hope that you would stay,” he says simply.

Hope.

Not that damned hope again.

Silence stretches between you, heavy with everything said and unsaid. But you both know there’s nothing either of you can say to change the other’s mind. Nothing Jungwon says will convince you to stay—not if it means standing by while they get hurt, while they die. And nothing you say will convince him to leave—not when he’s already made this place feel like home.

“Why?” His voice breaks the silence, softer now. There’s something in his eyes—exhaustion, yes, but also something more vulnerable. Something broken. “Why are you leaving?”

You don’t answer him. You just stare at the void in his eyes and that’s when you notice the bags under it, the way his shoulders slump under the weight of everything he carries. He hasn’t slept all night. He must’ve been waiting—waiting for you to wake Ni-ki up for his shift. Waiting to prove himself wrong about you.

But you never did.

“So that’s it?” His voice rises slightly, frustration seeping in. “You’re already convinced we’re going to die? You don’t even want to try to fight?” His grip on the rifle tightens, his knuckles turning white. His whole body trembles with barely contained anger.

“For god’s sake, Jay took a fucking bullet for you!”

The words hit you like a slap. You flinch, your mind racing back to that moment. The blood. The panic. The sheer terror.

He’s right. Jay did take a bullet for you.

And you repaid that debt by risking your life at the bus terminal to get him the medicine he needed. Give and take. That’s what survival is, isn’t it? But suddenly, that line of thinking feels wrong. Twisted. Because with that mindset, you could justify anything. You could justify stealing from innocent people, killing whoever stands in your way, and calling it necessity. Just like The Future.

Your chest tightens. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, but even to your own ears, it sounds hollow.

“Sorry doesn’t cut it,” Jungwon snaps. His voice is raw, laced with hurt and anger. “If you were going to leave, you should’ve done it that night at the motel. You didn’t have to wait until I started caring about you.”

His next words strike harder than anything else.

“What makes you different from the people who walked away from you?” 

The question hangs in the air, cutting through you like a knife to the gut.

What makes you different from the people who left you behind? 

Everything.

Because those people didn’t care about you when they chose to leave. They didn’t hesitate when they abandoned the community building. And you didn’t care about them when you barricaded yourself in that corner to survive.

But here? Here, you care.

And walking away makes you a monster.

Jungwon steps closer, but this time you’re rooted to the spot. His eyes are searching yours, almost pleading. “You don’t feel anything at all?” His voice trembles, and it shatters you to see him like this—vulnerable and exposed in a way you’ve never seen before. 

“Y/N. Say something. Don’t just stand there—”

“You think it’s easy?” Your voice cracks, rising with anger you didn’t even realise you were holding in. “You think it’s easy choosing to leave you? To leave them?”

Tears burn at the corners of your eyes, blurring your vision but you don’t bother wiping them away.

“I wanted to leave that night at the motel,” you continue, your voice trembling. “Hell, I should’ve left. But that would’ve meant leaving all of you to die. I thought I could stay long enough to help, long enough for you to let your guard down so I could slip away. I never meant for it to come this far. I never meant to care.”

“You’re leaving all of us to die now. What’s the difference?” he asks quietly, though you can hear the spite in his words.

“Because I don’t want to stay here,” you choke out. “If you’ve already decided to settle down, there’s nothing I can do to change that. But I will not let myself stay here and watch the worst things imaginable happen to any of you.”

Your voice breaks, the tears flowing freely now. “At least out there, I can tell myself you’re still alive. That maybe I was wrong to think this place is a trap.”

Jungwon takes a shaky breath, his frustration cracking through the cracks in his composure. “Then stay,” he says quietly. “Stay and see for yourself. Stay and make sure you know damn well we’re alive. Leaving won’t keep us safe, Y/N.”

“Well, staying won’t keep you alive either!”

The words come out louder than you intended, your voice breaking as you sob. “I can’t lose any of you. You already saw the state I was in when Jay almost died. Sooner or later I will have to experience that kind of grief—if I have to lose you—I don’t think I’ll survive it.”

He scoffs, and you wince at the evident annoyance. "Back then, you barely knew any of us, and you were willing to sacrifice yourself to save our lives. Now that you do know us, you want to leave because you’re too afraid to see us die?" His voice trembles, rising with frustration. "You’re so full of shit, you know that?"

The words hang in the air, harsher than either of you expected. You see it in his face—the way his eyes widen slightly, the way his lips press together, as if trying to pull the words back. He hadn’t meant to say it, at least not like that. But it’s out there now, and there’s no taking it back.

Jungwon’s expression softens almost immediately, the anger melting into something quieter, something more painful. His shoulders sag, and you can see the weight of everything pressing down on him, heavier than ever. When he speaks again, his voice is low, barely above a whisper, broken by the raw emotion behind it.

“I—I didn’t mean it that way—”

“No.” You cut him off, shaking your head. “You’re right.” Your voice trembles, the truth unraveling inside you, spilling out in a rush you can no longer control. “I’m a coward. I’d rather walk away than experience that loss.”

Jungwon flinches at your words, his expression crumpling as though he’s trying to keep his composure, but failing. His gaze locks onto yours, and in that moment, all the walls he’s built to keep himself steady come crashing down.

“And it’s not a loss to leave us? To leave me?” His voice cracks as he takes a step closer, his eyes dark and glassy with unshed tears. There’s no anger left in him now—just pain. Raw, unfiltered pain. 

You can barely breathe past the lump in your throat, your chest tightening with each second of silence that passes. You blink rapidly, trying to push back the tears threatening to fall, but it’s no use. The emotions you’ve tried to bury rise to the surface, clawing their way out. 

Jungwon’s hand reaches out, hovering just beside your face. He’s waiting for you to lean in first, to close the distance, to give him a sign that you won’t leave. His fingers tremble slightly, so close that you can feel the faint warmth of his palm.

But you don’t move.

“You’re the greatest loss, Jungwon.”

Your voice is so quiet, you almost don’t hear yourself say it. The words slip out like a confession you’ve kept buried for too long. And for a moment, everything is still. Silent.

Jungwon’s eyes widen slightly, as though he’s just realised the weight of what you’ve said. His lips part, like he’s about to say something—maybe to beg you to stay, maybe to tell you he feels the same—but you don’t let him.

You don’t give yourself the chance to change your mind.

You step back, his hand falling limply to his side, and the space between you feels insurmountable. You take another step back, then another.

And this time, when you turn your back on him, you don’t look back. Even with tears streaming down your face, even as your chest aches with the implication of everything you’re leaving behind, you force yourself to keep walking.

Because you know that if you see the look on his face—if you see the heartbreak in his eyes—you won’t be able to walk away.

But even now, as you tell yourself it’s better this way, there’s a small, nagging voice in the back of your mind. A whisper that wonders if isolation is really strength or just another form of self-destruction.

You have no idea how long you’ve been walking. Your thoughts swirl chaotically, clouded by the argument with Jungwon that still plays in your mind like a broken record. The sun hangs high in the sky now, its rays cutting through the morning mist as the chirping of birds fills the air—a hauntingly normal sound in a world that’s anything but.

When you turned your back on him and walked away, you hadn’t planned on where to go. You’d just moved, one foot in front of the other, mindlessly pushing forward like one of the undead you’ve fought so hard to avoid. 

All you know is you have to keep moving. Don’t stop. Don’t let yourself get tied down by people, places, or promises.

Before you even realise it, the bus terminal comes into view on the horizon. That bus terminal. The one where everything nearly ended for you. Where Jungwon saved your life.

The memory threatens to surface, but you shake your head sharply, forcing it down. No. Don’t think about him. Don’t think about any of them. You left them for a reason.

And yet, here you are, heading back toward the city. Back toward the very place you tried so hard to claw your way out of when the outbreak first began. It’s almost laughable, the irony of it. Back then, you were desperate to escape, fleeing the chaos and death that seemed to choke every street. But now? Now you’re willingly going back.

It’s not because the city has become safer—it hasn’t. The streets are likely still teeming with the dead, and the stench of decay probably still clings to the air like a curse. Survivors rarely venture in, the danger too great for most to justify. That makes it a kind of sanctuary in its own twisted way.

You don’t know when it happened—when avoiding the living became more crucial than avoiding the dead. But after everything you’ve been through, after everything that went down with the group, you realise now that some people are better off left alone. Like you.

It’s easier this way. In the city, you don’t have to constantly look over your shoulder for someone else’s sake. Every action, every decision you make will only affect you. There’s no group to protect, no lives depending on your choices, no shared weight to carry. You can move freely, without the suffocating burden of responsibility pressing down on your chest.

As you approach the outskirts of the bus terminal, you freeze, your breath catching in your throat. 

What lies ahead makes your stomach churn, the sight so incomprehensible it feels like your mind is playing tricks on you. A horde—massive, grotesque, suffocating in its sheer number—fills the gaps between rusting cars and crumbling buses, their guttural moans and the wet shuffling of decayed limbs filling the stagnant air. The commotion from last night must’ve drawn them here. 

No, something is off.

Your first instinct is to duck, to press yourself against the side of a nearby car, but curiosity keeps your eyes locked on the scene. The horde’s movements are... strange. It’s not just the usual shambling chaos of the dead, not the erratic, aimless wandering you’re used to. It’s too... coordinated. Sections of the group lurch forward in unison, turning together as though responding to some unseen signal.

And then you see them—figures standing atop the cars, scattered like silent sentinels amidst the chaos. Their heads swivel, scanning the area, their posture betraying an awareness the undead don’t have. 

From your hiding spot, you squint, trying to make sense of what you’re seeing. Their bodies are draped in something you can’t quite make out at this distance—tattered rags, maybe? No. Your stomach twists as you squint through the haze. It’s flesh. Patches of rotting skin and gore strapped to their bodies, like grotesque armour. Their faces are hollowed out, decayed. But their eyes… it’s clear. Just like the zombie you spotted in the clearing that day. The one that stood eerily still, watching, waiting.

Then one moves. Not with the jerky, mindless motion of the dead, but with purpose. Deliberate. Intentional. Your breath catches in your throat as the realisation hits you like a punch to the gut.

They’re… human? But the dead is not going after them. How is that possible?

You watch as one of the figures on a car stomp its foot onto the roof. The horde responds almost immediately, a section of the undead turning in unison, moving as if corralled toward a tighter group of vehicles. Another figure lets out a whistle, low and sharp. The sound sends a ripple through the horde. The zombies lurch toward the source, shuffling like sheep to a shepherd’s call.

It’s sickeningly methodical. Choreographed chaos.

Your mind races as you try to process the scene. These people—whoever and whatever they are—they’ve figured out how to control the dead, how to manipulate them like tools.

Then, you spot another one of them on the roof of the terminal, the one you and Jungwon came from. He’s wearing the same decayed face but his stance is confident, almost arrogant, as he surveys the horde below. 

“Friends!” he calls, his voice echoing above the chaos, carrying an authority that you’ve never heard before in this ruined world. The horde reacts immediately, pushing forward as if his words alone are a leash pulling them to heel. They claw at the walls of the building, their rotting fingers scraping against the brick, desperate and unrelenting.

Your heart hammers in your chest, the sound almost deafening in your ears. Friends? The word twists in your mind, warping into something grotesque. He’s speaking to the dead like they’re equals, like they’re allies in some twisted cause.

“We’re not far now,” he continues, his voice filled with a fervour that makes your stomach churn. The horde responds again, the shuffling and groaning growing louder, almost like a chant. “Tonight, they’ll pay for what they’ve done!”

Your breath catches, and your grip on your bag tightens. They? Who’s they?

The man raises his arms, the action reminding you of a preacher before his congregation, a maestro before his orchestra, and the dead press closer to the building, their movements frenzied in response to him.

“They won’t even know what hit them!” His voice reverberates, filled with rage and something else—something almost gleeful. It’s the sound of someone relishing the thought of destruction, of revenge.

Your gaze darts to the figures on the cars. At first glance, they seem indifferent, but then they raise their fists in unison, a silent cheer. A rallying cry without words, their collective movements eerily synchronised, like a grotesque sermon preached to the dead.

The noise of the horde grows, a crescendo of chaos that grates against your nerves. You can’t tear your eyes away from the man on the roof as he reaches back, his movements slow and precise, untying something from the back of his head.

Your breath catches as he pulls it forward, letting it swing for a moment in the wind. It’s a mask—thin, gnarled, stitched together from the decayed skin of the dead. The detail makes your stomach churn: patches of dried flesh, sinew hanging loose, and hollowed-out eye sockets that must have once belonged to something that used to breathe. When he looks up again, your blood runs cold.

It’s him. The guy Jay went after.

Your stomach flips violently as the pieces snap together in your mind. The zombie from the clearing—that eerily still, haunting figure that locked eyes with you—it wasn’t a zombie. It was him.

Your gaze jerks back to the other figures standing on the cars, to the masks they wear, and the realisation makes your skin crawl. They’re all wearing the dead. Covering themselves in the stench of decay to mask their scent, blending seamlessly with the horde. Walking among them. Herding them like livestock.

The realisation sends a cold shiver racing down your spine, leaving your limbs heavy and unresponsive. The world around you feels like it’s tilting, the ground shifting beneath your feet as you struggle to process the horror in front of you. Your mind races, frantically revisiting every moment that didn’t make sense before: the horde that ambushed you in the city, the back door at the motel, the perfectly timed attack at the camp. It was them. It’s always been them.

The bile rises in your throat, burning and bitter, but you force it down, swallowing hard as you cling to the only thing you can do right now—stay quiet. Your breath comes shallow, the sound of your pounding heartbeat drowning out the chaos around you. 

Your hand trembles as you steady yourself against the car, the metal cool under your palm. You’re not sure how long you can stay here without being spotted, but one thing is clear: these people are dangerous. More dangerous than the dead, more dangerous than any survivor you’ve encountered.

Every instinct screams at you to run, to put as much distance between yourself and this nightmare as possible. But you can’t.

They’re moving the horde. 

Towards you. Towards Jungwon. Towards all of them.

Without realising, your legs move on their own, instinct taking over as you bolt back in the direction you came from. It doesn’t matter that it took you nearly an hour to walk here; you’re running now, faster than you thought your body could manage. 

Your mind races just as fast as your feet. The whole thing feels like some cruel cosmic joke. 

And now, with every step closer to that rest stop, you feel the pull of something you thought you’d severed. It’s not just the danger that’s pushing you back—it’s them. 

Jungwon, with his quiet, unshakable strength that masks the unbearable weight he carries. Jay, who bled for you without hesitation. Ni-ki, who never stopped believing in the group’s survival. Sunoo, Jake, Heeseung, Sunghoon—they’re more than just people you met along the way. They’re the only thing tethering you to this broken, crumbling world.

And that’s exactly why you left.

You left because you couldn’t stand the thought of watching them die. Not Jungwon. Not any of them. Because you know what would happen if they did. The rage would consume you, boiling over until it scorched everything in its path. The grief would hollow you out, leaving nothing but an echo of who you used to be. You’d do things you promised yourself you’d never do, and the world would win. It would take you, just like it’s taken so many others. You’d become a stranger to yourself.

But the irony isn’t lost on you now. You left because you didn’t want to watch them die. You told yourself it was about survival—your survival. You couldn’t stay and risk being reduced to ashes by grief and rage.

And yet here you are, sprinting back to possibly watch them die. Back into the chaos. Into the danger. Into the pain.

You don’t want to go back. You do. You don’t. The contradictions whirl in your mind like a storm, a tempest of fear, anger, and regret. Every step forward feels like a step closer to doom. But every thought of turning back feels like a betrayal of something you can’t quite name.

Back then, it was just an invisible threat—a vague, looming shadow of danger that hung over you like a storm cloud. You couldn’t see it, couldn’t touch it, you don’t know for sure, you could only feel it. That gnawing dread, the constant whispers of worst-case scenarios. And you’d told yourself that leaving was the only way to spare yourself the pain of the inevitable.

Or maybe they wouldn’t die at all. Maybe you were just being paranoid. Maybe you were wrong about that place. Maybe they’d prove you wrong by thriving, by turning it into the refuge they so desperately wanted it to be. You told yourself all of that to justify the decision to walk away, to convince yourself it was the right thing to do.

But even that was just another lie. Another twisted attempt to deny what you really felt. And despite your best efforts to shut it out, to drown it in logic and practicality, you realise now—that thought in itself, that denial, that ignorance—is hope.

Hope that leaving would somehow shield you from the pain of watching them fall apart.

Hope that they wouldn’t die, that you were just being overly cautious, overly cynical.

Hope that you were wrong about that place, that it wasn’t a death trap waiting to claim them all.

And maybe that’s why you hate the whole idea of hope.

Hope, in all its naive, fragile glory, has been the cruelest trick the world ever played on you. It’s a poison wrapped in pretty words and good intentions. You’ve told yourself time and time again that hope is what gets people killed. It makes you reckless. Makes you believe in things that don’t exist. Hope makes you stay when you should run, makes you trust when you shouldn’t, makes you care when you can’t afford to. And the worst part? Hope doesn’t stop the bad things from happening. It doesn’t save you from loss, from grief, from pain. It just makes the fall hurt that much more when it all comes crashing down.

And now, running back down this highway with every nerve in your body screaming at you to hurry, you feel the weight of it pressing down on you.

You didn’t leave because you thought they’d be fine. You didn’t leave because you believed they’d prove you wrong.

You left because you hoped. In your own twisted way.

But now? Now, knowing what you know, hope feels like a cruel joke. There can’t be hope. Not anymore. Because you know the truth. You’ve seen it with your own eyes.

The people on the cars, the masks of flesh, the herded horde—it’s all proof that this world doesn’t care about hope. It doesn’t care about survival. It only cares about death, about how it can twist and shape and devour until there’s nothing left. 

They’re not fine. They won’t thrive. They won’t prove you wrong. You can’t even tell yourself that you’re overthinking it, that you’re paranoid, that it’s all in your head. Ignorance is no longer bliss because you know. It’s not just some superficial, nebulous fear anymore. It’s real, and it’s heading straight for Jungwon and the others, and you’re the only one who knows. 

They don’t know what’s coming. Jungwon doesn’t know. The group doesn’t know. And if you don’t make it back in time—

The thought hits you like a sledgehammer, knocking the breath out of you. You trip over a crack in the asphalt, your body hitting the ground hard, the impact jarring your entire frame. 

For a moment, you’re dazed, your palms scraped and bleeding against the ground. But the sound of your ragged breathing snaps you back to reality. There’s no time to stop. No time to let the pain sink in. You scramble to your feet, dirt clinging to your hands and knees, and keep running.

You don’t even know how long you’ve been running. All you know is the tightening in your chest, the fire in your lungs, and the unrelenting truth clawing at the back of your mind.

They’re actually going to die.

That knowledge burns, searing away any last shred of hope you might have clung to.

And maybe that’s why you hate hope so much. Because you wanted it to be real. You wanted to believe, even if it was just for a moment, that they could have a chance. But this world doesn’t allow for chances. It doesn’t allow for happy endings. It only allows for survival—and only for those willing to tear apart everything and everyone in their way.

Your pace slows as the rest stop comes into view in the distance, the barricade just barely visible against the horizon. Your heart twists at the sight of it. It looks the same as when you left, quiet and still, like it’s waiting for something to happen.

You can’t stop the bitterness from rising in your chest as you picture Jungwon’s face when you walked away. The disappointment, the anger, the heartbreak—it’s burned into your memory like a wound that refuses to heal. He probably thought you were giving up on them, giving up on him. And maybe, in a way, he was right. Because you couldn’t bring yourself to watch them cling to hope like a noose tightening around their necks

And yet, here you are, running back. Not because you believe you can save them. Not because you think there’s still a chance. But because you can’t bear to let the world prove you right. Not like this. Not when the price of being right is their lives.

You hate hope. You hate what it does to people. But what you hate even more is the thought of standing here, doing nothing, and watching it die. Not just them—you. 

Because saving them is saving yourself.

You realise that now, with every step you take. You can’t separate the two. You can’t convince yourself that walking away from them doesn’t mean walking away from who you are, from the part of you that still has a purpose.

The choice isn’t about hope or survival anymore; it’s about what you’re willing to lose in the process.

If you’re going to lose yourself, let it be in trying. Let it be in throwing everything you have into saving them, even if it breaks you in the process. Let it be because you cared enough to fight.

Because the alternative—the guilt, the regret of turning your back and knowing you could have done something—would be far worse. It would eat away at you. Hollowing you out in a way you’d never recover from.

So if saving them means letting the world take the last piece of you, then so be it. If the cost of trying is everything, you’ll pay it. At least this way, when you lose yourself, it’ll be with a purpose. At least it won’t be for nothing.

And if it comes down to it, if the fight doesn’t go the way you hope, you just pray you won’t live long enough to witness the fallout. You hope the world will be merciful enough to take you before it forces you to watch it take them.

You’re close now, your breath coming in shallow gasps as you force your legs to keep moving. The thought of Jungwon and the others pushes you forward, fuels your determination. You can’t let them be caught off guard. You can’t let them die.

The gates swing open before you can even catch your breath to announce your presence. Figures. They probably saw you miles before you even reached the rest stop, perched from their vantage points or perhaps by sheer habit of being on guard.

It’s Sunoo who greets you at the gate, his face lighting up when he spots you. “Y/N! Back already?” he asks, his tone casual, cheerful even. Like you’ve just returned from a harmless errand rather than the most tumultuous hours of your life.

