>>5381267The silence is deafening as the two of you wordlessly take in the macabre scene below. Pairs of security guards hobble along the rows of bodies carrying a corpse like ants at a picnic before solemnly depositing it in the nearest empty space. They stand there for a moment, then leave the warehouse with nary a sigh or a cough.
“It’s all flesh.”
The sudden reappearance of Blumenkrantz’ low, growling voice nearly knocks you over. H-huh?
“Bones are all gone,” He continues, as if that explains everything, “all that’s left is flesh.”
Clenched at his side, Blumenkrantz’ black gloves struggle to contain his massive fists. “Over eighty percent of Clearwater sought refuge here… and we let them in. Had walls strong enough to withstand nukes… enough weapons and hardware to fight off a foreign invasion… even <span class="mu-i">magic</span>...” You can almost hear his teeth grinding behind his pursed lips. “And it all turned out to be one big fucking <span class="mu-i">mouse trap</span>.”
A long, weary breath escapes the old man’s nose. “What a goddamn mess I made, Parble. What a god<span class="mu-i">damn</span> mess…”
Silence steps between both of you once more.
“... Go ahead. You’ve earned it.”
You respond to his command with a confused blink. Earned <span class="mu-i">what</span>? The veteran turns your way like a bearded statue and stares holes into your face through his mirrored shades.
“I’ve hated you for years now, Parble. Hated every single inch of you… every cell. Your very existence, in my mind, was an affront to Christy–a daily reminder that just when I feel like the world couldn’t give any less of a shit about us, there’s always <span class="mu-i">tomorrow</span>.”
He looks back down at the growing rows of corpses. “When this whole thing started I was so <span class="mu-i">sure</span> of it–so sure that somehow… somehow it was <span class="mu-i">you</span> behind it. And for the first time in years, Parble, I felt something other than hate–I felt <span class="mu-i">hope</span>.”
You repeat that last word as a question. Hope?
“Hope.” He nods, still stone-faced. “Hope that once I pieced everything together… once I connected you to this as well…” Blumenkrantz pauses. “... that maybe everything I’ve done… everything I’ve planned for…” His perpetually-stiff shoulders slacken a centimeter. “... maybe it would have all been justified.”
He looks towards you with an indecipherable expression on his cold face. “But here I am proven wrong. One of the culprits dead, the other on borrowed time, and it’s all thanks to the person I hated for years.”
He turns away once more.
“So say it, Stanley. I know you didn’t come up here to share the view.”
What say you?
>I… TOLD YOU SO?>I’M SORRY, BLUMENKRANTZ.>IT’S NOT YOUR FAULT.>I DON’T UNDERSTAND.>SAY NOTHING.>WRITE-IN.