❝ You got the cameras ready for later? ❞

A quick NOD ; everything was good. He would not risk the only thing that could go RIGHT.           THEN ; a simple sign. Easy           enough to understand that he              returned the question.                                                                    ARE YOU PREPARED?

Delicate | Damien Rice

          Scribbled quick & clean,             not to disturb the sleeping                HIJACKED near them ;                                                  Neither are you.

pxllux

       DARKNESS.   Whether the  sun shone  &  fireplaces          scorched his skin,   there would  be darkness either  way.          Revenge ,  r e p a y m e n t  , did it matter if the sacrifices          were what he FOUGHT for?  Oh dear god ; the shame he          carried of leaving him behind,   because ,  apparently ,  it          was the  RIGHT  thing  to  do   -   it  would  haunt  him  on          sombre  &  desolate nights.   Though he had  achieved to          go far beyond grieving in silence. To stray from humanity          &  help  &  the ever comforting ‘everything is perfect, it          never  happened!’ culture   was   to  find  an  escape he          desperately needed.

                                        HE’S DEAD, BEETEE.                     It was nothing personal.    Pollux  just needed AIR where there                    was none given.   And he needed air fast.  Though packed with                    enough  food  and  water  for  DAYS ,  his  disappearance  was                    sudden   &   without hesitation,   driven  by pure   MISERY    &                    anguish.  None could know.     None could make an attempt at                    stopping him in his path, whilst sleeplessness and depression                    worsened his situation.     CASTOR IS GONE, HE’S GONE, HE’S GONE. HE’S DEAD, HE’S DEAD,    He wasn’t Pollux anymore. He was a shadow of a man   once  praised  for his  kindness,  weighted down by the   events of the day.  No more hope,  no more fighting, no   more ANOTHER before himself.              He was done.   Done and tired.                                   I LEFT HIM BEHIND AND HE IS NO MORE. HE-              & yet he could not leave Beetee ROTTING all alone. He was done,              but not heartless.  His friend's translator repeating signals as clear              as the day  ,   vivid and quick  -  but Pollux stood silent, perhaps a              whole  lot  of  feet  away  ,  rain  flooding  down  upon  their  muddy              appearances.  There was a long silence on Pollux's  side while he              watched his friend struggle, eyes closed and a sound escaping his              throat that could be described as wailing  ;  ugly and raw. Then,  a              pledge,                                      I'M GOING TO HELP YOU OUT, BEETEE.                                   BUT I'M NOT LETTING HIM DIE ON HIS OWN.                                                          I CAN'T DO THAT.                                   OH, GOD, HE'S DEAD AND I AM TO BLAME.