Back already. The words settle uneasily in your chest as you step through the barricade. You glance at him, noticing the messy state of his hair, sticking up in odd angles, and the faint marks of sleep still etched onto his face. He doesn’t know. None of them know.

You scan the area, catching sight of the others. Sunghoon is by the fire, stretching as if he’s just woken up. Heeseung’s leaning against a pillar, rubbing the back of his neck. Even Ni-ki, who usually has a sharp, alert edge to him, is sitting cross-legged in the back of the van, yawning into his hand.

They don’t know you almost left for good. They have no idea that you had stood on the edge of this very decision, ready to walk away from all of this—from them.

Your chest tightens as you realise how quickly things could have gone another way. If it weren’t for what you saw back at the terminal, you’d be gone right now, miles away from this place, convincing yourself that this is how it had to be. And yet, here you are, standing in the midst of them, and not a single one knows how close you were to never coming back.

And then you see him.

Jungwon is leaning against the wall near the van, his arms crossed over his chest. His gaze locks onto yours the moment you step into the camp, his expression unreadable. There’s no accusation in his eyes, no anger, no “I told you so.” He just looks at you, and you know.

He didn’t tell them.

Whatever passed between you before you left—whatever anger, whatever hurt—it’s gone now, buried under something heavier. Something you can’t quite name.

Your breath hitches as you hold his gaze, a silent exchange passing between the two of you. There’s no point in asking why he kept it to himself. You know why. He’s protecting you, just like he always does, even when you don’t deserve it.

Sunoo, oblivious to the weight of the moment, grins at you and gestures toward the rest of the group. “We figured you were off hunting or something, but damn, you’ve been gone for three hours. Did you get anything?”

Three hours. That’s all it’s been. You glance down at your hands, still clutching the strap of your bag like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded. It felt like so much longer. Like a lifetime has passed since you last stood here.

You glance back at Jungwon, who hasn’t taken his eyes off you. And in that moment, you understand something you didn’t before. He didn’t just protect your secret because it was the right thing to do. He did it because he knows you. Knows how close you were to walking away. Knows how much you’ve been wrestling with the weight of staying. And somehow, despite all of that, he’s still here, waiting for you.

“Well, are you going to stand there all day, or are you going to tell us what you found?” Sunoo’s voice jolts you out of your thoughts, and you force a smile, your mind already racing with how you’re going to explain what’s coming.

Because they may not know that you almost left. But they’re about to find out what you came back for.

You take a deep breath, willing your trembling hands to steady as you adjust the strap of your bag. Sunoo is looking at you expectantly, his cheerful demeanour a stark contrast to the storm brewing inside you. The others are starting to notice now—Heeseung raises an eyebrow, Sunghoon straightens his posture, and Jake steps closer, his gaze narrowing slightly in concern.

“I… didn’t go hunting,” you begin, your voice low but steady. You glance around the group, meeting their eyes one by one before landing back on Jungwon. His expression remains unreadable, though you catch the slightest twitch of his jaw. “I went back to the bus terminal.”

The ripple of confusion is immediate.

“What?” Jake’s voice cuts through the silence, his brow furrowed. “Why the hell would you go back there?”

“I had to check something,” you say, your words rushing out faster than you intended. “Something didn’t sit right with me about that place, about what happened. So I went back to see if—” You pause, your throat tightening as the images flash through your mind again: the horde, the people, the masks.

“If what?” Heeseung prompts, his voice calm but edged with concern.

Your fingers tighten around the strap of your bag as you force yourself to say it. “There’s a horde at the terminal.”

“A horde?” Sunghoon echoes, his voice laced with disbelief.

“Yes,” you say firmly, your eyes scanning the group to make sure they’re listening. “A massive one. Bigger than anything we’ve seen before. But that’s not the worst part.” You take another breath, steeling yourself. “There are people. People controlling it.”

The words hang in the air, heavy and suffocating.

“People?” Sunoo’s face twists in confusion, his earlier cheer replaced with unease. “What do you mean, controlling it?”

“They’re… wearing the dead,” you say, your stomach churning at the memory. “Masks. Clothes. Covering themselves in the scent of decay to blend in. They’re herding the zombies like livestock. I saw them. They’re leading the horde.”

Silence. The kind that feels too loud, too sharp.

“That’s not possible,” Jake finally says, his tone disbelieving. “No one can control the dead.”

“I’m telling you, I saw it with my own eyes!” you snap, the frustration bubbling to the surface. “They’re moving the horde, and they’re coming this way. They’re coming for us.”

Heeseung’s expression darkens, and he exchanges a look with Sunghoon. “How do you know they’re coming here?”

You hesitate, your gaze flicking to Jungwon. He’s still silent, his eyes locked on yours, waiting.

“Because he was there—the guy that Jay went after,” you admit, your voice dropping. “I saw him. Seems like he’s the one in charge too. They’re planning to attack tonight. They know you’re here.”

The weight of your words sinks in, rippling through the group like a shockwave. The air shifts, heavy with dread, the fragile sense of safety they tried to hold onto cracking under the pressure. Sunoo looks pale, his cheerful energy drained away as he stares at you like he can’t quite believe what he’s hearing. Jake’s jaw tightens, his eyes narrowing with determination, though the tension in his shoulders betrays the fear he’s trying to suppress. Ni-ki, who’s just stepped out of the van, freezes mid-step, his expression hardening into one of unease.

Then, movement from the convenience store catches your attention. You glance over, your breath hitching when you see Jay standing in the doorway. Relief washes over you at the sight of him upright, alive, looking much better than the last time you saw him. He’s out of bed—too soon, really—but still, he’s here. Thank god.

But then the relief wanes, replaced by a twinge of worry. The pain in his posture is evident in the way he leans slightly against the doorframe, his body curling in on itself as though every breath takes effort. His complexion is pale, almost ghostly, the lack of colour suggesting someone still in convalescence, still vulnerable. Yet he’s standing there, bearing witness to everything.

And there’s something else. A look on his face that tugs uncomfortably at your chest—regret. It’s there in the tight line of his mouth, in the way his gaze flickers between you and the others. He must’ve heard what you said about the guy. About how he’s still alive. About how he’s leading this horde straight to them.

The regret in his expression cuts deeper than any words could. It’s not regret for himself, not for the pain he’s in or the bullet wound that’s barely begun to heal. It’s regret for what he didn’t finish. For the job he couldn’t complete. And now, because of that, the people he cares about are going to suffer the consequences.

Jay’s the type to bear the blame even when it’s not entirely his to bear. And now, standing there, he looks like he’s drowning in it, his regret and guilt weighing him down like a stone tied to his chest.

“What do we do?” Sunoo’s voice is small, almost childlike. It trembles with fear, breaking the heavy silence that’s gripped the group since your return. His wide eyes dart from person to person, searching for reassurance that none of you can offer.

“We leave,” you say firmly, your gaze locking onto Jungwon’s. The words leave your mouth with more force than you intended, your desperation bleeding into every syllable. “We pack up and leave now, before it’s too late.”

But Jungwon doesn’t respond. His dark eyes remain fixed on yours, unreadable, like he’s searching for something he’s not sure he’ll find.

“Jungwon,” you press, your voice rising slightly as the urgency claws at your chest. “You know we can’t stay. Not with what’s coming.”

His jaw tightens, his posture stiffening as the group watches the two of you with baited breath. You can feel the tension rolling off him, coiling tighter with every passing second. For a moment, you think he’s going to argue. But then he speaks, his voice low and measured. “If we leave now, they’ll follow us. A moving group is easier to track. We need to think this through.”

“Think this through?” you echo, incredulous. The disbelief cuts through your voice, sharp and biting. “There’s nothing to think through. They’re coming, Jungwon. If we stay here, we’re sitting ducks.”

“And if we leave, we’re exposed,” he counters without missing a beat, his calmness only fuelling your frustration. “We don’t even know if we’d make it out of the area before they catch up to us. We need a plan.”

The group falls silent again, their eyes darting between the two of you like they’re caught in the middle of a battlefield with no way to escape. The weight of their stares presses down on you, amplifying the tension already thrumming in your veins.

Your chest heaves as you search for the right words to push through his resolve. But before you can, Jay speaks, cutting through the thick air like a blade. His voice is quiet but firm, carrying a gravity that makes everyone turn toward him. “He’s not going to stop, you know.”

You snap your head toward him, your breath hitching at the resignation in his tone. His gaze locks onto yours, and in that moment, you understand what he’s trying to say.

“He’ll find us,” Jay continues, his voice steady despite the obvious pain he’s in. “And he’ll keep finding us until he gets what he’s looking for.”

"If you're suggesting we leave without you, forget it. We—"

“The only choice is to stay and fight. To settle it once and for all.” Jay’s eyes flicker to Jungwon, then to the rest of the group, his words slicing through the growing sense of dread.

The silence that follows is deafening. You can feel the ripple of fear that passes through the group, the unspoken understanding of what staying to fight would mean. It’s not just survival anymore. It’s war. And war always demands sacrifice.

Jungwon’s gaze shifts to you again, his expression unreadable but weighted with expectation. He’s waiting for you to argue, to push back. But you don’t. Because deep down, you know Jay’s right. This isn’t just some random attack. It’s a personal vendetta. 

Even if you manage to convince them to leave, to escape the immediate threat, it won’t guarantee their safety. These people don’t just want resources or a fight. They want vengeance. They want blood. And they won’t stop until they have it. Running will only delay the inevitable. 

You swallow hard, the words catching in your throat. “If we stay,” you finally manage, your voice trembling slightly, “we need to be ready. Completely ready.”

Jungwon nods once, the tiniest flicker of approval crossing his face before it’s gone again. He turns to the group, his voice steady and commanding as he begins issuing instructions. “Ni-ki, Jake—check the barricades. Reinforce every weak spot you find. Sunghoon—bring out all the guns and ammos from the backroom. Sunoo—gather anything we can use to secure the perimeter. I saw some extra rows of barb wires in the basement earlier. Heeseung and I will map out entry points and blind spots. Jay, you stay inside.”

Then Jungwon turns to you.

You wait, holding your breath, anticipating the order he’ll give you. But it doesn’t come. Instead, his gaze lingers on you for a fleeting second before he looks away, addressing the others again. He’s leaving you out of it—deliberately. The realisation hits you harder than it should.

At first, you think he’s still angry, that the tension from your earlier argument hasn’t fully dissipated. But as you study his face, the way his jaw is set but his eyes avoid yours, you see the truth. He’s not mad at you.

He’s giving you an out. He’s leaving the option open—the option to walk away, still.

The group disperses quickly, each person moving with purpose as they carry out their assigned tasks. The sound of hurried footsteps and shifting supplies fills the air, but you remain rooted to the spot. You feel like a ghost, watching them prepare for a battle you’d been so desperate to avoid. A battle you tried to flee from. A battle you brought right down on them.

You glance back at Jungwon. He’s already bent over Heeseung’s map, pointing at something with a furrowed brow. His posture is tense, every muscle in his body coiled like a spring ready to snap. Even from here, you can see the weight on his shoulders, the burden he carries not just as their leader but as someone who cares too much.

Your chest tightens. You can’t tell if it’s guilt or anger—or maybe something messier than both.

He’s leaving the choice to you because he knows you. He knows you’d hate being told to stay, that forcing you would only drive you further away. But this, this silent permission to go—it feels worse. It feels like he’s already preparing himself for your absence. Like he’s already accepted that you might leave.

You tear your gaze away, your fists clenching at your sides. He’s giving you what you wanted. The freedom to walk away without confrontation. The chance to escape without tying yourself to their fate.

So why does it feel so wrong?

Just then, Jay approaches, his steps slower than usual, but his presence steady. “You look like shit,” he says flatly, his voice cutting through the quiet.

“Could say the same thing about you, Jay,” you shoot back without thinking, the words slipping out with a touch of dry humour. Your chest tightens as you’re brought back to the moment on the roadside—the weight of his voice when he confronted you, the guilt that still lingers in your bones. You wonder if he knows just how close you came to leaving.

Jay tilts his head, studying you in that unnervingly perceptive way he has. “Come on,” he says finally, nodding toward the convenience store. “We can keep watch together on the roof.”

Your brow furrows. “Jungwon told you to stay inside.”

“Inside and on top, same thing,” Jay replies, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “At least on the roof, I get to feel somewhat useful.” He clicks his tongue, and there’s a stubborn edge to his tone that you know all too well.

“Jay,” you start, but he cuts you off, his gaze narrowing.

“Don’t start. I know my limits better than anyone, and sitting around waiting to feel like dead weight isn’t doing me any favours.” His voice is sharper now, but not angry. Just resolute. “You can watch my back if you’re so worried.”

You let out a quiet sigh, glancing toward the roof. He’s not wrong—at least up there, he’s out of harm’s way but still contributing. And truthfully, part of you is relieved for the company. You nod reluctantly. “Fine. But you’re not pulling anything heroic. Got it?”

Jay grins faintly, though the usual arrogance in his expression is muted. “I’ll leave the heroics to you this time.” His voice softens as he adds, “Come on, let’s go.”

The scent of the morning feels sharper now, almost intrusive, carried by the cool breeze that brushes over your face as you and Jay sit cross-legged on the roof. The faint rustle of leaves and the distant chirping of birds fill the silence between you. Both of you lean back against the convenience store sign, the metal cool against your shoulders.

“How’s recovery been?” you ask, your voice quiet as your gaze stays fixed on the horizon stretching endlessly past the rest stop.

“Good,” Jay replies, his tone nonchalant. “Thanks to the medicine you and Jungwon brought back. And, well, Jake, obviously.”

“So, it doesn’t hurt anymore?” you ask, glancing at him briefly, searching his face for any hint of dishonesty.

Jay lets out a dry chuckle, shaking his head. “Are you kidding? It was only two days ago. Of course, it still hurts like shit.”

A wave of guilt crashes over you, sharp and unrelenting. Of course, it hurts. He’s carrying the pain for both of you—for a bullet that was meant for you. Your chest tightens, and before you can stop yourself, the words slip out.

“I’m sorry.”

Jay turns to you, his brow furrowing slightly. “I told you, it’s fine—”

“No, it’s not fine, Jay,” you cut him off, your voice trembling with emotion. “You really could’ve died.”

“Yeah, if you were a little bit taller.” His lips twitch, and you can see him trying to hold it back. But it doesn’t last long before he bursts out laughing—a bright, unrestrained sound that feels almost alien in this grim world. The laughter cuts short, though, as he winces and curls in on himself, the pain from his wound quickly bringing him back to reality.

Your instinct is to reach out, but you hesitate, your hand hovering in the air before dropping back to your lap. “See? It’s not fine,” you mutter, your voice softer now.

Jay breathes through the pain, shaking his head with a faint grin still lingering on his face. “Worth it. That reaction was worth it.”

You stare at him for a moment, incredulous. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re predictable,” Jay shoots back, his grin lingering, though the weariness in his voice cuts through the lightness. Then his expression shifts, something sharper and more knowing in his eyes. 

“This morning, you left, didn’t you?”

You freeze, the words hitting like a jolt to your chest. Of course you can count on Jay to call you out on your contrarian shit.  

You don’t answer right away, but the silence is all the confirmation he needs. “Yeah, I figured when I woke up and saw Jungwon sitting on the roof. Legs dangling over the edge, just staring at the horizon. Like he was waiting for something. Guess that something was you.”

Your chest tightens, and you turn your gaze back to the horizon. You want to say something, to deny it, but what’s the point? He already knows the truth.

“Did he say anything?” you ask cautiously, your voice quieter now. “Jungwon, I mean.”

Jay’s eyes flick to you, studying your face for a moment before he answers. “Not much. He’s not really the type to spill his guts, you know that.” He pauses, his gaze turning distant, like he’s replaying the memory in his mind. 

Jay continues, his tone lighter, but there’s an edge to it. “For what it’s worth, he didn’t look angry. Just… resigned, I guess. Like he already knew what you were going to do before you did.”

You exhale shakily, your fingers tightening around itself. “I didn’t mean to—” you start, but Jay cuts you off.

“I know,” he says, his voice softer now. “And so does he. Doesn’t mean it didn’t mess with him, though.”

His words land heavier than you expect, and you nod, swallowing hard as the guilt settles deeper into your chest. It’s a hollow ache, twisting and gnawing, but you can’t bring yourself to say anything else. The silence between you stretches thin, and you feel yourself teetering on the edge of collapsing into the depths of your own self-loathing.

Jay, ever the mind reader, speaks up before you spiral. “But that just means he truly cares about you. That you bring him comfort and hope in a world that’s devoid of it.”

Hope. That word feels like an accusation, like it doesn’t belong anywhere near you.

"Why?” you whisper, barely able to hear your own voice. “Why does he care about me? I met you all barely over a week ago.”

“What about you?” he counters. “Why do you care?”

His question takes you off guard, echoing in your mind like a challenge. Why do you care? You left to avoid caring, to avoid the inevitability of their deaths, to avoid watching the world tear them away from you like it’s done to so many before. Yet, here you are, sitting on this roof, your chest tightening with every word, every thought.

You glance at Jay, his face calm but expectant, the faint lines of pain around his mouth betraying the effort it takes for him to even sit upright. He doesn’t push. He doesn’t have to. The weight of his question lingers in the air, demanding an answer you’re not ready to give.

“I shouldn’t care,” you say finally, the words falling flat. They feel like a shield, something to protect yourself from what you’re afraid to admit. “It’d be easier if I didn’t.”

Jay lets out a soft laugh, though it’s tinged with sadness. “Yeah, it would be. But that’s not who you are, is it?”

You don’t respond. Because he’s right, and you hate that he’s right. You hate that you care, that you couldn’t stop yourself from coming back, from throwing yourself into the fire again and again. You hate that their survival has somehow become entwined with your own, that you can’t even think about saving yourself without thinking about saving them.

Jay shifts slightly, wincing as he adjusts his position. “You care because you see it, don’t you?” he continues, his voice quiet now, almost gentle. “What we have here. It’s not perfect—it’s messy and dangerous, and it might not last. But it’s something. And for some reason, you want to protect that.”

You shake your head, frustration bubbling to the surface. “I came back because I knew what was coming,” you argue, more to yourself than to him. “Because if I didn’t warn you, you’d all be dead by midnight. That’s it. That’s the only reason.”

Jay tilts his head, studying you with an expression that feels far too knowing. “Sure,” he says, his tone neutral. “Keep telling yourself that.”

You glare at him, but there’s no real anger behind it. Just exhaustion, and maybe a little bit of fear. Because you know he’s right. You look away, your gaze drifting back to the horizon. The beauty of it feels almost mocking, a cruel reminder of what you’re all trying to hold onto in a world determined to take it away.

“I don’t know how to do this,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know how to keep going when everything feels so... fragile. Like it could all fall apart any second.”

Jay’s expression softens, and for a moment, he looks older, wearier. “None of us do,” he says simply. “We’re all just figuring it out as we go. Even Jungwon. But I guess he tries to hide that from the rest of us.”

“Why?” you ask, finally turning to look at him. “Why does he feel like he has to hide it?”

Jay leans back further against the convenience store sign, his expression heavy with something close to regret. “When things fell apart, we were all with him at his new university. We were stuck there—trapped with him. And Jungwon...” He pauses, rubbing the back of his neck. “I think he blames himself for that. Like it was his fault we were there instead of safe at home with our families when it all started.”

You’re reminded of your first real conversation with Jungwon, the way he spoke about the group as if their survival was entirely his responsibility. He hadn’t said it outright, but now, hearing it from Jay, it all makes sense. The guilt he carries, the sleepless nights, the endless drive to keep moving forward—it’s all because of them. Because of what he believes he owes them.

“He really thinks it’s his fault?” you murmur, half to yourself.

Jay nods, his gaze distant. “Yeah. But it’s not. We wanted to be there. We wanted to stay. Hell, we probably made it harder for him by refusing to leave. And now, we’re his reason to keep going.” He lets out a quiet laugh, but it’s hollow, lacking any real humour. 

You don’t say anything, letting Jay continue. You can tell he’s speaking from a place that’s deeper than his usual wit, pulling from a well of memories he rarely lets anyone see.

“Somewhere along the way, we just… started relying on him,” Jay says. “On his reassurance, his direction. It wasn’t even intentional. It just… happened. Even someone like me, who hates showing weakness—I faltered. When it happened. When she died.” His voice cracks slightly, and he swallows hard before continuing. “And I would go to him, night after night, just so I can fall asleep. Because his presence brought me that comfort. That feeling that everything might be okay, even when I knew it wouldn’t be.”

Jay’s gaze flicks to you, his expression distant, as though he’s caught between the past and the present. “He does it because it’s in his nature. He feels like he has to carry us, all of us, because we’re still here. That’s just who he is. He’ll carry the world on his shoulders if it means we can breathe a little easier. But it made me realise… Jungwon probably gets scared too. He probably has countless sleepless nights, only he has nobody to lean on.”

You stare at Jay, his words settling over you like a weight you’re not sure you’re ready to bear. The breeze brushes past, carrying with it the faint scent of morning dew, but even that isn’t enough to distract you from the raw honesty in his voice.

You’re quiet for a moment, processing his words. Then Jay’s voice softens even more, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Well, until you came along.”

That catches you off guard. “Me?” you echo, frowning slightly. “What are you talking about?”

Jay tilts his head, his expression somewhere between exasperation and amusement. “You’re really going to pretend you don’t see it? The way he looks at you. The way he listens when you speak, even when you’re arguing. Especially when you’re arguing.”

You do. You do see it. Only you didn't think it was that significant for someone else to notice it too. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you mutter, but the heat creeping up your neck betrays you.

Jay raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “Come on. You’re not that dense. The guy practically lights up when you’re around. Even when you’re pissing him off.”

You open your mouth to argue, but the words catch in your throat.  “He doesn’t need me,” you say finally, your voice quieter now. “He’s strong enough on his own. He always has been.”

Jay lets out a low, disbelieving laugh. “That’s the thing. He doesn’t need you to carry him, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t need you. You’re not taking away his strength; you’re giving him a reason to keep using it.”

“Don’t underestimate the kind of relief you bring him,” Jay says firmly. “He’s been carrying all of us for so long, I don’t think he realised how much he needed someone to push back. To challenge him. To make him feel like he doesn’t have to carry it all on his own.”

You glance at Jay, his expression serious now, his usual smirk replaced with something softer. “Why are you telling me this?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Because someone has to,” he replies simply. “And because I know you care about him, even if you’re too stubborn to admit it.”

The silence that follows feels heavier than before, but this time, it’s not uncomfortable. It settles between you like a fragile truce, delicate but unbroken. Which is surprising, considering you’re having a heart-to-heart with Jay, of all people.

You glance at him from the corner of your eye, half-expecting some sarcastic remark or a biting joke to cut through the moment. But he doesn’t say anything. Instead, his gaze fixes on the horizon. His profile, usually so sharp and full of defiance, seems softer now, like the weight of the conversation has smoothed out his edges.

“You know,” you start, breaking the silence, “you remind me of someone from the community building.”

Jay glances at you, curious. He notices your attempt to change the topic but he doesn't call you out on it. “Yeah? I bet they were a real charmer.”

You snort, shaking your head. “No, he was an idiot. But it’s something about the way neither of you know how to sugarcoat your words. That brutal honesty, whether anyone’s ready for it or not.”

Jay chuckles, the sound low and surprisingly genuine. “Well, I hope he’s thriving and doesn’t have a gaping hole in his side.”

“Yeah, well… he was a real troublemaker,” you say, your tone growing more reflective. “Got into all sorts of shit before everything fell apart. He was one of those kids the adults would always shake their heads at. A ‘bad influence,’ they’d say. But I went on a few supply runs with him, so I got to know him better. Yeah, he was reckless, stubborn, and constantly looking for trouble, but he was a nice guy deep down. Helped me out of a few tight spots.”

“He had a little sister. Around four years old when it started,” you continue, your voice lowering. “She was everything to him. No matter how much of a mess he was, he took care of her like his life depended on it. You could see it in the way he looked at her, the way he’d always make sure she had enough food or that she wasn’t scared.”

You pause, the memory sharp and painful. Jay’s quiet, sensing that there’s more to the story. His gaze sharpens, but he doesn’t interrupt, letting you take your time.

“One day, there was this fight. Between him and an older man in the building. It got… bad. Heated. I don’t even know what it was about anymore—something stupid, probably. Everyone was watching, caught up in the chaos, and I guess no one noticed his sister trying to stop them. She ran in, got caught in the middle.” Your voice falters, and you swallow hard before continuing. “She got pushed. Fell against the edge of a table. Her skull… cracked open.”

The words hang heavy in the air, and for a moment, neither of you speaks. The weight of the memory presses down on you, and you can feel Jay’s gaze on you, quiet and steady.

“At first, he was devastated,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “Grief just… swallowed him whole. But then, something shifted. His entire demeanour changed. He didn’t cry. He didn’t scream. He just… got up, grabbed the man who’d pushed her, and dragged him outside. Fed him to the dead. No hesitation. After that, he left. Never saw him again.”

Jay exhales slowly, leaning forward slightly. “What’s the moral of the story?” he asks, his voice careful, like he’s testing the waters.

“I guess…” you hesitate, trying to put your thoughts into words. “I guess I’m afraid of becoming like him. Detached. Insane. Letting grief consume me to the point where I’m not even me anymore. I still remember his eyes that day, when he dragged that man outside. It was like… everything human about him was gone. And I don’t want that to happen to me.”

Jay watches you closely, his expression unreadable. Then, after a long pause, he asks the question you’ve been dreading. “Is that why you left? Because you were scared to face what you’d lose?”

You flinch, the truth hitting you like a slap to the face. “Yeah,” you admit, your voice trembling. 

“Do you think he made it?” he asks suddenly, his gaze still fixed you.

You blink, caught off guard by the question. It’s not one you’ve ever let yourself think about, not in detail. “I don’t know,” you admit, your voice hesitant. “I think about it sometimes. Whether he found somewhere safe, whether he made it out of the city alive... but I guess I’ll never know.”

“Do you think you would’ve done the same? If it had been you?”

The question hangs in the air, heavy with implication. You hesitate, but only for a moment. Because deep down, you already know the answer.

“Yes,” you say quietly, the weight of the admission settling deep in your chest. Your fingers curl into your palms, your throat tightening.

“I think I would’ve done the same thing. And that’s what makes it worse.”

Jay nods slowly, his expression unreadable. His gaze lingers on you, as if weighing something in his mind.

“There are some things in the universe that are just out of our control,” he says, staring up at the sky like the answers might be written in the clouds. “Like the weather, for example, or who your parents are. And when things go wrong, it’s easy to say, ‘It was out of my hands,’ or ‘There’s nothing I could’ve done about it.’”

Jay’s voice is steady, measured, but there’s something raw underneath it, something that makes you listen even though you don’t want to. He glances at you then, his expression unreadable. “But when you do have control over something—when you actually could have done something, but you choose not to—and then you lose control? That’s worse. That’s so much worse.”

Your fingers curl into your palms, nails biting into skin, but you don’t stop him.

“Because this time, you actually had a hand in it,” Jay continues, his voice quieter now. “Not doing anything about it, knowing what you could’ve done to prevent it—that thought consumes you. It haunts you in your sleep, over and over again. And I think, deep down, you already know this.” He lets out a soft breath, shaking his head slightly. “If you didn’t, you wouldn’t have come back.”

“Human emotions are fickle. And more often than not, we’re driven by the negative ones,” Jay muses. “Anger, fear, guilt, regret, grief. I mean, it’s hard not to be when you’re forced into a world where the undead is constantly trying to eat you.” He huffs a quiet, humourless laugh, running a hand through his hair.

“But the one thing stronger than all of those emotions? Hope.”

He says it so simply, like it’s a fact, like it’s something undeniable. Like he knows you've been grappling with this dilemma.

You want to deny. You really really want to.

“It’s a funny thing, hope,” Jay says, looking back at you now. “You can’t survive without it—not really. It’s the one thing that keeps people moving forward, that makes them cling to life even when it feels impossible. In the apocalypse, you can never have too much hope. Because it’s all we have left.”

His gaze sharpens, like he’s making sure you’re listening.

“That includes each other.”

The lump in your throat grows tighter.

“We’re hope for one another,” Jay says, his voice unwavering. “You’re hope for us. And we damn well need to be hope for you.”

You let out a shaky breath, turning your head away. You stare down at your scraped hands as Jay’s words settle deep into your bones, into every part of yourself you’ve spent so long trying to shut off. You hate hope. You fear it.

Jay leans back against the sign, watching you carefully. He doesn’t press, doesn’t rush you. He just lets you sit with your thoughts, lets you process.

Eventually, you find your voice, though it comes out quieter than you expect. “But you only feel those negative emotions when you hope. Hope sucks the life out of people. Hope gives people false reassurance. People lose all sense of logic just to hold onto hope and yet, it's hope that makes the pain so much more excruciating when it's ripped away from you. You’re only disappointed because you hope. Too much hope is dangerous.” You don't even realise you've been raising your voice until you're done.

Jay huffs out a small, humourless laugh, shaking his head. “It’s a paradox, isn’t it? This fragile, beautiful thing that’s supposed to keep us alive is also the thing that can destroy us.” His voice is steady, thoughtful. “Hope is the spark that ignites negative emotions—but it twists them into something else. Something with purpose.

“Anger, fuelled by hope, becomes determination. Fear, tied to hope, becomes caution. Guilt and regret, tethered to hope, becomes redemption. Grief, woven into hope, becomes strength.”

You flinch at that, but Jay doesn’t let up. “Without hope, those emotions are just weights dragging you down, holding you back. But with it, they’re a reason to fight. A reason to survive.”

“Hope is what gives meaning to every choice, every sacrifice. It’s what makes us human.”

You stare at him, your throat tightening. The words claw at something deep in you, something you’ve spent so long trying to bury. 

“And that’s the cruel irony of it all,” Jay continues, his voice quieter now. “Because hope is also the thing that hurts the most. The thing that leaves you raw, vulnerable to disappointment and despair when it’s inevitably taken away. But even knowing that, we can’t let it go. Because without hope, what’s left?”

His gaze flickers to you then, sharp and knowing. “Not you,” he says, his voice gentle but firm. “And definitely not me.”

Jay’s words settle into you like a slow, creeping ache—one you can’t ignore, no matter how much you want to. They seep into the cracks, the ones you’ve spent so long trying to patch over, the ones you told yourself didn’t exist.

And for the first time in a conversation with Jay, you have no response.

You know he’s right. But it hurts—because hope is also the reason you’re here. The reason you turned back. The reason you’re sitting on this rooftop, trying to make sense of the war that rages inside you.

Hope, in the apocalypse, is both a necessity and a curse—and that contradiction is what makes it so powerful.

If you hadn't seen what you saw, you would have been long gone by now. You would’ve walked away with the comfortable lie that they’d be fine, that they’d beat the odds like they always do, that their naive faith in safety would somehow be rewarded.

But you know the truth now. And the truth doesn’t allow you the luxury of ignorance. Because they’re not okay. They won’t be okay.

Not unless you do something.

Leaving now—knowing what’s coming—wouldn’t just make you a coward. It would make you complicit in their deaths. It would mean standing by while the world tears them apart, pretending it isn’t your problem.

And you know yourself well enough to understand exactly how that would end. A lifetime of guilt. A lifetime of knowing you could have done something but chose not to. That guilt would fester inside you, wear you down, strip you bare until there’s nothing left of you that’s worth saving. Until the world finally wins.

And either way—whether you leave or stay—you’re not going to come out of this intact. You’re already too deep, too tangled in it all.

So you choose the path that has even the smallest, most fragile hope of something good coming out of it.

In the end, you chose hope. 

And hope guided you back to them.

The silence between you and Jay stretches for another half-hour, comfortable in a way that doesn’t demand words. There’s no need to fill the space with forced conversation, no pressure to dissect the weight of everything you’ve just talked about. Just the two of you, sitting side by side, watching the horizon as if it holds the answers neither of you have.

Occasionally, your gaze drifts downward, taking in the organised chaos of the camp below. The others move with purpose, their figures threading seamlessly through the makeshift fortifications, pulling them together, binding them to one another. Binding you to them.

Your eyes find Jungwon without meaning to. He’s hunched over a roughly drawn map with Heeseung, tracing escape routes with a furrowed brow. His lips are pressed into a thin line, his jaw tight, his entire body braced as if the sheer weight of their survival rests on his shoulders alone. Heeseung says something, pointing at a different spot on the map, and Jungwon nods, his fingers tightening around the paper.

You wonder what he’s thinking. If he truly believes they have a chance, or if he’s just convincing himself to. Because no matter how much you try to push it away, the doubt creeps in before you can stop it. It slithers through the cracks in your resolve, wrapping around your thoughts like a noose.

The horde is too big.

There’s no way this place will hold against it.

Even if you get past the first wave, they’ll surround the camp before you even get the chance to turn around and leave.

You press your lips together, gripping the edge of the roof so tightly that your knuckles turn white. The old wood groans under the pressure, but the sound is drowned out by the weight pressing down on your chest.

It’s a losing battle.

You know it. They must know it too.

But then, you look closer. The exhaustion on their faces is unmistakable. The shadows under their eyes, the weariness in their shoulders, the way Sunghoon drags a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply as if trying to breathe the tension out of his body.

They don’t fully believe this will work. Not really.

But they’re trying anyway.

Because what else is there to do? Give up? Lay down and wait to be torn apart? No. That’s not who they are.

And despite the gnawing dread in your stomach, you realise—it’s not who you are either.

Just then, panicked voices rise from directly beneath you, coming from a blind spot you can’t see. Your body tenses instinctively as your ears strain to make sense of the commotion. 

Jay stiffens beside you, his head snapping toward the sound. You exchange a knowing look, silent but immediate in your understanding—something’s wrong.

You focus, trying to visualise the situation in your head, piecing together what you can hear against what you can’t see. The sharp edges of alarm in the voices. The sound of someone struggling. A threat, spoken with dangerous intent.

Your eyes flick to Jungwon. His expression is tight, unreadable at first—until you notice the tinge of worry, the fear etched just beneath the surface as his gaze locks onto the entrance of the convenience store.

You’re already counting heads.

Jungwon. Heeseung. Jake. Sunghoon. Ni-ki. Jay, beside you.

Your stomach twists.

Where’s Sunoo?

Before you can say anything, a voice cuts through the tense silence. A voice you don't recognise.

“I know there’s two more,” the stranger calls out, their tone sharp with authority. “You’d better show yourselves before I do something to this boy.”

The world around you stills.

Your breath catches.

Sunoo.

You and Jay exchange another glance, this time urgent, alarm bells ringing in both of your heads. Without hesitation, you inch closer to the edge, careful not to make a sound as you peer over.

Your worst fears are confirmed.

Sunoo stands frozen in the doorway of the convenience store, his hands raised slightly, his posture rigid with fear. His chest rises and falls in quick, shallow breaths, his eyes darting toward Jungwon—toward all of them—searching for an escape that doesn’t exist.

Behind him, partially obscured by the pillars, you catch a glimpse of someone else—an outsider. A woman, dressed in ragged clothing with a cloak draped over her frame. Yet, despite her tattered appearance, her stance radiates a quiet, dangerous confidence that sends every instinct in your body on high alert. With one hand, she presses a pistol firmly against the back of Sunoo’s head, keeping him locked in place.

She’s inside the rest stop. How?

Then it hits you.

She’s been here. Probably ever since you arrived. Hiding. Watching. Acting as a spy for your attackers.

Jungwon’s expression remains unreadable, but you see the tension in his shoulders, the slight tremor in his fingers. He takes a slow step forward, his hands raised in a non-threatening gesture. His voice is calm, measured.

“You’re outnumbered. Are you sure you want to do this?” He tilts his head slightly, eyes locked onto hers. “Let him go, and we can talk.”

The woman doesn’t even spare him a glance.

“I said show yourself,” she orders, her voice sharp, unwavering. “You have ten seconds.”

And then she starts counting.

"Ten."

Your gaze flicks to Jay.

What should we do?

"Nine."

Jay’s jaw tightens.

Let’s wait it out.

"Eight."

Your stomach knots.

And what if she shoots him?

"Seven."

Jay exhales sharply, weighing the risk.

I don’t think she will. She’s outnumbered.

"Six."

Your fingers twitch at your sides.

She’s bluffing.

"Five. I’m really going to do it."

Your breath catches.

She’s not bluffing.

"Four."

Jay hesitates.

She has nothing to lose.

"Three—"

“Alright, we’re coming out.”

The words leave your lips before you fully process them. Your arms lift above your head, palms open, your body moving before your mind can tell you to stop. Slowly, carefully, you begin your descent from the roof.

Jungwon’s eyes flicker to you the moment your feet touch the ground, but he doesn’t say anything. His jaw tightens, his fingers twitch slightly at his side. You know he doesn’t like this, but what other choice do you have? You had seconds to decide—risk Sunoo’s life, or give her what she wants.

Your boots hit the pavement, dust kicking up beneath you as you step forward, keeping your hands where she can see them. Jay lands behind you, slower, deliberate. You sense the stiffness in his movements, the way his breathing subtly shifts as he fights to keep himself from wincing. He’s trying not to show it, but he’s still weak.

She can’t know that.

“See? That wasn’t so hard,” the woman sneers, swaying the pistol trained on Sunoo. He flinches but doesn’t make a sound, though you can see the tension in his frame, the fear flickering in his eyes. He’s trying to be brave. You need to be braver.

You and Jay stop a few paces away, keeping the distance just wide enough to not seem like a threat. Jungwon, Heeseung, and the others remain still—coiled like springs, waiting for the right moment. Looking for an opening. But you know there might not be one.

A chill creeps down your spine, slithering like ice through your veins, settling deep in your bones. You swallow hard, forcing air into your lungs. Stay calm. Stay in control.

The air around you feels thick, suffocating in its stillness. Each breath is laced with tension, heavy with unspoken words, unspoken fears. Your fingers twitch at your sides, hovering near your weapon, but you don’t dare move—not yet. One wrong twitch, one flinch in the wrong direction, and the woman’s finger might tighten around the trigger.

Then, as if the universe is offering you a cruel favour, a faint breeze stirs the stagnant air, cutting through the oppressive heat and unsettling the dust beneath your feet. The edges of the woman’s tattered cloak flutter with the movement, lifting for the briefest moment.

But it’s enough.

Your breath catches and your gaze snaps to the sight beneath the ragged material, to the place where her left forearm should be.

A stump.

Jagged, uneven, the skin around it healed but rough—evidence of a wound that wasn’t treated with care. A makeshift bandage barely holds in place, frayed from time and neglect.

Your mind races, the implications hitting you like a blow to the chest. 

She’s injured. She’s weaker than she wants you to believe.

The realisation strikes you hard, but before you can fully register how to use it against her, a voice cuts through the tension.

“Hey, I know you.”

It’s Jake.

His tone isn’t hesitant, but certain—sharp enough to make the woman’s smirk falter ever so slightly.

“You do now?” The woman regains her composure quickly, her smirk returning as she idly plays with the safety of her pistol, flicking it on and off, the quiet click-click-click filling the charged silence.

Jake doesn’t flinch. “Lieutenant Kim Minseol. Ammunition Command. You’re part of The Future.”

His words send a ripple of confusion through the group.

Jungwon stiffens beside you, his gaze sharpening as he scrutinises the woman up and down, searching for recognition in her face. The others exchange uneasy glances, but Jake keeps his eyes locked on her.

“I remember you,” he continues, voice controlled but unwavering. “A few weeks before our escape, you came into the treatment facility with a fresh stump on your left arm. It was because of your absence that we were able to sneak into the supply depot.”

For a brief moment, something flickers in her expression. A shadow of something sinister, something ugly. Then she lets out a hollow, bitter laugh.

“What a good memory you have there, Doctor Sim.” The mockery drips from her words, but beneath it, there’s a tightness—like the words taste sour in her mouth.

Jake doesn’t react, his expression carefully guarded.

And then her smirk disappears altogether.

“But you’re wrong about the first part,” she says, her voice dropping lower, losing its feigned amusement. “I was part of The Future. Until they expelled me. Said resources were running low. But of course, that’s because someone helped themselves to six months' worth of supplies.” Her gaze sweeps over all of you, sharp and knowing.

A chill settles over the group.

“It’s not our fault,” Heeseung says evenly, though there’s a tightness in his jaw, a flicker of tension beneath his composed exterior. His gaze shifts—almost unconsciously—to her left arm, lingering for just a second too long. “They would’ve expelled you anyway. For your… unfortunate disability.”

Her head tilts slightly, eyes narrowing like a predator sizing up its prey.

“Someone of my rank would still be valuable enough to keep around, even with my unfortunate disability,” she counters, her tone dripping with cold certainty.

The click of a pistol’s safety disengaging slices through the silence. Sunoo flinches, his breath catching as the muzzle digs harder against his skull.

“You think I’m lying?” Her voice sharpens like a blade, each syllable cutting through the air with precision. “Then what about the dozens of able-bodied men and women they cast out with me?” Her eyes sweep over the group, daring anyone to challenge her, to deny the truth she’s laying before them.

“What excuse do they have?”

No one answers.

“How did you end up here?” you ask, grasping for something, anything to keep the upper hand.

The woman lets out a scoff. “What? Didn’t think a lady with a stump could survive this long?” she sneers. “I was military for a reason, you know. And lucky for the group of us that got expelled, we ran into A.” Her smirk widens, something cruel glinting in her eyes. “Who just so happened to have a long-standing unresolved affair with one… of… you.”

Her gaze sweeps the group deliberately, before landing on Jay.

It lingers.

Your breath stills.

Is she talking about him? About the man Jay went after?

Your head snaps to Jay instinctively, and sure enough, you see it—the slight stiffening of his shoulders, the sharp clench of his jaw. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t move, but that’s all the confirmation you need.

You keep your voice even, biting back the unease bubbling in your gut. “Did A suggest you lot dress up as freaks too?” you taunt, eyeing the grotesque remnants of the dead clinging to her clothes.

Her smirk doesn’t falter. If anything, it deepens.

“Call it whatever you want,” she purrs, rolling her shoulders back, “but it’s kept us alive.” There’s something almost reverent in the way she says it. “It’s what got us this sanctuary of a rest stop.”

Sanctuary. The word makes your stomach churn.

The woman gestures around like she’s unveiling some grand conquest, her voice thick with smug satisfaction. “The Future didn’t see what was coming when we rolled over this place. They never even put up a fight.” She shakes her head, laughing—mocking. “That’s how confident they were in this place. That sure of their survival.”

She spreads her arms wide, as if to drive the point home. “And just like that, they left all this behind! For us, of course.” Her eyes gleams with something almost predatory, as she levels her gaze at you. “Not you.”

She’s getting caught up in her own villain monologue. She’s getting cocky.

“‘The Future are monsters.’” She spits the words out like they taste bitter on her tongue. “It’s easy to just say that, isn’t it?” She lets out a mocking laugh, one filled with more exhaustion than humour.

“Have you ever considered that some of us were just doing what we were told? That we were just trying to survive?”

Silence.

Then, her smirk fades, replaced with something colder. 

“Bet you didn’t think stealing wouldn’t have any implications on the rest of us, did you?” Her grip on the pistol tightens, her knuckles turning white.

“Did you?” she repeats, quieter this time, but the threat behind it is unmistakable.

The weight of her words settles over the group like a thick fog, suffocating in its quiet accusation.

She’s right.

They had never stopped to think about what had happened to the people they left behind. The ones who weren’t part of The Future’s elite, the ones who had simply been following orders. The ones who weren’t cruel enough, strong enough, useful enough to be worth keeping around.

And when they took those six months of supplies, when they ran, they might not have pulled the trigger on those people themselves—

But they might as well have.

It’s a sickening realisation.

The Future is a tyrant military organisation. That much is true. But tyrants don’t survive without followers, without structure, without soldiers willing to do anything to keep their people alive.

Isn’t that exactly what they’ve been doing?

Taking what they can. Keeping their own alive, even if it means condemning someone else.

The guilt twists in your stomach like a knife. You feel it rippling through the others too. She leans in ever so slightly, her lips curling into something almost gentle—but the pistol pressing into Sunoo’s skull tells a different story.

“You see it now, don’t you?” she murmurs, tilting her head. “The hypocrisy. The way you tell yourselves you’re different.”

“You’re no different from The Future.”

“And now you’re back,” she continues, voice like poisoned honey. “Trying to steal something that isn’t yours, again.”

The shift in the air is almost tangible. It’s subtle, like a silent crack forming in a foundation that had once seemed unbreakable—but it’s there.

You see it in the way Jake’s shoulders slump just slightly, in the way Sunghoon’s lips press into a thin line, in the way Heeseung’s gaze flickers to the ground like he can’t quite meet anyone’s eyes, in the way Ni-ki’s jaw is clenched so tight it looks like it might shatter, in the way Jay’s hands twitch at his sides, in the way Sunoo disassociates even with a gun pointed at his head, and among them is Jungwon’s gaze—still sharp and unreadable.

It’s setting in—the weight of her words, the seed of doubt she’s planted.

Because she’s not just threatening them. She’s challenging everything they’ve told themselves to keep going.

The belief that they’re different.

That they’re good.

That, somehow, their survival is more justified than anyone else’s.

But survival is never clean, is it? And now that she has said it, now that she’s painted that picture in their minds, you can see them starting to crumble.

These people—your people—their sole reason for fighting is the belief that they are not monsters. That they are not like The Future, or A, or the ones who take and take and take without looking back.

But now, faced with the consequences of their own actions, you watch that belief fracture.

They’re breaking.

She sees it.

And she revels in it.

This has been her goal all along—to make them doubt themselves. Because a group that doubts itself is a group that falls apart from the inside.

You need to stop this. Now.

“Then let’s talk about what is yours, Lieutenant,” you say, keeping your voice steady, sharp. “Tell me—what exactly did you earn?”

Her smirk falters, just barely. But you catch it.

“What?”

“You and the others,” you press, eyes locked onto hers. “Did you build this place? Did you earn the supplies you’re hoarding? Did you put in the work to secure it?”

Her lips part slightly, like she’s about to say something, but you don’t give her the chance.

“No,” you answer for her. “You stole it. Just like The Future stole from the people before them. Just like we stole to survive.”

Her fingers twitch.

Good.

“You think you’re better than us?” you continue, pressing the words forward like a knife slipping between ribs. “You took this place the same way we would’ve if we’d gotten here first. Yet, you’re walking around acting like it's your birthright.”

Her expression darkens, her grip on the pistol tightening, but you don’t miss the way her jaw clenches.

A flicker of something shifts through the group.

They exchange glances, the tension easing just slightly, as if your words—blunt and unforgiving—have cracked through the air of helplessness surrounding them. Jungwon’s stare flickers between you and the woman, the gears in his head turning, assessing, waiting for her next move.

The silence that follows is thick, heavy with unspoken truths and fractured justifications.

Then, she speaks.

“We did steal,” she admits, her voice low, sharp, controlled.

Her head tilts, dark eyes locking onto yours, something almost amused flickering in them despite the rage simmering beneath her skin.

“But the difference between us—” she leans in slightly, voice dipping into something razor-thin, something meant to cut, “—is that you’re parading around, pretending you have some kind of moral high ground.”

And this time, it’s your turn to flinch. It takes everything in you to keep your face blank, to not let her see the way her accusation burrows under your skin like a splinter.

Because she’s right. They all know it.

Survival was never about who deserved to live. It was about taking. About seizing what you could before someone else did. About carving out a space in a world that no longer cared who was good, who was bad, who had once been kind.

Because kindness doesn’t keep you alive. Compassion doesn’t put food in your hands or a weapon in your grip. Morality doesn’t stop the teeth that tear through flesh or the hands that pull the trigger.

And if you’re all the same—if you’re all monsters—then what’s left?

There’s only one answer.

Whoever wins.

The only law that exists now is power.

Not justice. Not fairness. Not mercy.

Just power.

And the only ones who get to live in this world are the ones strong enough to take it for themselves.

Survival of the fittest.

That’s what the world was before, and it’s what the world is now. Only now, the stakes are higher. Much higher.

Because before, losing meant failure.

Now? It means death.

And if you hesitate, if you second-guess, if you let yourself be weighed down by the ghost of a world that no longer exists—

You’ll lose.

And the world won’t mourn you. It won’t stop. It won’t care. It will keep turning, indifferent to the bodies left behind, to the names that fade into nothing.

Because nothing from before matters anymore.

Not the rules. Not the morals. Not the person you used to be. You can no longer afford to hold on to the past.

Because the past won’t save you.

Only the future will.

And the only way to have a future—is to take it.

"You think you’ll make it out of here alive if you pull that trigger?” you challenge her, forcing your voice to remain calm, steady. She tilts her head, lips curling into something almost amused as she meets your eyes.

“You should’ve left when you had the chance,” she says, completely disregarding your threat. The blood in your veins turns cold. 

“But who knows? Maybe A will let some of you go. Like what we did with The Future,” she continues, leaning in slightly, as if daring you to flinch. “Let them scurry back to HQ like little mice. So they know to never come back here again.”

Her grin widens, twisting into something cruel. “And now that you’re here, fallen right into our trap, you’ll soon be one of us!” She laughs, the sound sharp and jagged, like glass shattering in the quiet.

Never come back here again…

Soon be one of us…?

The words settle like a stone in your chest. And then, like a curtain being pulled back, you see it—the bigger picture.

She’s laughing. She thinks she’s won. But she doesn't realise what she's just given away.

If A and his people wanted you dead, they wouldn’t have resorted to games. They wouldn’t have wasted time luring you into an ambush or toying with you—not with all these guns and ammos at their disposal. No, they would’ve wiped you out back at that forest clearing when they had the chance. 

They haven’t. They insist on bringing the dead down on you—because they have an ulterior motive. 

They don’t want you dead. They want you alive. 

Why? 

Because only when you’re alive—when you’re standing, breathing, fighting—can you turn. Turn into the very army of the dead they control. Become one of them.

That’s why they let The Future walk away. Not out of mercy. Not because they couldn’t fight them. But because they didn’t need to. The Future was never the target—you were. They wanted you to lead the others right back here. They’ve been waiting for this moment.

And The Future? The Future won’t come back. Not for revenge. Not for a counterattack. They cut their losses and retreated—not because they were outnumbered, not because they were weak, but because they were unaware.

They didn’t understand what they were fighting. They couldn’t defend against something they had no clue how to fight. They knew they couldn’t stand against an enemy that moves undetected through hordes of the dead. Couldn’t win against an army that grows stronger with every person it kills.

So they ran.

But you? You don’t have to. Because you know exactly what’s coming.

And now, standing in the heart of what should have been your own grave, you see it—hope. This place isn’t just a temporary solution. It’s an opportunity.

If A and his people could take this place, then so can you. If they could push out The Future, then there’s a way to do the same to them. And if they could survive out there, using the dead as shields and weapons, then you can find a way to use it against them.

Your fingers tighten into fists.

If you secure this place, they’ll never have to run again.

Not from A. Not from The Future. Not from anyone.

You let out a slow breath, forcing your heartbeat to steady as you shift your stance, eyes locking onto hers.

She thinks she’s won. Thinks she’s backed you all into a corner. But she’s just handed you everything you needed to know.

You tilt your head slightly, allowing the barest hint of a smirk to tug at your lips. “What makes you so confident we can’t just take it from you?”

Her smirk holds firm, but you catch the slightest twitch in her expression—just for a second. “Oh?” she muses, arching a brow. “I’d love to see you try going up against military-trained personnel and a horde of zombies. It’ll be fun.”

You shrug, feigning indifference. “Who said anything about confrontation?” You let the words hang in the air, watching carefully as confusion flickers across her face. “If you lot figured out how to walk with the dead, why can’t we do the same?”

For the first time, her bravado falters. Her eyes widen ever so slightly, and there it is—realisation and doubt all at once. Almost like she had never thought about it. Which makes sense because you finding out about their mechanics, isn't part of their plan.

That hesitation—that moment of uncertainty—is all Sunoo needs.

He moves in a blur, striking before she even registers what’s happening. His fingers close around her wrist, twisting sharply as he wrenches the gun from her grip. It clatters to the floor with a thud, and in a single fluid motion, Sunoo has her pinned.

She lets out a sharp grunt, struggling against his hold, but she’s at a disadvantage—distracted, handicapped, unarmed.

And just like that, the tides turn. Sunghoon is on her in seconds, his knee pressing into her back as he yanks her arm behind her. The fight drains from her quickly, the weight of the situation finally sinking in.

You exhale, the adrenaline still buzzing beneath your skin, your mind racing through every possibility.

This place can be yours.

They don’t have to run anymore.

Hope is starting to take root.

“Fools. You think it’s easy? Walking among the dead?” she sneers, her voice laced with mockery despite the fact she’s sprawled face-down on the cold, hard floor. Sunghoon’s hands move swiftly over her, searching for any hidden weapons. 

“It takes everything you are to walk with the dead.”

There’s something unsettling in the way she says it, something almost reverent. Like she’s speaking of a religion rather than survival.

Sunoo scoffs, standing over her with her pistol now in his hands. He checks the magazine, clicks the safety on and off before shaking his head. “Yeah, yeah, keep talking, lady. It’s not getting you anywhere.”

But she just smirks. That same infuriating smirk that hasn’t left her face since the moment she was caught. She’s lying completely still now, unnaturally calm as Sunghoon and Heeseung haul her up onto a chair. She doesn’t resist—not even when they start binding her arms—or whatever's left of it—tightly behind her, securing the coarse rope around her torso and the back of the chair. If anything, she lets them.

"I've really underestimated you, Y/N." Her voice drips with amusement, her lips curling into something eerily close to admiration, but there’s something sharper beneath it—something darker. "You’re not just similar—you’re just like us. Conniving. Merciless. Dead."

She giggles then, a sound too light, too mocking for the weight of her words, for the quiet horror settling deep in your chest. "You might not even need to wear their skin to walk with the dead."

A chill slithers down your spine, but you force yourself to hold her gaze, to not give her the satisfaction of seeing how deeply her words sink in. Heeseung pulls the final knot tight, the rough rope biting into her skin, binding her in place. Yet, she doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t struggle. She just leans back, head resting against the chair, exhaling like she’s settling in, like she’s making herself comfortable rather than sitting bound and at your mercy.

As if she’s the one in control.

"But don’t say I didn’t warn you," she murmurs, her voice almost singsong, a taunting lilt woven through her words. They linger in the space between you, curling like smoke, seeping under your skin. The room feels too quiet now, as if the weight of what she just said has stolen all the air from it.

She tilts her head slightly, her eyes gleaming—not with anger, not with fear, but with something worse. Something that almost looks like pity.

"You’ll understand what I mean soon."

The smirk widens. It stretches across her face, slow and deliberate. You stare at it for too long—long enough for Ni-ki to shove a loose piece of cloth into her mouth, silencing whatever cryptic words she might have let slip next.

But her eyes remain fixed on you, unwavering. Cold. Calculating.

You can’t look away.

Something about the way she’s staring at you feels wrong. Like she’s seeing straight through you, past the layers you’ve built, past the walls you’ve tried to keep up. Like she’s already figured you out before you’ve even figured out yourself. Like she knows exactly how this will play out, and you don’t.

In that sense, you’re already losing. Not in the way you expected—not in battle, not in blood, not in death. But in yourself. Because you can feel it, can sense it creeping in at the edges of your mind, curling into your thoughts, whispering where doubt used to be.

You’ve already begun losing yourself.

It’s only when someone calls you over that you manage to tear your gaze away, the spell breaking.

“What the fuck happened, Sunoo? Where did she come from?” Heeseung demands the second they’re out of earshot, his voice low but urgent.

Sunoo, however, huffs, dramatically rubbing at his wrist as if he’s the real victim here. “Geez, I’m fine, thanks for asking,” he grumbles.

Heeseung rolls his eyes. “Sunoo.”

“I was in the basement,” Sunoo starts, crossing his arms, “looking for anything we could use to fortify the barricades. Found this stack of those things—the masks—hidden away in one of the boxes shoved in the corner. Thought, great, more nightmare fuel. And then—bam! She jumped me out of fucking nowhere. How the fuck was I supposed to know she was there?”

His frustration is evident, his gestures exaggerated as he recounts the moment. “If I had known, her one-armed bitchass wouldn’t have even been able to pull that gun on me like that. Ugh.”

The irritation in his voice doesn’t quite mask the underlying unease. She had been down there the whole time—hidden, watching, waiting. Maybe that’s why you couldn’t shake the unsettling feeling of being watched.

And yet, you left them here. With her.

A chill runs down your spine. The weight of realisation presses against your ribs, suffocating, threatening to pull you under. But before your mind can spiral further, you hear it—your name.

Spoken by the very voice you’ve been yearning to hear call out your name since you left.

“Y/N.”

Jungwon.

“Are you okay?”

Your breath catches as you turn to face him. His expression is unreadable at first, but his eyes—his eyes betray him. There’s worry there, concern woven into the fabric of his gaze, despite everything. Despite the fight. Despite the fact that you left. You walked away. And yet, here he is, standing before you, asking if you’re okay.

He still cares.

You don’t trust your voice. You’re afraid it’ll betray you, that it’ll crack under the sheer force of everything you’re feeling. That if you try to speak, all that will come out will be fragments of whimpers, of apologies left unsaid.

So instead, you nod. A small, barely perceptible movement. The best you can offer.

Jungwon watches you for a moment, searching. Then, after what feels like an eternity, he nods back. A silent exchange. An understanding.

“Y/N… did you really mean that?” Ni-ki’s voice cuts through the thick tension, pulling your attention away from Jungwon. You turn to him, barely registering the weight of his question. Your mind is still foggy, reeling from everything.

“You think we can walk with the dead?” Ni-ki presses, his gaze unwavering.

“I—I don’t know.” The words feel hollow in your mouth, the uncertainty hanging in the air like a guillotine. Your eyes drop to the ground, unable to meet his stare. “I’m sorry, I just—I always say shit, but half the time, I don’t even know if it’ll work.”

A beat of silence. Then, you swallow hard, forcing yourself to push through the self-doubt. “But… I have seen them do it. They blend in with just a mask over their heads. It can work.”

“But once they get inside the walls, it’s going to be chaos. It’ll be dark. We’ll probably lose sight of one another. You won’t even know if the zombie in front of you is actually dead or one of them.”

“Wait. Once they get inside?” Heeseung’s voice is sharp, cutting through the moment like a blade. His eyes narrow, scanning your face. “You’re saying we let them in?”

Ni-ki exhales sharply through his nose, shaking his head as if trying to process it all. 

You inhale deeply, forcing yourself to meet their gazes. “You and I both know the barricades won’t last,” you say, steadying your voice. “Against a normal horde, maybe. But they will be walking among them. Herding them. Pushing them against the gates. Even if they can’t break through the main entrance, they’ll find another way in.”

The unspoken horror settles over the group and you see the fear flicker across their faces.

“But if we leave the gate open,” you continue, your voice quieter now, more deliberate, “they’ll walk in on their own. And we can blend right in.”

“Okay, but then what?” Jake asks, his voice cautious, calculating. “What do we do after that?”

“We take them out.” You don’t hesitate this time. You don’t waver. You meet his gaze head-on. “From within.”

A thick silence follows your words. You can feel it—the doubt, the fear, the pure insanity of what you’re proposing.

“Fight?” Sunghoon is the first to break the silence, his voice incredulous. “Surrounded by the dead? You must be insane.” He lets out a bitter scoff, shaking his head in disbelief. “The moment we make a single sound that doesn’t match the dead, we’re finished. You know that.”

You exhale, willing yourself to stay patient. “No,” you say firmly. “Not fight. Just—sneak up on them. Get close. A small cut, enough to draw blood. That’s all we need. The scent will do the rest.”

They stare at you.

Realisation dawns.

It’s not about fighting. It’s not about going up against them in a losing battle. It’s about turning their own strategy against them. The horde is their weapon. But it can be yours too.

Heeseung’s throat bobs as he swallows. “You mean…” His voice trails off, understanding sinking in.

You nod. “We let the horde do it’s job.”

The plan is reckless. Insane. Dangerous. But it’s the only shot you have. 

And if you’re being honest—it’s a solid plan. But you’re not sure if it’s a plan you’re proud to have come up with. You should be. A plan like this—calculated, ruthless, effective—should bring you some sense of relief. Some assurance that you can outthink them, that you can survive this.

It makes sense. It’s logical. It’s exactly the kind of plan The Future would execute without hesitation if they had known what was coming for them. And that’s what unsettles you the most. 

Jungwon hasn’t spoken. He’s been listening, watching, absorbing every word you’ve said. When you glance at him, he’s already looking at you—his expression unreadable, his gaze sharp and searching, as if trying to pick apart what’s going on inside your head.

You’re dragged back to your conversation with Jay on the rooftop. The way he told you—so plainly, so matter-of-factly—that Jungwon relies on you more than he lets on. That you bring him comfort in ways you never realised.

Then your mind goes back further. To the conversation with Jungwon yesterday. The way he told you that he felt a sense of reprieve when you came along. That you were his moral compass.

The weight of that knowledge settles in your chest, and then, just as quickly, it twists into guilt. It crashes over you like a tsunami.

You wonder if he still feels that way about you.

“Sounds like a plan.” Jay’s voice cuts through the silence like a blade, slicing through the tension that had been suffocating the group. Everyone turns to him, eyes wide, like he’s just said something insane.

You’re staring at him too.

“Why are y’all looking at me like that? I’m not the one that came up with this insanity.” His lips twitch with the ghost of a smirk, but the humour doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

Then, as if on cue, they all turn to you. Then back to Jay as he continues, “But it’s a plan that could work,”

“Of course you think that,” Jake snaps, his frustration bubbling over. “You’re always about killing people. I mean, look what got us into this shit in the first place.”

The words hang heavy in the air, and you know he doesn’t mean it—not fully. It’s the fear talking. The frustration. The sheer helplessness of the situation that’s clouding his judgement. But it doesn’t make it hurt any less.

For a moment, you expect Jay to fight back. To argue. To defend himself. 

But he doesn’t. 

Instead, he giggles. It’s a quiet, breathy thing at first—then it morphs into something sharper, something bitter, something unhinged. And it unnerves you.

“You’re right,” Jay says, still grinning, his voice eerily calm. “If I could go back to that night when I went after him, I’d have made sure I watched him die before I left.”

The silence that follows is deafening. 

Then, you feel it—the weight of it pressing down on everyone’s shoulders. No one dares to speak, as if acknowledging it would make them sinners.

And the worst part?

You had said something along those lines to Jay, back at the field. You told him if you were in his shoes, you’d have done worse. But back then it was a figure of speech, a way to make a point. You hadn’t really thought about it, hadn’t truly placed yourself in his shoes, in the heat of that moment.

But now?

Now, you know.

You would have done the same.

And hearing Jay say that—hearing him put words to the rage, to the vengeance clawing its way up your throat—it brings you a twisted sense of relief. A reassurance that you’re not the only person losing yourself in this fucked-up world.

And maybe that’s why you don’t flinch. Maybe that’s why, instead of recoiling from his words, you find yourself gripping onto them like an anchor, like something grounding you in the mess of it all.

Sunoo clears his throat, shifting awkwardly, his fingers tightening around the pistol he’d confiscated from the woman. “Alright, well. That’s… dark.” He tries to break the tension with forced levity, but no one laughs.

No one even breathes.

Jake rubs his face with both hands before exhaling sharply, shaking his head like he’s trying to clear his thoughts, like if he could just reset for a second, maybe this whole situation would make more sense. Ni-ki shifts uncomfortably beside him, his fingers twitching at his sides. His gaze flickers toward Jungwon, waiting—hoping—for him to say something. Anything.

But Jungwon is quiet.

He’s still watching you, his expression unreadable. There’s no anger in his eyes, no judgement, not even disappointment. Just thought.

And that’s almost worse. 

Because you know that look. It’s the same one he gets when he’s met with an epiphany. When something suddenly clicks into place in his mind, when a realisation takes hold and refuses to let go.

He’s thinking.

Not just about the plan. Not just about them.

He’s trying to make sense of you. Trying to piece together something about you that he hadn’t considered before—

No.

Something about himself. Something about his own moral dilemma. Something he’s been trying to lock away, bury deep beneath all the responsibilities, all the weight on his shoulders.

Jungwon blinks once, his gaze hardening, focus snapping back to the present.

“If we’re doing this, we can’t leave any room for error.” Jungwon’s voice slices through the silence, steady but weighted. It’s the first thing he’s said in minutes, and yet it carries the kind of finality that makes your stomach twist.

He’s still looking at you, but it’s different now. It’s like he’s seeing you for the first time—not just as another survivor, not just as someone he needs to protect, but as something else. Something more dangerous.

Something like him.

And for the first time, you see it too.

You’ve cracked something in him. You’ve forced him to acknowledge something he hadn’t wanted to. You’ve opened Pandora’s box.

He knows it. You know it.

But neither of you say it.

“We can’t leave any room for error,” Jungwon repeats, his voice firm, sharp with an edge that slices through the tension like a blade. “We do this clean. Precise. No heroics. No last-minute changes. We stick to the plan, and we survive.”

The shift is immediate. The air changes. Everyone straightens, pulling themselves together, waiting for instruction. No one argues. Not even Sunghoon, who had been the first to call you insane. Because there’s no alternative. No second option. It’s this, or death.

Jungwon’s eyes sweep across the group, calculating, weighing every person’s strengths and weaknesses in the space of a single breath. “We’ll move in groups. When the dead come through, we stay in pairs. No one moves alone. We cover for each other, watch each other’s backs.”

His gaze lands on Jay. “You’re still injured. One wrong move and your stitches will come apart. Not to mention you have the biggest target on your back. So, you stay on the roof.”

Jay’s mouth opens, already ready to protest, but Jungwon cuts him off with a look. “We’ll cut the access off, so nothing can get to you. You’ll have the best vantage point—watch for gaps, any tight spots, and make noise to draw attention elsewhere if things start getting too close.”

Jay exhales sharply, jaw tightening, but he nods. He knows better than to argue.

Jungwon turns to the rest of the group, his expression unreadable. “Like Y/N said, it’s going to be dark. We won’t be able to see clearly, but neither will they. Remember, you just need to draw blood. The dead will do the rest.”

Jungwon’s gaze sweeps across them, sharp, calculating. His hands are loose at his sides, but there’s tension in his stance.

“And they don’t know that we’re on to them,” he continues. His voice is even, but there’s something colder beneath it now—something sharp-edged and deliberate. “We use that to our advantage. Move slow, stay quiet. Don’t rush. If you panic, you die.”

The words settle in like a final nail sealing a coffin.

A heavy silence settles over the group, thick and oppressive, pressing into your lungs like a vice. The weight of the plan is suffocating in its reality. The risk, the blood that will spill before the night is over. 

This is it. 

There’s no turning back. No room for hesitation. No time to process the sheer insanity of what you’re about to do. Your hands feel too light, your heartbeat too loud, hammering against your ribs like it’s trying to escape. 

You picture the bodies—your people, their people, the dead in between—limbs tangled, faces unrecognisable beneath the blood and decay. 

What if you fail? What if you hesitate at the wrong moment? What if someone doesn’t make it? What if you don’t make it? Would it matter? Would it change anything? Would the world even notice if one more person disappeared? 

You inhale sharply, trying to ground yourself, but the air feels thin, slipping through your fingers like sand. You don’t realise you’re gripping the hem of your jacket too tightly until your knuckles ache. 

Move. Breathe. Don’t think. 

Because thinking means fear, and fear means weakness, and weakness means death.

Your mind spirals again. It’s been doing that a lot—a relentless, asphyxiating current dragging you under. And just as it’s about to bury you, a palm presses against the small of your back. Warm. Grounding. Your breath hitches at the unexpected touch.

"Y/N, let’s talk."

Jungwon’s voice is quiet but firm, a stark contrast to the storm raging inside you.

He doesn’t wait for a response, simply leading you away, up to the rooftop, where the two of you are left standing under the weight of everything unsaid. You face him, but suddenly, all the words you’ve been rehearsing, all the explanations and apologies you’ve run through in your head over and over, disappear. The moment you look at him—at the quiet intensity in his gaze, the weight in his shoulders—you’re speechless.

Jungwon opens his mouth first. "I—"

But you don’t let him finish. The words burst out of you before you can stop them, raw and desperate. "I’m sorry." Your voice wavers, thick with emotion. "I’m sorry I left you. I know now that I shouldn’t have. God, I was so stupid."

The words come faster now, tumbling over themselves. "I know you said before that you don’t hate me, but you must hate me now—after everything. After I left you. I left you to die." Your breath shudders, a sob catching in your throat. The tears you’ve been holding back finally spill over, burning hot against your skin. "I’m so sorry, Jungwon. I—"

He exhales sharply, shaking his head as if exasperated. "God, you never let me speak, do you?"

You blink through your tears, caught off guard. "What?"

Jungwon watches you for a moment before his expression softens, something almost amused ghosting across his face. "I told you before, I don’t hate you." His voice is steady, deliberate. "Nothing in this world will ever make me hate you."

You struggle to believe it, your chest tightening as you shake your head. "But I saw it." Your voice is barely a whisper. "That look on your face, when I suggested this insane of an idea."

You swallow, trying to steady yourself. "I thought I told you I didn’t want you to think. To second-guess what you’ve always believed in just to weigh me in."

Jungwon sighs, rubbing a hand over his face before lowering it again. "Well, it can’t be helped," he murmurs. "You’re someone that makes me think. A lot."

His words make something crack inside you, splintering under the weight of your guilt. "I’m sorry." Your voice is smaller this time. "I’m sorry I brought out the worst in you. All I did was shatter your resolve."

Your gaze drops, unable to bear looking at him any longer. "And them? Have you seen the way they look at me? They look at me like I’m a monster."

Jungwon tilts his head slightly. "No," he counters. "Have you seen the way they look at you?"

His response catches you off guard. You open your mouth to argue, to insist that you’ve seen their fear, their hesitation. But something about his tone makes you stop. He gestures for you to look, to truly look.

And so you do.

Your eyes drift down to the group below.

Fear, dread, terror—it’s all there, woven into their expressions, etched into their postures, marinating in the thin air. It clings to them like a suffocating fog, thick and unrelenting. Your stomach churns at the sight of it.

But then, as you really take them in, you notice something else. You see it in the tight-set jaws, the clenched fists, the flickering light behind their eyes. You see it as clear as day—something beneath the fear, the dread, the sheer, gut-wrenching terror.

Determination.

Resolve.

Hope—

"Hope." Jungwon’s voice cuts through the moment, soft but certain.

The word reverberates through you, lodging itself deep in your chest. He says it as if he knows exactly what you’re thinking. As if he sees the moment you realise what you’ve done.

"And you gave that to them."

His words knock the breath from your lungs.

Hope. The very thing you ran from. The thing you tried to abandon. The thing you convinced yourself was a lie, a cruel trick played by the universe.

And yet, here it is. Staring back at you in the eyes of the people you are trying to save.

Jungwon studies your face, watching as the realisation settles into you. Then, almost casually, he asks, "Has anyone told you what division I was in back when we were still in The Future?"

You blink, thrown off by the sudden change in topic. "No," you admit.

He exhales, his gaze flickering to the horizon before meeting yours again. "Tactical Functions."

The words hang heavy in the air between you. You wait for him to elaborate.

"I was one of the people who decided who got to stay and who was expelled. I played a part designing the tactics and strategies The Future used against the communities around them. All hell could break loose, and I would still be prioritised to stay. Because they needed people like me."

Your blood runs cold.

Jungwon’s voice remains even, but there’s something detached in it now. "You can’t bring the worst out of me, Y/N. I’m already him. And every night, I would see their faces in my sleep. In the trees. In the breeze." He swallows, his throat bobbing. "What’s worse is the only reason I even suggested we leave in the first place was because the committee brought up the discussion to expel Jay for insubordination."

Your breath hitches. "Jay?"

Jungwon lets out a dry chuckle, shaking his head. "Yeah. The man just couldn’t sit still without stirring some kind of shit. And they saw it. Saw how he could be a problem to the system. So, I orchestrated the entire escape. I left those people to reap the consequences of my actions. And I’d only done it because of Jay. If it wasn't for him, I would've sucked it up and continued doing whatever it took for us to survive.”

A weight settles in your chest, heavy and unrelenting.

He turns to you fully now, his eyes unwavering. "So no, I’m not going to sit here and let you talk about yourself like that."

It's a shocking revelation. Your mind reels, trying to reconcile the Jungwon standing before you with the boy who once stood on the watchtower, his voice laced with pure, unfiltered hatred.

You still remember that night vividly—the way his face twisted with something raw and wounded when he first told you about The Future. The way his voice dripped with venom as he spoke of them as something worse than the dead. Back then, you thought it was just anger, just the words of someone who had been wronged, betrayed, and left to fend for himself.

But now, the truth wraps around the two of you in a slow, suffocating chokehold.

He wasn’t just talking about them.

He was talking about himself.

It’s only now that you realise—when he cursed The Future, when he spat their name like it was poison, it wasn’t just about what they had done to others. It was about what they had turned him into. What they had forced him to become.

Jungwon looks at you, waiting for a response. But what can you even say? That it’s not his fault? That he was just doing what he had to do to survive? You already know those words will mean nothing to him.

"I—I didn’t know." Your voice is barely above a whisper when you say.

"Now you do."

Jungwon tilts his head slightly, his expression unreadable. "And knowing what you know, does that change how you see me?"

Your response is immediate. "God, no. Never."

A flicker of something—relief, maybe—passes through his eyes. He nods, as if confirming something to himself.

"Precisely. And that's why you don't have to worry about how I see you.”

A humourless laugh escapes him, but it lacks warmth. "I was crazy to think I could be even a fraction of a good person. Maybe my obsession with holding onto my humanity was just deluded because I had already lost it a long time ago."

His voice drops to something quieter, almost contemplative. "And hearing you and Jay say that? It made me feel… normal. Which, in hindsight, fucking sucks."

A faint, bitter smile tugs at his lips. "But it’s oddly liberating."

All this time, you had convinced yourself that you were a burden to him, that your presence chipped away at his resolve, that you were the thing dragging him into the dark. You thought you were making him worse—forcing him to question himself, to second-guess the beliefs he had once stood so firmly upon.

But standing here, you realise the truth is something entirely different.

You weren’t breaking him.

You were keeping him together.

Jungwon was relying on you in ways you hadn’t even considered—not just for your insight, not just for your ability to challenge him, but for something far more simple. Something far more human.

You made him feel normal.

In a world that demanded ruthlessness, in a life that had forced him to carry responsibilities far heavier than any human being should bear, you were the thing that reminded him he was still just a person. Not just a leader. Not just a tactician. Not just the one keeping them all alive.

Just Jungwon.

And maybe you needed him for the same reasons.

Maybe the two of you had been holding onto each other without even realising it, tethering yourselves to something real in a world that had long since lost its meaning.

Tears spill down your cheeks before your brain even registers them. They come silently, effortlessly, like they belong there—as if your body has been holding onto them, waiting for this moment to finally let go. You don’t wipe them away. You just let them fall, streaking warmth down your cold, dirt-streaked skin.

It’s a bittersweet moment, one that catches you off guard with how deeply it settles into your chest. And you realise, standing here in the quiet, in the wreckage of everything you once thought you believed in—how truly fucked up the two of you are.

But it’s not the kind of fucked up that makes you recoil. It’s the kind that makes you stop and think.

Because if you had truly lost your humanity, would you be standing here now? Would you be looking at Jungwon, voice trembling, hands shaking, with tears running down your face? Would he be standing here, looking at you with something equally raw and conflicted in his expression?

No. You’d be long gone. And they’d all be dead.

But you’re here. You came back. And it’s because you have your humanity that you did.

It’s because Jungwon has his humanity that he’s still here, still standing, still trying. Still fighting to be something more than the sum of his past.

Yes, you’re fucked up. You’d cross lines. You’d do the unimaginable. You’d become a version of yourself you never thought possible if it meant keeping the people you care about alive.

But if that’s what it means to survive in this world, if that’s what it takes to hold onto even the smallest fraction of something real—then maybe it’s not such a bad thing.

Maybe it means you’re still human after all.

And in that sense, you’re fucked up in the most beautiful way the world has left to offer.

Your eyes flicker to his hands, catching the way his fingers twitch at his sides, hesitant, uncertain. He’s deciding whether to reach for you—whether to wipe your tears away or let them fall.

It reminds you of this morning. The way he had extended his hands towards you, offering comfort, only for you to step away. You remember the flicker of hurt in his eyes when it happened 

This time, you won’t step away.

Before you can second-guess yourself, you move, reaching out and grabbing his hands. Jungwon flinches at the sudden contact, startled, his breath hitching ever so slightly. His fingers twitch beneath yours, as if caught off guard by your warmth. For a second, he just looks at you, wide-eyed, unreadable, but you don’t let him pull away.

Gently, deliberately, you guide his hand to your face, pressing his palm against your tear-streaked cheek.

His expression shifts. The surprise fades, softening into something else—something quieter, something careful. His thumb brushes against your skin, tentative at first, then firmer, wiping away the tears that refuse to stop falling.

“Y/N…” your name comes out tender. So achingly tender that it makes your throat tighten, your chest ache.

His touch is careful, almost reverent, as if he’s afraid that if he presses too hard, you’ll shatter. But you won’t. Not here, not now. You lean into his palm, closing your eyes for just a moment, letting yourself soak in the warmth, the steadiness of him.

Jungwon exhales, his breath shaky, as though he’s only just realised how much he wanted to touch you. His hands are calloused but warm, grounding, steady. His fingers move instinctively, tracing the curve of your cheek, brushing the dampness away with an intimacy that makes your stomach twist.

Then, without thinking, you move closer.

Your hands leave his, trailing up to his wrists, then his arms, gripping onto him like he’s the only thing keeping you tethered to the earth. Maybe he is. Your breath stutters as you take another step, closing the space between you.

Jungwon freezes, his fingers going still against your cheek. You can feel the tension in his body, the way he’s holding himself back, waiting, unsure.

So you make the choice for him.

You fall into him.

His arms come up instantly, as if on instinct, wrapping around you the moment your body collides with his. His grip is firm, solid, like he’s been waiting for this just as much as you have. His breath catches against your temple, his body warm and steady as he pulls you in, pressing you close.

And you let him.

You let yourself melt into his embrace, burying your face into the crook of his neck, the scent of him—faint traces of sweat, earth, and something inherently Jungwon—flooding your senses. His heartbeat is strong beneath your palms, his chest rising and falling with each breath, grounding you in a way you hadn’t realised you needed.

His arms tighten around you, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other splayed across your back, holding you together as if you might slip away if he lets go.

Neither of you speak. There’s nothing that needs to be said.

This is enough.

This moment, this embrace, this quiet understanding between the two of you.

Jungwon exhales, the tension in his body easing as he presses his forehead against the side of your head. You feel the way his fingers curl slightly against your back, as if anchoring himself to you, as if you’re the only thing keeping him from falling apart too.

His breath is warm against your temple, steady and grounding. You can feel the weight of his past pressing between you, the guilt he carries like a second skin, the ghosts of decisions he can never undo.

You wonder if he can feel it—the weight you carry pressed between you, the invisible burdens you’ve never spoken aloud, the guilt of saving yourself when the community building fell, the regret of walking away from him when he needed you most, the haunting thought that maybe, just maybe, you were always destined to be alone.

The ghosts of your past intertwine with his, shadows merging, regrets bleeding into one another. He’s carried his burdens alone for so long, just as you’ve carried yours. And maybe neither of you are saints—maybe you’ve both done unspeakable things, crossed lines that can never be uncrossed. 

But here, now, in this moment, none of that matters.

Because, here, now, in this moment, that weight is shared.

And somehow, it feels lighter.

So you stay like this, wrapped up in each other, holding onto something fragile, something unspoken. Neither of you dare to move, as if the slightest shift might shatter whatever this is, whatever red strings of fate have bound you together in this cruel, unforgiving world.

part 4 - blood | masterlist | part 5 - dusk

♡。·˚˚· ·˚˚·。♡

notes from nat: this part was supposed to be wayyyyyy longer but i've been nerfed by the block limit (y'all can thank tumblr for that). so what was originally suppose to be 6 parts, i will have to extend into 7 because i doubt i can squeeze everything into one post. from this part onwards, there will be no update schedule. i appreciate your understanding on this as i'm writing on my own free time outside of my 9-5. i'm really sorry for the disappointment because i know how eager some of y'all are to read this and i also want y'all to get these chapters asap!! T.T

perm taglist. @m1kkso @hajimelvr @s00buwu @urmomssneakylink @grayscorner @catlicense @bubblytaetae @mrchweeee @artstaeh @sleeping-demons @yuviqik @junsflow @blurryriki @bobabunhee @hueningcry @fakeuwus @enhaslxt @neocockthotology @Starryhani @aishisgrey @katarinamae @mitmit01 @youcancometome @cupiddolle @classicroyalty @dearsjaeyun @ikeucakeu @sammie217 @m1kkso @tinycatharsis @parkjjongswifey @dcllsinna @no1likeneo @ChVcon3 @karasusrealwife @addictedtohobi @jyunsim @enhastolemyheart @kawaiichu32 @layzfy @renjunsbirthmark13

taglist open. 1/2 @sungbyhoon @theothernads @kyshhhhhh @jiryunn @strxwbloody @jaklvbub @rikikiynikilcykiki @jakesimfromstatefarm @rikiiisoob @doublebunv @thinkinboutbin @eunandonly @wilonevys @sugarikiz

non-grey/underlined = cannot tag

[super-ion]

The Engineer

Part 2

I wake from a nightmare.

It isn't my nightmare.

Well… it is mine. My brain provided the framework and context. I was in the training console, one of the battle sims, one of the ones where everything goes to shit, one of the ones where they fuck up the parameters just to watch you panic and squirm until you fucking crack.

That was me. I cracked. Four of the hell sims and I cracked hard.

The battle in the nightmare wasn't a sim. It was real. It was Morrigan's.

I'm sitting in my quarters, sweating and trembling, clutching at my chest as I try to sort out what's mine and what's Morrigan's.

Neural bleed.

Fuck.

No… it's… I've run through the playback, in full, three times with Morrigan. It's enough times for the individual events to stick in my brain.

That doesn't explain the screaming.

It doesn't explain the soul rending scream that is still echoing in my skull right now.

Zephyrus was a sabre class, front line heavy. The team has spent... I don't even know how many hours in the playback analyzing the battlespace in the moments before Zephyrus’ pilot died? The rogue incendiary burned straight into the cockpit, the pilot was probably vaporized before they even realized their error.

But Zephyrus screamed. It screamed and screamed and screamed.

Morrigan had muted that part, trying to spare me, but it fucking bled through the link anyway. Now I'm having fucking nightmares of the sound of someone becoming unmade.

Salvage ops recovered the mech, whisking it off to god knows where.

I don't actually know what happens to AI's that lose their pilots. It's my job to keep them alive, not deal with them after the fact.

I've… shit… I've worked on Zephyrus. It wasn't the same as Morrigan. None of them are the same as Morrigan, but… shit…

I shuck off my tangled sheets and sit on the edge of the bed, futilely trying not to let my thoughts get away from me.

There had been a personality matrix meant for me. There had to have been. Mech AIs are completely custom made for their pilots. Mine likely wasn't much past the most basic template by the time I washed out, nothing more than a collection of algorithms and a dataset consisting of my psych profile.

It never got to be.

Was that better or worse than the horrible scream that I can still hear?

I can't be alone right now.

I jump off the bed and pull on some clothes, leaving the room without even knowing where I'm going.

I pass a few of the night crew. They watch curiously as I walk by. An engineer, barefoot in her night clothes, can hardly be the strangest thing they've seen.

I barely notice them.

My thoughts are spiraling now.

I was meant to be a pilot. It's the only thing I ever actually wanted. But I fucked it all up. I tricked everyone, myself included, into thinking that I could make the cut.

Fucking hell. A pilot died and I'm fixating on my own feelings of inadequacy?

What would I have done? What could my presence in the battlefield have changed?

Chances are it would have been me dying… or worse, freezing up and getting someone else killed.

I freeze, my wrist hovering uncertainly over a security access reader. With a sickening, crystalizing clarity, I realize that I have unconsciously made my way to her. Beyond the security door is the vestibule leading to Morrigan's cockpit.

What the fuck am I doing here?

My presence at this hour, though odd, would not be remarked upon. It is not uncommon for engineers to have moments of insight in the middle of the night. It is not uncommon for us to need to access hardware for analysis and simulation at all hours.

But tonight there is no flash of insight. Tonight, I'm not even an engineer. I'm just a scared little girl wrapped up in her own feelings of failure, with a head full of someone else's grief.

Neural bleed.

I can't deny it. I'm spending too much time with Morrigan. I should go back to my quarters, request a psych eval and some time off, try to get my head on straight.

And yet, I hesitate.

I want to step through this threshold. I want to go to her. And… what?

I can't integrate with her, not in any kind of way that matters, not with my engineer's rig.

I will *never* experience the full body sensorium of a pilot linking with her mech. It is horrible knowing I was meant for something, having full awareness of all the expectations of me, both external and internal, only to have that life snatched away because I wasn't good enough. Half my soul is missing. There's this yawning void inside me that can never be filled. Not by Morrigan or anyone.

I wipe a tear off my face. I'm in no state to do any sort of interfacing. I'm in no state for much of anything.

I don't want to be alone. I don't know how to not be alone

I press my wrist to the security panel. It confirms my identity and flashes green.

My access will be logged. This is a horrible impulse to follow for so many reasons.

I don't fucking care.

It takes everything I have to maintain composure, to not burst into tears and run to the open hatch of the cockpit.

The soft red glow illuminating the cockpit brightens slightly, lighting my way.

She knows I'm here.

Does she even want me here? Why would she? I'm not her pilot. I'm not any mech’s pilot.

The glow pulses, beckoning me. The cradle shifts to a configuration that I know is meant for me.

I unzip the sweatshirt that I'm wearing and throw it unceremoniously in the vestibule before falling into her embrace.

It's too familiar, the motions of this routine as her jacks slip into the ports on my rig.

I'm too close.

I'm not close enough.

I nearly sob as data streams into my consciousness. The void fills, just slightly.

All systems green.

It isn't enough. It will never be enough.

It has to be enough.

The data stream ebbs and I receive a ping across the link.

Status?

My breath catches. My eyes flutter open, darting to any one of the many cockpit cameras focused on me.

She wants my status.

“I couldn't sleep,” I tell her. “Bad dreams.”

I don't know how, but she seems to understand. The cradle shifts to a more relaxed posture. She holds me in her embrace as I tell her about the nightmare.

[ambeauty]

Thinking about how Carmy initiates so many things in his relationship with Sydney. I went back to read some of Jeremy’s thoughts about his relationship with Claire and he said some things that I just don’t agree with. I do think he answers questions from Carmy’s perspective and not from a viewer perspective and that provides more insight into the character but not actually insight into what we’re seeing as viewers if that makes sense.

Here I am looking around for what walls Carmy had up with Sydney to begin with. Instead of Sydney coming in and knocking down his walls, Carmy has been trying to knock down hers. Let’s take a look:

Their first conversation at family when he makes sure she eats and asks her what’s going on with her. This is a conversation that is constantly happening between them. Jeremy views Carmy as some who communicates with actions and little words, but with Sydney it’s a little of both.

Their altercation in review fills him with much regret that he can’t even open Mikey’s note without making things square with Sydney first and even in their short conversation he manages to apologize and she manages to make him smile. Oh Carmy is that amusement?👀

Carmy invites Sydney on the food tour. Carmy asks Sydney what she is going to do now that the restaurant is closed as if he wants to do something with her but she leaves before he can gather the courage.

Carmy asks Sydney about her personal life more than once because he’s genuinely curious and wants to know her better. He asks her to be vulnerable with him under the table. He asks her under it to begin with, because does he really need help? No he just wanted to talk to her.

Where are the walls Jeremy?! With Sydney his openness is not something that she really has to breakthrough, it’s the opposite. Is it because of their position as partners in the relationship is something he’s more equipped to handle than a romantic relationship? That could be the case but I also think it’s because he’s genuinely interested in her and feels at ease with her presence. As heteronormative as it is, I think it’s important that he’s the one actively pursuing a deeper relationship with Sydney. It shows that he is capable of coming out of his shell, if it’s for the right person.

I also wanna address that line about Carmy being cared for but it’s pretty obvious who makes Carmy feel cared for especially in s3. The quote is right after s2 came out. I just find his thoughts on the love triangle from Carmy’s perspective really interesting….

[gale-gentlepenguin]

So my friend @knightsweeties has been getting me to think about DC lately. And one of the things I’ve been doing what my take would be on some of the heroes and villains. At the time we have only talked about Gotham.

So I wanted to share my Take on one of DC’s greatest Villains, The Joker

Gale Cut: The Joker

What would I do differently with the Joker?

I think the biggest problem with the joker is that DC seems to forget what the Joker is. He isn’t just some chaos loving guy dressed as a clown. No, he is a Clown that wants to make fun of society! Everything he does is for the sake of the bit! That’s what the joker is, a clown committed to the bit in an insane degree.

All his plans need to revolve around a joke, and if the joke isn’t funny, he won’t do it.

Now for example. Joker could be reading the newspaper and see how the cost of fuel has gone up.

So what does he do? He fills the entire street with Whoopee cushions because he wanted to show Gotham has a real “Gas Problem”

Or

Maybe he runs into a renown surgeon and decides to cut his limbs off and reattach them so he can have him “In stitches”

Or maybe Gotham is having a lobster festival. So Joker decides to light the coast line on fire. To help bring things to… A boil.

The point is Joker only wants to make jokes and do what’s funny to him.

Is he still psychotic and kills people? Absolutely, but only if he thinks it’s funny.

Joker will never do something if he doesn’t find it amusing. Thats the point. He only cares about the comedy of the situation.

And before anyone says this joker is soft. He is not.

He kidnapped orphans and injected them with joker venom. His joke was that “You can’t kidnap unwanted children. What I did was adoption.”

He then proceeded to blow up the orphanage with most of the staff inside and send the jokerized kids to every school in Gotham to show how the school system was “The real joke.”

————-

Now for his relationship with Harley.

Oh it’s still toxic but very different.

Joker didn’t manipulate her with some sob story.

Joker simply made her laugh. He could tell that deep down that she needed someone that got her humor. And as someone that appreciates a good sense of Humor, joker recruited Harley.

Though instead of a toxic domestic abusive relationship, I decided to go a different direction.

Joker doesn’t understand emotions, and thus Doesn’t get that Harley is in love with him. If she ever confessed to him, he would look confused and ask what the punchline is?

To Joker, Harley is someone that can provide feedback if a joke is funny. And if she likes the joke. More of a reason to do it. Because if someone else finds the joke funny, that’s even better!

Though Joker isn’t above slapstick if Harley messes up his plans. But it’s never a portrayal of abuse in the domestic abuse sense. More like him slapping her with a trout.

To Harley, Joker is someone that showed her the truth. Society is a joke, and all it needs are people to show the people the punchline.

Now if something were to happen to Harley or if Harley stopped getting the joke. Joker would shrug and move on. He does value her insight and her opinion, but to say it is genuine care is incorrect. If it means a funny enough gag. He’d kill her without hesitation.

—————-

Joker being in love with Batman is dumb to me. He’s also not Batman’s true opposite. So for their dynamic I actually did change it.

Joker sees Batman as the funniest Joke in Gotham. A grown man dressed as a bat fighting crime in a city more corrupt than anywhere else? That’s pure comedy.

Joker even asked Batman to team up with him early on. “You’re a bat, I’ve been driven bats. We’d be a great comedy duo!”

But what joker found out was that Batman has no sense of humor. He needs to make this man laugh!

Joker views Batman as the straight man in the comedy routine. Having him react is what he wants!

Batman sees Joker as insane, and in need of help. So despite everything, believes there is still someone that can be saved.

Joker doesn’t care about Batman’s identity. It would be like finding out the punchline to a joke without the set up. And if anyone tried to spoil it. He would kill them.

Now Joker is willing to kill Batman, but only if the way he kills him would be funny enough to justify killing him. Joker only cares about what’s funnier

————

What’s Joker’s backstory?

It doesn’t matter. And joker likes it that way. All he knows is that he had one REALLY bad day. And that’s all he needs to know.

Anything else would be unnecessary.

[otogariado]

only halfway thru the new frieren episode i was almost tearing up because the theme of protecting each other and caring about life more importantly than winning is so poignant. not all the characters are human in species but once again the humanity is blossoming in frieren's story. i was so afraid they'd actually get killed last ep but i mean it's so funny now what was i even thinking. this is frieren. they won't kill unless it was really necessary.

the reveal that richter raised the platform not to make his fight with lawline and kanne easier but actually to protect them from denken's attacks was so good. the "magic is nothing if you cannot imagine it" line is so wonderful because i'm a big fan of magic systems that revolve around that logical "science-y" aspect of like. understanding how it will work in order to do it. (same reason why i love the magic in "world's greatest assassin".) laufen getting caught by frieren even though she knows it's a trap just bc she didn't want denken to get hurt was also so good. the reveal that denken didn't have a grander motive to be a first class mage beyond "i wanna go back to my hometown and visit the cementary there but only first class mages are allowed to enter" was so painfully human and so reflective of real life. it also strikes you because he was introduced as a high-profile, politically influential mage.

i love what denken says about not going out without a fight. i love that the episode ends in a fistfight for him. i love it when media uses fistfights and punching in such an emotionally-charged human way, beyond the violence, instead depicting it as some sort of catharsis really. because sometimes all you need is a good rough n tumble. in denken's case, it's his way of not giving up without a fight. i like that. i also like that this was foreshadowed by denken telling laufen to cut the tree down instead of trying to cut the restraint. "we don't have any mana" "neither do they". sometimes all it takes is to find a differently way to approach your problems and sometimes the solution is simpler than you think.

i'm a big fan of frieren breaking the barrier because she thought it was unfair to cut kanna (and by extension lawline) out of her source of magic, giving her an unfair disadvantage and honestly a handicap. it's a short part of the episode but it's so important, because it shows that if people are given the right tools and the accessibility, they can do for themselves what they want and need to do. i love that frieren is like "can you imagine winning against a water manipulating mage with water around? i can't."

i'm a fan of how the "basic" combat and defensive magic are depicted and treated as in this show. yes, people more on from traditions, but traditions are there in the first place. richter's explanation of magic history in their world provides an insight to how modern magic evolved from the foundations. but the foundations were still foundations for a reason. they made it a point with fern saying "frieren doesn't restrict me from spells" (even tho it was the setup for a small joke) that the point isn't to pick a side between tradition vs modern, but rather to learn from both and decide for yourself what you want to apply to yourself. the depiction of fern and frieren winning with traditional magic and richter and kanne overwhelming each other with modern magic makes it clear that the show isn't trying to preach to either side.

i also like the theme of "pursuing magic out for the sake of magic is enough". it's nice to hear that denken shares this mindset with frieren, because again he was introduced as someone influential and you'd think he thinks like he could use magic as a source of power. and that's the impression i got of him too from previous episodes, but a lot of first impressions of mine were proven wrong later and i'm so happy for that bc these characters have so much depth packed into them in so little time.

what else have i missed...

[xmoonlitxdreamx]

OW2 Junkrat & Roadhog Relationship (part 1)

Part 2: [click] Part 3: [click] Part 4: [click] Part 5: [click]

Hello! I’ve been curious to try to better understand what Junkrat and Roadhog’s relationship characterization is intended to be in OW2, so I’m gonna take the time to look at various voice lines and other media & try to provide various interpretations of these things.

I'll try to provide both positive and negative interpretations where I see fit, but be aware that I do ship roadrat so I have a bias for interpreting their relationship positively rather than negatively. Overwatch to me though is a franchise that is very loose with its characterization & allows for multiple interpretations of the same characters simultaneously, so I’ll try to be open-minded in the way that I interpret things. Some of these interpretations may also be based on stuff I’ve read in passing from other people here and on twitter, too, so if something looks familiar to what someone else said that’s why. (Apologies for the lack of citations;;)

This first post is looking at Junkrat's OW2 voice lines sourced from this wikia page. (These voice lines may not be up-to-date, and the page does not include many event-specific voice lines) Again, I’ll only be talking about lines that I think give insight into Junkrat and Roadhog’s relationship and how they think of each other.

Anyway! that's that. Interpretations/etc are under the cut!

“So, I was like, Roadhog, mate, just 'cause that's how you see it, doesn't mean that's how she sees it, right? But enough of my earbashing. Let's get out there.”

If taken as truthful: Roadhog goes to Junkrat for romantic advice

If taken as unreliable: Junkrat considers himself as someone who gives good romantic advice, and decided to use Roadhog in his made-up example

In either interpretation: Junkrat considers Roadhog a close enough friend that he talks about Roadhog to other people, and allegedly has personal conversations with Roadhog at some points. (Whether or not Junkrat and Roadhog actually had this conversation isn’t certain since imo Junkrat seems the type to talk out of his ass, but it shows that Junkrat thinks he and Roadhog are close enough that they could have this conversation.)

Unrelated to Junkrat and Roadhog's dynamic, but if taken as truthful this could suggest Roadhog has an interest in women; but if taken as unreliable, it doesn't suggest anything about Roadhog's sexuality

“I feel a sweet verse coming on. Roadhog, give me a beat. …Roadhog?”

Junkrat instinctively commands Roadhog to do things; suggestive of him perceiving himself as “leader” in their relationship.

Roadhog doesn’t listen to him here, so Roadhog likely doesn’t think of himself as subordinate to Junkrat.

This is also a very playful command, so to me it comes from a friendly/playful place that Junkrat wants to sing (rap?) with Roadhog. Could be taken further that Junkrat uses the guise of “I’m Roadhog’s boss and he’s my subordinate” as an excuse to do regular friend stuff with Roadhog.

“Things always go well when you’re working with Junkrat and Roadhog”

Junkrat thinks positively of his partnership with Roadhog, seems to trust him and have confidence when they’re together

“Such perfidy cannot go unanswered!” (respawn line when eliminated by Roadhog)

Perfidy definition from Google: deceitfulness, untrustworthiness

Basically he feels Roadhog is being disloyal to him, indicating that he thinks of Roadhog as someone who’s supposed to be his loyal partner in crime

Possibly suggests that he would seek revenge if Roadhog is disloyal to him, but as usual the delivery is kind of playful, so it might just be more indicative of him acting out this sort of “leader role” for fun

“Guess we know who’s really on top, don’t we?” (eliminating Roadhog)

Suggests that even Junkrat thinks that Roadhog is the one with the power in their partnership, but when push comes to shove Junkrat is the real leader between the two of them

this is innuendo, so this could also suggest that they have sex with each other

not an interpretation, but I actually thought they got rid of this voice line for OW2 so I was surprised to see it on this list lol

“Sorry, old friend..,” (eliminating Roadhog)

straightforward, Junkrat thinks of Roadhog as an old friend

“Bet you never thought you’d see pigs fly! *laughs*” (eliminating Roadhog with concussion mine)

uses pig-related nicknames/etc for Roadhog casually

“Another hogfight for the Cerulean Chancellor!” (eliminating Sigma using Gravitic Flux)

Thb I have no idea what’s going on here, I just thought it was weird he says hogfight. I googled hogfight to see if it’s a common idiom and nothing really came up. No idea if this actually has anything to do with Roadhog, feel free to enlighten me. (idk much abt Sigma)

“That’s what happens when you cross Junkrat and Roadhog!” (to ally Roadhog eliminating an enemy)

Again, suggests he thinks positive of their relationship, indicative that he sees the two of them as partners in crime

“Don’t die on me, you big lug!” (Roadhog downed in PVE)

Worries about Roadhog when he’s hurt; uses affectionate names for him

“They got Hoggie!” (Roadhog downed in PVE)

Same as above, though this nickname is specifically cutesy/endearing compared to the previous

“Who’s gonna revive the roadkill?” (Roadhog yet to be revived in PVE)

Along with affectionate nicknames, Junkrat also uses rude nicknames to refer to Roadhog

Taken in isolation I guess this could suggest that he thinks negatively of Roadhog, but given all the other voice lines where he seems to think positively of Roadhog this is more likely a teasing/playful way of referring to Roadhog

“At least I’m not a hog.” (along with “At least I’m not a rat.” from Roadhog)

Taken in isolation, could suggest that Junkrat doesn’t like Roadhog

Could suggest a sort of competitiveness between the two of them, or possibly that the two of them bicker a lot and don’t always see eye-to-eye

Junkrat: Me mate Roadhog says there's a fetching price on your noggin. Not as high as the one on ours, mind you...

Lifeweaver: He said all that?

Junkrat: It was more like, "Gonna turn that bloke in. Worth a heap, hurrrrrrr..."

Lifeweaver: Thank you for the warning. And the convincing impression.

Junkrat talks about Roadhog to other people

Junkrat hears Roadhog talk enough that he can do a pretty good impression of him—this is potentially indicative of how close they are considering Roadhog is known to not talk often.

Junkrat thinks of Roadhog as his friend (“My mate Roadhog”)

It’s kinda unclear if Roadhog said this stuff about Lifeweaver directly to Junkrat, or if it’s just something Roadhog was saying to himself. If it’s the latter, it’s possible to interpret that Roadhog mutters things to himself & Junkrat pays attention to it. This might suggest that Junkrat isn’t so self-centered when it comes to Roadhog and remembers things that Roadhog says. (kind of a stretch of an interpretation, but hey)

Unrelated but mysteriously, Roadhog seems to speak Australian English in Junkrat’s impression of him (he says “bloke,” which isn’t used in American English). This makes me think Roadhog is supposed to speaking Australian English (which makes sense given that he’s Australian) but in the game he just. Doesn’t. for some reason.

Lifeweaver: Are you and Roadhog together?

Junkrat: Do you ever see us apart?

Lifeweaver: No. I mean, are you a couple?

Junkrat: Yes! A couple of dashing rogues! Not sure what you're missing here...

From an outsider’s perspective (Lifeweaver), Junkrat and Roadhog seem like a couple.

Junkrat and Roadhog are always together (“Do you ever see us apart?” implies they’re never apart)

Tbh there’s a lot of ways to interpret Junkrat’s last line, but I think the most straightforward interpretation is just that he’s oblivious to what Lifeweaver is asking, possibly because of the phrasing. Other possible interpretations:

He doesn’t think of himself and Roadhog as a couple and likewise is oblivious to the fact that they seem like a couple to other people.

Junkrat doesn’t know what couples are (though I think this can be disproven by the fact that he’s “giving” Roadhog relationship advice in one of the voice lines I mentioned earlier)

Junkrat isn’t interested in Roadhog and is deliberately friend-zoning him here

Junkrat and Roadhog are a couple (since he answers “yes,”), but he backpedals because it’s supposed to be a secret

Junkrat’s just messing with Lifeweaver and being intentionally obtuse (unlikely imo, he seems earnest here)

Junkrat thinks of Roadhog as a “dashing rogue”

Roadhog: Say “bacon” one more time.

Junkrat: “Bacon, one more time.”

Junkrat likes to annoy Roadhog

Junkrat isn’t scared of annoying Roadhog

Reaper: You got a problem, Junker?

Roadhog: *chuckle*

Junkrat: I don’t do problems—just solutions!

Roadhog: *laughs* Yeah!

I can’t find the audio for this interaction on the wikia, so I’m not sure what the inflection is. Seems likely that Roadhog is sarcastically agreeing with Junkrat here, but I can’t tell.

Edit: I was told that Roadhog's "Yeah" sounds genuine in-game, so this could be an indication of Roadhog actually following along with Junkrat & engaging in their partners-in-crime dynamic

Edit 2: Roadhog's quotes page indicated that only one of the three dialogue options are triggered by Reaper's line, so Roadhog's "yeah" is most likely not in response to Junkrat's potential line

Summary of this section: It seems like Junkrat thinks positively of Roadhog, thinks of him as a friend, and considers the two of them to be partners in crime. He sometimes uses affectionate pet names for Roadhog, but also uses some crass nicknames with him. There may be a sense of competitiveness between the two of them, where Junkrat thinks of himself as leader while Roadhog thinks otherwise. Junkrat occasionally uses this imagined “superior/subordinate” status playfully as a way to engage in regular friendship activities with Roadhog.

The next section will be me looking at Roadhog's OW2 voicelines. iirc he doesn't mention Junkrat as much as Junkrat mentions him, so I anticipate it'll be shorter and probably less positive lol but anyway! Thanks for reading!

Part 2: [click] Part 3: [click] Part 4: [click] Part 5: [click]

[itsclydebitches]

I need more time to put my thoughts in order about tonight's episode, but my initial reaction is that I'm surprised by others' disappointment? I mean, I'm actually not that surprised because coming out stories are intensely personal with viewers all looking for/needing vastly different things from their media, but it just feels like a lot of what (I thought) Ted Lasso was trying to do has gotten lost under specific expectations.

Ted goes off on a long, ridiculous, borderline disgusting story at the worst possible moment? Yes, that's the point. For all my fun TedTrent theories, Ted is (currently) serving the role of the well-meaning, but often ignorant straight man. His function is to both provide the insight and warmth that he's known for - "Actually it does matter to us" - while simultaneously showing how this intensely heteronormative culture would react to a player coming out. AKA messily. If we got a perfect scenario where everyone was accepting and said exactly the right thing, that would undermine the problems the show is trying to acknowledge in the first place. The focus on Isaac's complicated anger and Ted's foot-in-mouth syndrome is just as important to this whole scenario as the club's overall acceptance and the fact that Ted immediately realizes that he fucked up: "I regret that." Ted Lasso is a feel-good comedy, so it's all couched in over-the-top humor, but I thought that was an important acknowledgement: your allies - straight or not, out or not - are likely going to react in cringe-worthy, imperfect ways and the important takeaway there is not that they're irredeemable people who don't love you, but that they're trying and you should gently correct them (as Colin does) and allow them to grow (as Ted does). Despite being an absurd fiction, Ted Lasso is working to write about this in a semi-realistic sense. Instead of a Perfect Coming Out Moment that makes all the queer fans (myself included!) squeal at how ~wonderful~ our beloved cast is for being oh so perfect, we get that realistic awkwardness, misplaced anger, and regret.

We cut away from Colin coming out? Yes, because he's already come out to us. I understand why fans would be disappointed in that, but I don't think it's fair to characterize the show as not allowing Colin to come out at all. That was the entirety of "Sunflowers." Rather than trying to fit Colin's big moment into a locker room halftime, the writers crafted a whole episode where he could grapple with that fear of being outed, be reassured, have a heart-to-heart with Trent, sit together on the monument, go out later in celebration... Ted Lasso made space for all that and, understandably to my mind, didn't want to rehash many of those same beats three episodes later, especially not when we need time to work through the intersection of Colin's story with everyone else. (Because despite this being a queer story-line about a queer man, the show is about the team. Colin's conflict was always going to expand into the rest of the cast.) No, we don't get to see Colin come out specifically to the others, but we did see him come out - both narratively by kissing a man and to Trent - and we see the team's reaction immediately after the fact. Making space for Issac didn't feel like it was cheating Colin to me, or focusing too much on the straight characters, because Colin's story has been a season in the making (plus some details earlier on). To say nothing of the fact that his hesitance about coming out is specifically because he fears the team's reaction... so why wouldn't we grapple with Isaac's negative reaction? We already know Colin's worries, we know what he wants, we see him seeking advice from Trent, we see him reaching out to Issac, we see that failing, and after all that his queer story-line is functionally at a stand-still until something else gives. Issac's explosion is what finally tips the scales.

Idk I don't think I'm explaining this very well because it's late and I only just watched, but I'm of the opinion that Ted Lasso did a lot of work in previous episodes so that they'd have space in this episode to do different work, which is smart. From a narrative perspective, Ted doesn't need to be the perfect ally because Colin already has a supportive queer mentor. "La Locker Room Aux Folles" doesn't need to try to balance Colin's emotional coming out with Isaac's internalized homophobia because "Sunflowers" already gave the audience so, so much, allowing the writers to both keep things on screen for our benefit and then later cut away for the sake of time. As said, stories like these are always going to be a hit-or-miss depending on what each individual fan wants and needs, but I think it's worth keeping in mind that Colin's story is not this single episode; it's all of them combined. Has Ted Lasso really not treated his journey respectfully... or did it just not try to check every queer story-line box in a single episode?

[edenfenixblogs]

Hi, I have a question and you seem like a really balanced person, so here goes: I want to join a drag king collective, and I’m so excited about it, but the king leading it has some Interesting views. It’s the kind of thing where it’s constant “fuck Zionists” and what feels like extremely performative activism (Palestinian flag in bio but no actual fundraising/peace efforts, posting misinformation/irresponsible rhetoric etc.) I’m scared that if I join it I’ll be treated different, and even more scared that my friends will think the antisemitism justified (they aren’t great at understanding what antisemitism looks like these days). Idk what to do about the fear of someone being antisemitic because I don’t want it to stop me from doing what I want, but I also know it’ll devastate me if it does happen. If you can offer any insight I’ll be very grateful.

Hi friend!

I'm really glad you reached out to me. Not because I pretend to know all the answers, but because I love that we can all rely on each other during this time.

Unfortunately, whether you sign up for this is ultimately a matter of your own personal priorities and how you are prone to handle confrontation.

Personally, if it was me, I would join. I'm not afraid of defending myself (but I very much used to be, so no shame if you're not there yet). If I wanted to explore my gender identity through performance (if indeed that is what you are doing. I've never been personally drawn to perform drag, so I cannot pretend to know exactly why one might start. But I don't think I'm out of line to assume that it involves some kind of exploration or critique of gender both personally and societally) I certainly wouldn't let antisemites be the reasons I didn't go for it.

If the Anti-Zionist jerk starts coming at you, you can simply say "OK, great. Real quick question: What's a Zionist?" And watch him squirm to say anything real or substantive other than "a Jew." He might say, "They're basically Nazis!" or "They're people who want Palestinians to suffer!" or some other confidently incorrect hyperbolic statement. If he does so, you can say, "Oh! Well, then that's definitely not what I am," and move on.

If he says something slightly more substantive, like, "They're people who think Jews should get to take land from Arabs/Palestinians in order to have a Jewish ethnostate!" You can use the same response as above. But you can also say, "Oh, weird. That's definitely not what I thought it was. Which Zionist Jews have said this, exactly? Cuz I heard it was something completely different." Remember, their goal isn't actually to educate you or help anyone or even to provide limited but factual information. The goal is to shame you into aligning with their self-righteous point of view. That is not an effective tactic when you respond with QUESTIONS instead of outright CORRECTIONS. Making people explain themselves is a great way to defang a bad faith accusation like that.

Finally, they might say, "It's someone who supports Israel." In this case, either of the above methods will work. Or you could question even further. Here's an example of a chat:

You: Supports Israel how?

Jerkface: They want Biden to use our tax dollars to fund a genocide!

You: Oh, well then I'm definitely not a Zionist.

Jerkface: No, you don't understand! It's people who think that Jews can only be safe in a settler colonial apartheid ethnostate that justified its existence by crying about the Holocaust.

You: Well then I'm still not a Zionist. I don't know why you're assuming these things about me. But people should generally cry about the Holocaust. It was really bad thing that people did to Jews. Do you not think the Holocaust is a big deal?

Jerkface: Of course I think it was a big deal. That's why we all have to condemn THIS genocide. The Jews are the Nazis now.

You: I don't know. I don't think that' show Nazism works. But I definitely don't like genocide. If liking genocide makes a Zionist, then I'm definitely not whatever you're accusing me of.

Jerkface: No! I'm just saying that Zionists don't want a ceasefire. They're trying to kill all the Palestinians.

You: I don't know what to tell you then. Because that's still not me. Of course I want Hamas and Israel to both stop bombing each other.

Jerkface: No, Palestine is JUSTIFIED in bombing Israelis because of the oppression.

You: I think its weird that you're conflating Palestinians with Hamas. Are you saying that Palestinian civilians are bombing Israel as as a protest tactic? I thought for sure that Hamas, a terrorist organization, was the group responsible for Anti-Israeli violence. Personally, I've always though that most Palestinians just want to live in peace and don't support terrorism and violence. I don't know why it would harm Palestinians to suggest that both Israel and Hamas should end this conflict diplomatically rather than with violence.

Jerkface: Right! That's why we need to tell Biden to call for a ceaseefire!

You: OK, but I still don't know if you're saying Israel should just stop firing or that Israel and Hamas should stop bombing. I definitely want everyone to stop bombing each other. But I'm not really sure why Hamas would care about what Biden says.

etc...

I call this the "Rabbi method," because when you go to a rabbi, they never really give you an answer to your question. They answer with other questions designed to get them to see their own answer.

Either Hamas is a terrorist group unfairly targeting Israeli civilians and launching bombs into civilian territories--something that is clearly bad and which makes average Palestinian civilians innocent victims (this is the truth btw) that require both Hamas and Israel too lay down their arms. OR Palestinians and Hamas are interchangeable terms and the ongoing oppression of Palestinians have driven them to violent, offensive, armed resistance--which you may or may not agree with as a revolutionary tactic (To be clear, this is NOT TRUE OF PALESTINIANS. PALESTINIANS ARE NOT TERRORISTS AND DO NOT DESERVE TO BE BOMBED). Palestine IS NOT HAMAS. Hamas is bombing Israeli civilians.

Israel is retaliating with extreme force and prejudice against a terrorist organization in a way that is devastating the lives and futures of Palestinian Civilians, who very much deserve for all sides to lay down their weapons and address their mutual grievances diplomatically and responsibly. What is occurring right now is a messy, ugly, brutal war that is killing and traumatizing all civilians in the Levant. And a one-sided ceasefire leaves the side that ceases firing dead. A ceasefire means that EVERYONE must cease firing.

Unless Jerkface has a plan for how to ensure the safety of Palestinian civilians from Hamas that also includes Israeli safety from Hamas, asking for Israelis to simply lay down all their weapons without any guarantee of safety is asking for a nation of mostly Jews to die without putting up a fight. And wanting Arab Israelis and also Jews not to die is not what Zionism means. It's not even what pro-Israel means. That's just called not being violently antisemitic, actually.

Israelis aren't mindless Zionist Nazi Monsters who get off on killing Palestinian babies. Palestinians aren't Noble Savages who have never done anything wrong as individual people and who are inherently morally superior to every single Israeli because they were born Palestinian. Both Israelis and Palestinians are complex, global micro-minorities who have both perpetrated tremendous harm to one another over the course of several decades, and neither group is going anywhere. Neither group deserves for its people to die. Neither group is only "worth helping" if western onlookers categorize them as "innocent" and "good." If someone's activism isn't geared toward respecting the inherent dignity of Palestinians and Israelis regardless of either group's history, then that person is not engaging in activism. If someone is asking you to support that cause because their chosen cause involves perfect cinnamon rolls being targeted by pure evil enemies, then they are not asking you to join them in activism. They are not even asking you to join them in a political reality. What they are asking is for you to join their toxic fandom.

And reducing this conflict down to simplistic fandom rhetoric is not going to help anyone and is frankly offensive to all Jews, Israelis, and Palestinians--all of whom deserve to be seen for the traumatized, suffering, imperfect people they are.

People don't earn support by being good. They inherently deserve support, because they are people.

All that said, maybe it's not emotionally useful for you to engage in this group. Maybe this type of conflict is too much for you. That's OK, too.

And while I would never let antisemitism take away an opportunity for me to fulfill a dream, I will say that my experience of Antisemitism during this time is 100000000% responsible for making me realize that the dreams I had before this experience need to evolve. I no longer wish to be in the town where I live. I wish to be home with my family closeby, because when the chips are down, that's who matters. The idea of moving back to my home state was unthinkable to me before October. Now? I cannot get out of here fast enough. There's nothing I want that is exclusive to my current location anymore. The community I thought I'd built for myself is gone. And while antisemitism didn't take them from me, it sure as fuck showed me that I never had it in thee first place.

If you're going to join this collective, be sure its worth the fight. And if it's not worth the fight, then look for a place that is. Exploring your gender identity freely should not come at the cost of living your ethnic and religious identities openly. Ever.

Don't trade one closet for another. You deserve more than that. We all do.

hope that helps @kit-chaos-doodle

[paperclipninja]

Ok ok ok so this may or may not provide some kind of insight but I feel like there's something here, so I'm going to share.

While I remain adamant the moment the Metatron brings up that he has reviewed Aziraphale's previous exploits and notes:

is when Aziraphale realises he has no choice about returning to Heaven (it's basically saying I know what you've done, you know I have leverage, as I rambled about here) but there's something else.

The Metatron pauses a moment before very deliberately saying 'partnership'. We see a flash of uncertainty (I'd say panic actually) in Aziraphale at this revelation, but this is what makes the Metatron's manipulation so deliciously awful. "Partnership" can mean many things. It sounds transactional. "Partnership" can still be explained away as an arrangement, a professional decision to engage with the demon in a business sense. I would go so far as to posit that Aziraphale's searching expression is him quickly coming up with an explanation along these lines, a justification of how it benefitted Heaven for him to know what the enemy was doing etc.

If it was a ploy to 'know thine enemy", a strategic decision to ensure Heaven always had the upper hand, Aziraphale could reassert once again that he doesn't want to go back to Heaven. He can still claim that this partnership was purely tactical. Nothing to see here.

But the Metatron doesn't even give Aziraphale the chance, the Voice of God wants the angel to know that there is not an out here.

Listen to the way this line is delivered:

The emphasis on "friend", the pointed and knowing look the Metatron shoots at Aziraphale as he says the word - this is the Metatron giving Aziraphale no way out, making sure he understands that the Metatron and Heaven know exactly what the relationship between him and Crowley is. Partnership can have many meanings, friend cannot.

Whether the implication here is that the Metatron knows that there is a whole other layer in the relationship is kind of irrelevant. It's the fact that being someone's friend is a choice, it cannot be disputed or explained as anything else.

So I guess this means a couple of things to me. One, it once again emphasises that the Metatron is using Aziraphale's relationship with Crowley and his knowledge that it is something Aziraphale cares deeply about as leverage. But it also hints at something foreboding. I'm not throwing my hat in the ring on any theory about what it could mean at this stage, but I do believe it's definitely a set up beyond the events we see unfold in these final moments of the season.

[steveharrington]

Have we seen Steve interacting with authority figures? I feel like we must have at some point but I can't think of any... which is maybe why I struggle to imagine what Steve and Hopper/Joyce sharing a scene might look like. I guess there's that scene with Barb's parents?

we HAVENT ‼️ hardly anyways! off the top of my head i’m fairly sure that the only adults we’ve seen steve interact with (and i define interacting by him talking to them directly or vice versa) are barb’s parents like you said, the guys he walked up to cleaning the theater marquee, and the russian general. genuinely cannot think of anyone else. isn’t that so upsetting

i wouldn’t call barb’s parents or the movie marquee guys authority figures per se, but i do think you could kinda categorize ozerov that way. at the very least, he has massive power over steve (literally has him tied up and drugged). i think it’s notable that of these instances where steve is sharing a scene with an adult, he is consistently doing some sort of repentance. cleaning up the marquee, visiting barb’s parents after she died in his backyard, and being beaten for finding the operation (which served as a larger message to steve that once again reminds him he was an Evil Little Boy). we’ve never seen steve interact with an adult to receive comfort or protection—it’s always the opposite, actually. uncomfortable at the very least, literally being tortured at the most.

i think a very underrated moment is steve threatening ozerov by saying that hopper is going to save them. i think it’s sooooo genuinely deeply sad, actually! he so confidently thought hopper (and other adults ie the us calvary) were going to come save him and robin, when actually no one even knew they were down there. if dustin and erica hadn’t saved them, literally no one would have!!!! the same protection that hopper and joyce provide the other kids/teens don’t really extend to steve and robin, which makes sense logically since they’re kinda on the outskirts. they are not their children or close friends of their children. but i think that line is so meaningful and sad because it kinda implies that steve thinks of himself as falling under that umbrella of protection, but he doesn’t :(

that’s not to say that i think hopper is canonically like “fuck steve harrington i don’t care about that kid”, but the writing in st thus far hasn’t really been dynamic enough to give us glimpses into the various ways that All these kids/teens/adults are inherently tied together after going through category 5 monster moments every half a year together. i really hope season 5 remedies that (it sounds and looks like they might?) by giving us these rare interactions between characters who have almost been killed by the exact same Creature several times but have somehow never talked. i also want so badly for someone to acknowledge that steve becomes the de facto adult when joyce and hopper aren’t around (i know mom steve jokes got annoying but they stemmed from his behavior clearly modeling that of a Parent with the kids) and maybe give us insight into how steve views himself….does he feel like an adult? would he view hopper as an authority figure, or would he almost see him as a peer and equal considering they both end up being the meat shields when it comes to fighting people and monsters? i need to know…..

i do think we’ll get at least a crumb of steve and hopper in s5, at least because david harbour and joe keery have both talked about wanting to share scenes and it would be so mean of the writers to just be like no sorry we don’t have time for a 2 second interaction in this 10 hour season LOL but we shall see <3

[theflyindutchwoman]

I'm a cop. I was standing this close to the guy. Okay? Right across from him, and I never saw him coming. But she did, though. She- Some part of her didn't feel right about this whole thing. She hesitated. And I-I pushed her right at him.

| ANATOMY OF A SCENE - CHENFORD EDITION 2.11 - Day of Death

This is such a small scene, easily overshadowed in an episode that is filled with so many great moments… But I love how it provides some insight into Tim's state of mind. He's usually so good at compartmentalising his feelings and emotions to focus on the job… unless it gets too personal, like with Isabel. Or here, when they realise that Lucy has been kidnapped… The way he's growing more desperate and agitated by the minute… He's feeling powerless and working the tip line is not helping at all. If anything, it frustrates him even more. Tim, at his core, is a man of action and this is particularly evident here, where he's itching to kick something. Anything. A sentiment that is all too reminiscent of the time he punched a wall after Isabel's overdose. He manages to rein it in a bit, but barely, thanks to Angela… She's trying so hard to be present for him, to be the voice of reason, but she's also going through her own issues. She can't hide her worry though. For Lucy, of course. And for Tim… It's hard to believe that seeing him like this wouldn't trigger some memories for her, of how he used to be after Isabel's disappearance. But most of all : she knows him. She knows he called her for more than just looking for Lucy, that something is weighing on his mind and that he needs to unburden himself.

The guilt he's feeling is so palpable, so tangible when he's remembering and retelling his last moments with Lucy. The cracks in his voice… The tears in his eyes… It's eating at him. The way he's rewriting history too, feels so real and authentic : guilt can make you reinterpret facts, question every little things you've said and done, and this is what he's doing here. He didn't necessarily push her towards Caleb : his advice to go out and have a drink or two with another human being was actually sound. And Lucy wasn't particularly hesitant either : the reason she wanted to go home was because she was exhausted after the day they had, not because she was suspicious. But that doesn't stop him from feeling responsible.

The way his voice breaks a little when he admits he never saw Caleb coming… I think that's the most unforgivable part for him. That he failed her, as a cop, as her TO, and as a friend. He drilled into her the importance of 'cop eyes', that her default mode should be suspicion… Only he didn't see anything that alarmed him (besides not liking the guy and acting a bit jealous). That's why he's beating himself up so hard : in his mind, he should have seen something… he should have prevented all of this… And what hurts him even more is that he firmly believes that he overrode her instincts. The very ones he helped her hone. He spent months testing her, teaching her to trust herself and stop second-guessing herself. To be more confident. That was the whole point of her Plain Clothes Day. That's what makes it worse for him : that she valued his own opinion over hers and that led to her kidnapping. And that's why it will be so important for Lucy to set the record straight later… why he will be so touched that despite everything, his opinion is the one that matters to her the most. That she never blamed him.

And lastly, it says absolutely everything that Tim's behaviour in this episode has been paralleled later by Wesley and Angela, a married couple. Tim went feral and threatened to pull a guy inside out if he didn't give him an information that could lead to Lucy while Wesley promised to have a guy tortured if he harmed Angela… And here, Tim wanted to kick some doors, refusing to just sit there and do nothing, which is pretty much what Angela said to the Feds when Wesley was taken hostage… It was always more than 'just' guilt driving him...

[mochiotomedumplings]

okay i was just smoothing over a point in the canon analysis that it ended up becoming a whole essay 😂 here’s Why Sunday Had Never Planned To Kill Aventurine:

Sunday: Why would I do that, Mr. Aventurine? I'm just wondering what a passerby who stumbled upon a scene of murder could have found out, that's all.

so we know by his sarcasm here that he doesn’t actually think aven has anything to do with robin’s death, so there’s no real need to keep aven for another 17 hours just before ena’s dream. if the consecration’s punishment was spose to be “death” in any form, why 17 hours if not only to put a leash on aven for that specific time ? he also mentioned seeing each other again to compare findings - if it was unlikely aven would find anything, then what’s the point ? rub salt in the wound ? is sunday literally the kind of person so free to want to meet someone again for no good reason right before The Plan (talking to tb doesn’t count, he wanted to convince them after all) ? he never explicitly said what the actual punishment of the harmony’s consecration was, just that aven would either be force-assimilated or killed by aelenev, which we know it’s a bluff (the only reference to the former happening is also by aelenev). if the “only two paths” are likely both bluffs to make things scary, and we know what awaits is ena’s dream, then it’s not a stretch to say the whole threat is a bluff to keep aven in line for 17 hours.

but what if he did think aven could have something to do with the murder ? this was unlikely, from his convo with gallagher… and he said to welt as such that he didn’t believe aven was the murderer. it’s likely he just wanted to put aven up to another “test” again, his favorite apparently.

note how right after aven said “it’s an outright execution” (maybe it did feel that way to him, maybe he said it to really cement the impression that he “lost” - either way a great closing line to the performance) sunday said “why would i do that, mr aventurine ?” followed by a statement implying that there’s nothing aven would find so the result is decided. once again, if sunday thought theres nothing aven can help, then why the 17 hours deadline ? so was sunday just literally saying, hidden behind his bluffs here, “why would i kill you when i’m about to create a new world order to save everyone ?” he could have been sarcastic of course, being smug about having “caught” aven, but he could just as well have been “honest” to none the wiser.

say sunday had wanted aven to die, or at least punished him in the way he said the consecration would. if aven failed - the likelier outcome which sunday insinuates - then he would be killed by aelenev, but this has been confirmed to be a bluff. so there was no real risk associated with failing - this already put his whole “punishment” in question. if sunday had wanted to see aven succeed, curious as to what he might have found out as a mere passerby, then that meant he had wanted to see aven again for the info. if this was what he wanted, then why did he let aven go after realizing his scheme, even going as far as to help the other ? so it wouldn’t matter if aven failed, and it didn’t matter if aven had something to add either. why not just kill him instead of these bluffs if he had not somehow wanted to talk to aven again ? 17 hours left to live, 17 hours left before the dream, where one no longer “lives”. all he wanted was to make sure aven wouldn’t interfere with The Plan, and if he had wanted aven to die then setting the 17 hours limit, with no risk of failure, then letting the other run free because the harmony’s already there (not gonna kill him because it was a bluff !)… what did he actually want ?

Sunday: When the time comes, compare your findings with mine. If both our findings align, or if you can provide me more insights... then THEY will truly be able to grant you mercy and honesty.

the way sunday had said it, it was implied that the consecration’s punishment *was* to be killed by aelenev, which we know is a bluff. the other path was supposed to be a reward, which sunday didn’t think would happen (it’s mind death, so sunday knows aven wouldn’t want it, which makes it extremely unlikely he would go for it) - it was likely a throwaway scare as well. like what aven said, the two outcomes were one - aka both bluffs. so it was always meant to restrain aven…… just a delulu here, but think back on what sunday told welt - he “shackled” aven. this does connect to our conclusion that he didn’t plan to kill aven, but also - what if this explains why he let aven go but with another meaning ? if he had known what aven was up to aka true death, which shouldn’t have been possible with the order and would be a major blow to penacony’s rep, why let him do it ? maybe to find out what happened to robin, maybe to target gallagher while everyone is distracted, but maybe… because aven had been “shackled”. sunday would always be able to control him, know where he went, and even… protect him from death, like what the order was doing in penacony. if sunday wasn’t worried about aven dying (since that would have been bad for penacony, but he possibly might not have cared either since ena’s dream) then he was sure he could stop aven’s death because of the harmony order.

and if he hadn’t cared and was okay with aven ruining penacony moments before the festival (heh)… it doesn’t change the fact that his whole punishment was a bluff. so he had never planned to kill aven 😇

he wanted to talk to aven again didn’t he 🤭

[neil-neil-orange-peel]

TYO Essay

A while back, I mentioned I wrote an essay for my previous uni course where I used TYO as a source to look at the early 1980s. @a-a-a-anon expressed an interest in reading it, so here ya go! The quality of it is seriously iffy (I was 18/19 when I wrote it and had no idea how to actually write or reference academic essays yet, and just the quality of the writing makes me cringe a bit). There was also more I wanted to say but couldn't due to the word limit (don't remember what these other things were now). Despite all that, the lecturer liked it, and it was cool I got to write about TYO for uni.

The Young Ones as a Cultural Source for Early 1980s Britain

Although today in Britain the future often feels uncertain – the global pandemic notwithstanding, Brexit is still looming on the horizon – the Britons of 40 years ago doubtlessly felt similarly, albeit for different reasons. In the early 1980s, the threat of nuclear war was palpable, as the existence of Protect and Survive[1] attests to. Nuclear war paranoia influenced British culture in the 1980s, with bleak examples such as the BBC film Threads (1984) and Raymond Briggs’ When the Wind Blows (1986) still remembered keenly today. Both fictionalisations of nuclear war featured material from Protect and Survive and highlighted the message of contemporary nuclear disarmament protestors: no one can win a nuclear war. Of the less apocalyptic issues, unemployment hit 3 million (about 11.7%[2]) in 1983 – for comparison, in 2019 it was estimated to be at 1.281 million (about 3.6%[3]). The Thatcher administrations’ efforts to break from the post-war consensus and embrace neo-liberalism created divisions in society. Yet, amidst threats of nuclear war, mass unemployment, the decline of British industry and the growth of individualism, a cultural revolution in comedy dubbed “alternative comedy” was fast taking hold in Britain – and in much the same way Thatcherism’s impacts can still be felt on society today, so too can alternative comedy’s.

Running for 2 series (12 episodes in total) on BBC2 between 1982-84, anarchic and slightly surreal sitcom The Young Ones epitomised the break between older styles of comedy and the new wave. Although The Young Ones has been called ground-breaking and classic, it is also now regarded as somewhat dated for its jokes pertaining to current events. Therefore, its scripts are an interesting source for an insight into the time in which it was produced and based: early 1980s Britain.

Firstly, it is important to understand what The Young Ones actually was. Written by Ben Elton, Rik Mayall and Lise Mayer[4] and with additional material provided by Alexei Sayle, it followed the misadventures of four vastly different university students at the fictional Scumbag College in North London. Whilst the four were never seen doing anything remotely akin to studying, it aimed at being representative of university life, students and the squalor they lived in. The show was not a conventional sitcom in that it did not pertain to a family and it featured a musical act in every episode so that it could be classified as “light entertainment”, as the BBC had no further budget available for sitcoms at the time. Because many of its principal actors came from the stand-up comedy circuit, there was an emphasis on excitement and unpredictability over discernible plots and many memorable scenes featured characters injuring themselves and others, destroying bits of the set and crashing through walls, as well as randomly interspersed and unrelated cutaway gag segments. There was a cartoonish level of slapstick violence, swearing and toilet humour, which appear milder to today’s palate than 40 years ago.

British audiences were divided by The Young Ones mostly along age lines, with younger viewers engaging readily with this new style of comedy and older viewers seeing it as unnecessarily vulgar and silly. Indeed, the characters that had been transplanted from their actors’ stand-up routines were deliberately disgusting, exaggerated caricatures and horrible to one another. Mayall himself played wannabe lefty anarchist Rick, who frequently came to rather explosive blows with the violent punk medical student, Vyvyan (played by Mayall’s comedy partner, Adrian Edmondson). Also featured was badly done to, depressed hippie Neil (played by Nigel Planer) and the mysterious leader and straight man of the group, Mike The Cool Person (played by Christopher Ryan, the only one of the core cast without a comedy background). Sayle too appeared in every episode as either their hated landlord Balowski or a member of his family, where he would deliver a short stand-up monologue to the camera. The show’s title (and opening theme) was derived from the Cliff Richard song of the same name, as Mayall’s character was a huge fan.

The Young Ones took on the issues of its day, perhaps none more so than the episode “Bomb”. “Bomb” uses dark humour to address fears over nuclear war by having an atom bomb land in the characters’ kitchen at the start of the episode. Even before the characters deal with the unexploded bomb, the script is already hinting at the theme of nuclear war in this cutaway gag sequence, featuring a family on a packet of cereal:

FATHER: Would you two shut up and keep smiling? We’re supposed to be the ideal nuclear family!

GIRL: Post-nuclear, more like!

Not only was this segment ridiculing the “ideal nuclear family” that was promoted by the Thatcher governments – none of the characters posing as a family get along at all and the “father” reveals himself to be gay, thus exposing the lie that there is truly an “ideal” family – it also managed to slip in a quick gag about nuclear war. This reflected a genuine belief by many at the time that nuclear war was coming, especially amongst the young.[5]

When the main characters finally become aware of the bomb in their kitchen, the script offers this response:

NEIL: I’m going upstairs to get the incredibly helpful and informative “Protect and Survive” manual! Nobody better touch this while I’m gone!

This reference to the Protect and Survive manual, which at the time and retrospectively has been regarded as useless in the event of an actual nuclear attack, appears for the purpose of ridiculing it. Having the character of Neil act as though the manual could help deal with something as serious as an atom bomb in the kitchen employs sarcasm as a critical tool. Protect and Survive featured suggestions such as painting the windows of the house white in order to deflect the heat from a blast, which The Young Ones also satirised:

RICK: Neil, can you lend me five- What are you doing?

[NEIL is reading his survival manual while painting himself white with a paintbrush]

NEIL: Oh, painting myself white to deflect the blast.

RICK: That’s great, isn’t it? Racial discrimination, even in death! What are these? [indicates a few lunchbags on the table]

NEIL: Sandbags!

The misinterpretation of the manual’s instructions, as well as the substitution of items deemed vital for items found in the house, reflects the feeling that most British households were simply unprepared for a nuclear attack and stood very little chance of survival. This is compounded later in the episode, when the four main characters resort to hiding underneath the kitchen table as a means of escaping the blast of the bomb – something many had resorted to in air raids during WWII but which was drastically inadequate protection against an atom bomb. This episode also portrayed the nihilism in British culture over nuclear war – a nihilism that can be found in other cultural sources, such as The Smiths song “Ask”[6] – through the character of Vyvyan, who spends much of the episode attempting to set the bomb off.

This show being the work of alternative comedians, The Young Ones also utilised its anarchic tone to critique the Thatcher administration of the time. This was usually done through the character of Rick, who blamed Margaret Thatcher for most problems faced by the group. Though his character existed to satirise upper-class closet conservatives as well as overzealous student activists, he was something of a mouthpiece for the left-wing writers. Some of his more memorable outbursts include:

RICK: We haven’t got any money! Vyvyan’s baby will be a pauper! Oliver Twist! Jeffrey Dickens! Back to Victorian values! [directly to camera, angrily] I hope you’re satisfied, Thatcher!

RICK: Neil! The bathroom’s free! Unlike the country under the Thatcherite junta!

Other characters were used to critique the government too:

RICK: School’s out forever! Yeah, come on everyone! Let all your hairs hang out! Do whatever you want!

MIKE: What’s all the excitement, Rick? Has education finally been cut altogether? That’s the only reason I voted Tory.

The first of these is a reference to the 1983 interview in which Thatcher endorsed a return to “Victorian values”. That is, a rolling back of the state to unburden the individual and set them free to prosper, should they put the effort in. This New Right attitude, combined with the high unemployment figures from that year, created the view that Thatcherism was about looking out for “number one”. This wasn’t aided by Employment Secretary Norman Tebbit’s “Get On Your Bike” speech at the Conservative Party Conference in 1981. The Young Ones captured the mood of particularly the youth in such a climate – one in which many felt misunderstood and patronised – in a cutaway segment featuring the fictional TV programme Nozin’ Aroun’:

BAZ: Rol! A lot of my mates say to me, “Oh Baz, what is the point?” What would you say to them?

ROLAND: Well surely, Baz, your mates must realise that there definitely is a point!

BAZ: So a real message of hope and good cheer there – from Roland, a really ace guy!

To summarise; just as is the case today, early 1980s Britons were facing uncertainty. This was especially the case for anyone working in manufacturing industries, as the unsuccess of the Miners’ Strike of 1984 signified a wider trend in British industry. The government’s overarching aim of turning society away from one in which a “nanny state” risked making people idle to one where everyone was free to accumulate wealth that would trickle down to the less well off was never going to be a smooth period to live through. The last tremors of the Cold War didn’t help make the period more bearable. Yet, it is often harder or uncertain times where laughter becomes more valuable to people and The Young Ones – though not to everyone’s political or cultural tastes – undeniably provided some release for younger generations. To call it an entirely accurate depiction of early 1980s Britain would be to forget that its primary purpose was amusement. Nevertheless, it does provide a colourful insight and one that is remembered with fondness by those who grew up watching it, even today.

[1] Protect and Survive was a series of government issued pamphlets, public information films and radio broadcasts produced in the late 1970s/early 1980s, to be distributed 72 hours before a nuclear attack was expected. Public interest meant they were released in 1980.

[2] https://countryeconomy.com/unemployment/uk?dr=1983-12, December 1983

[3] Office for National Statistics, December 2019

[4] All of whom are alumni of the University of Manchester.

[5] After speaking to some adults who were young during this period, Mr Smith revealed how (aged 11 in 1983) he told his class: “I want to be there when the bomb drops. I want to be right next to it so I’m disintegrated and don’t know anything about it.” Additionally, he was under the impression that a bomb would likely be dropped on Piccadilly Gardens, Manchester.

[6] “If it’s not love / Then it’s the bomb / Then it’s the bomb that will bring us together” – S. Morrissey & J. Marr, “Ask”, The World Won’t Listen, 1987

Bibliography:

Sources:

B. Elton, R. Mayall & L. Mayer, “Demolition”, The Young Ones, BBC2, 1982

B. Elton, R. Mayall & L. Mayer, “Bomb”, The Young Ones, BBC2, 1982

B. Elton, R. Mayall & L. Mayer, “Cash”, The Young Ones, BBC2, 1984

B. Elton, R. Mayall & L. Mayer, “Nasty”, The Young Ones, BBC2, 1984

B. Elton, R. Mayall & L. Mayer, “Summer Holiday”, The Young Ones, BBC2, 1984

Central Office of Information, Protect and Survive, Her Majesty’s Stationary Office, 1980

Transcript of Brian Walden interview with Margaret Thatcher for BBC, 1983: https://www.margaretthatcher.org/document/105087

[newvegascowboy]

Relating to the whole body-sharing thing, how do you feel about Nick x Kellogg's Ghost?

I have a billion plot threads about the two learning to share Nick’s skull, with the common factor being Kellogg Does Not want to take revenge, hurt Nick or Sole, or delete Nick / get a new body. He's in emtional Limbo as well as physical, not sure where he wants to go from here. The Lounger woke him up once, then Amari said he would fade away... And he just didn't.

Nick believes he means no harm because he was pretty unobtrusive and managed to hide in a shadowed corner of his mind for a couple months, just watching through Nick’s eyes and reflecting on his life. The only reason he would actually possess Nick and take him hostage was if someone tried to delete him before he's ready to face death again.

And from there they become friends and/or lovers while not telling anyone Kellogg’s still technically alive.

I feel like the Kellogg's Ghost thing is kind of a hot button issue in fandom where there's 2 camps. You either fall into "it was stupid and im glad they didnt do anything with it" or "they shouldn't have brought it up only to do nothing with it". I tend to fall more into the latter camp. I think it could have been a really fucking cool thing but. Alas!

I agree with you that I don't think Kellogg would necessarily want revenge. I feel he would be in a mindset of "well you beat me, fair and square." His surprise at not being dead effectively overrides any murderous impulse for a while. I think he would be more interested in hanging out undetected in Nick's head for a while, potentially trying to learn things about sole and their companions (there could have been some perception checks or something to see if your character notices anything off with Nick while Kellogg is piloting).

I think it would have been a lot of fun to occasionally get Kellogg's insights while traveling with Nick. Random voicelines while you're walking around, maybe some combat lines where Nick is effectively talking to himself ("You're welcome for the help" / "I didn't ask").

Given Nick's personal themes of autonomy and Who Am I, Really, I don't think he would want a passenger who occasionally takes the wheels. I think his priority would be to get Kellogg out of his head. There could have been some interesting resolutions to his quest, like either you kill Kellogg once and for all, kill Nick and have him take his place, or get Kellogg out into his own new synth body.

I think he could have had some particularly interesting insights if he's around during your final fight with the Institute, like providing an extra edge in the battle or accompanying you to help.

[dearembraced]

KHOC WEEK DAY 6 - JOURNAL - @khoc-week

A day late cause I was busy yesterday but!!! For this prompt I wanted to focus on Kage.

Kage was meticulous with his notes. He gave a report to his foreteller every week on the status of the union as a whole and even provided what information he could on other unions aswell. Ira relied on Kage's information a lot of the time to understand the bigger picture. It's something that Kage took immense pride in - and one of the reasons he started to be known as 'Ira's Shadow'. He was Ira's eyes and ears within the union itself - many people didn't like being around him not only because of his bad personality but because they knew that if they messed up in his line of sight - it would be directly reported to Ira.

Ira specifically named Kage that aswell, as Kage means shadow and he wanted Kage to act as if he was one - always watchful and a part of everyone. A shadow is simply a part of someone they can never get rid of - just like Kage was a part of Ira no matter that Kage represented the worst in him. Whether people of the union wanted it or not, Kage was apart of them, Kage was a reason, if not one of the main reasons, that the union ran as smoothly as it did.

I think some of his reports to Ira could be found in the games as collectibles; they would likely make no sense but would also give insight into Kage's mentality. While writing reports he had to constantly rewrite passages because he would get too emotional and caught up in his sin, wrath, and have to go back and change how he said things to appear more impartial. So not only could it give someone the view of what was going on in the unions objectively, but how someone like Kage functioned on a day to day basis and what his real thoughts about the foretellers, the master of masters, and his fellow firsts really were.

Despite how much he tries to hide it, if someone takes just a moment to get to know Kage, they know that he actually wears his heart on his sleeve - and his writings show this too.

[polyamorousmood]

How do people handle when a partner says something along the lines of...oh, what, I'm not enough? I don't feel like the notion of polyamory is about anybody not being enough. But not quite sure how to articulate that in a helpful way to reassure another person. Thoughts?

There is no in-the-moment fix to this that I've found.

That is a big concern that requires a lot of work to address. Your partner has to have an open mind, and you have a lot of explaining to do. It's a process, and you'll probably have to explain it several different ways, several different times for it to sink in.

I would caution against directly saying "you are enough" because... your partner alone won't satiate you, in one way or another. If they could, you likely wouldn't be trying/doing/asking for poly stuff (in such a mono-centric world as we live in). But I'd also be likely to bet no ONE person would satisfy you either.

Here's as good a place as any to put the very necessary read-more. There's specifics and stuff below the cut

Okay, I'm having a hard time organizing what I'm trying to get across as flowing prose so we're just doing bullet points of general advice. You know your life better than I do though so these are not hard-and-fast rules so much as consider-this-es.

🔍Find the specific worries your partner has. Without judgement work with your partner to get to the heart(s) of the issue. Are there any precise worries your partner has? When you go out to eat, your partner isn't scared their cooking isn't to your standards. So what ways are they actually worried about being "not enough for you." Sexually inadequate is a common fear, but so is the fear that they're not providing enough for you emotionally or materially, they might worry you're discontent because your hobbies don't overlap enough, or a thousand other things. There's likely general anxiety there as well, but know as much as you can about what worries your partner has.

👇Be specific with your reassurance. As discussed, saying "you are enough" is too easy to ✌️"disprove"✌️ (these are air quotes). But that's in part because its too broad. Any one thing you prefer to do with someone else can serve as "proof" the partner in question "isn't enough." So focus on what you value about your partner, what you get out of that specific relationship, what is special and un-replicatable that you enjoy. "I will always want to do [activity] with you" and "I love your way of seeing the world. When we were talking about [subject] you mentioned [interesting point]. I never would have considered that. I want to keep hearing your insight" and "I NEVER thought I'd like [whatever], but the way you love it makes me love it". You should also (if applicable, do not lie) probably assure your partner you are still committed to a long term relationship with them, including working through problems together.

🤝Help your partner build security in the relationship. Have dedicated time that's just for them Even if you're living together so everything you do is "together", make quality time. Those specific reassurances? Write them down on fancy paper and give them to your partner, so they can refer back to it when they need to. Thank your partner for coming to you with concerns, even when you're not sure what the fix is. In your daily routine you should be telling your partner things you're grateful for about them.

🧍Help your partner feel confident as an individual. The worst way to transition a relationship to polyamory is to go straight from spending every minute together to seeing other people. Perhaps counter-intuitively, you need to have separate lives, preferably before you add other people to the mix. You should spend at least a couple hours a week with friends or on hobbies away from your partner and vice versa. If you're everything to your partner, the fear of not keeping you is the fear of losing EVERYTHING, so your partner needs to see they have value outside of the relationship. And that WILL make a good relationship STRONGER, and less dependent.

⏲️Take time to work through problems.Don't let stuff fester. If you notice your partner is feeling off, say so in as many words. If they aren't ready to talk, its still helpful for them to know you notice and care about their feelings. If they do want to talk, talk. Even if you don't know how to proceed, take real time to sit together and brainstorm. If you don't reach a possible solution, establish a time to revisit it. Don't. let stuff. fester.

💭Know what you mean. "I don't feel like the notion of polyamory is about anybody not being enough" okay, what is it about? What's the draw for you? For me, whose very kitchen table, its about freedom and trust, sure, but its also very much about exploring new things and sharing that experience with my partner. I feel our love is stronger when it is not bogged down by petty mortal notions of exclusivity.

📘📗📙📕Explain your needs multiple different ways. Find several metaphors that describe how you feel. "My favorite meal cannot be my breakfast, lunch, and dinner." "It doesn't feel different to me than friends. You're my best friend but I wouldn't say no to hanging out with a work friend for my best friend's sake." "The sun is beautiful, I cannot live without it, but its also really important I get to see the stars". "I can't do monogamy. I tried really hard in the past, but it felt like cutting off a limb. I wasn't wholly myself, I could still feel phantom sensations of what wasn't. It drove me mad" Whatever you feel suits the situation. Be prepared to go into detail, be prepared to explain the shortcomings of your metaphor, and be aware of what negative associations your metaphors my have (for example, the food metaphor listed here may be misinterpreted as "so you're sick of me"). Make it personal.

🙋Its not you, its me. but like fr. DO NOT use that wording, but emphasize that your wants and feelings and needs are not caused by your partner. They are yours (and you're asking your partner to help you meet those wants/feelings/needs by allowing you some poly freedom).

📑Further reading. I talk about how to communicate effectively here. Here's a little workbook about "jealousy" but I think it also applies to in/security so it may be helpful for your partner to do independently or with you. Some explanations as to how your partner might be hurt by you having other partners. And lastly, I haven't read Polysecure (yet!) but uhhh, gonna go out on a limb here and say might be applicable (my library has a copy! so you might check yours if you don't want to purchase). And last but certainly not least, though again, nominally about jealousy, I think this article really suits your situation and offers some reframings your partner may find helpful.

As a final word of advice: hear your partner out. Your goal, ultimately is not to change your partner's mind, but to reach an understanding. You both will have to work toward understanding each other for there to be any hope of success.