yeah...

[almostinhuman]

((Jacob Winters continued from GAME OVER--))

He was pretty sure you weren't supposed to do what he was doing when you had a head injury. Like, wasn't the advice to not fall asleep or take any downers or whatever? He wasn't really sure, but he thought that's what he'd heard. And besides, it wasn't like these were the cheeriest circumstances for this anymore. He was badly injured and alone, with only a few hours to rest before he had to continue his grim hunt. A hunt he was now even less prepared for, with a victim who now knew he was being hunted and actively invited Jacob to try. With the grim totality of it hanging over him, he wasn't in much mood to celebrate.

But still, he'd gone and lit up the final blunt he had anyway. What difference did it really make? With how achingly bad his head hurt, how his leg injury was still slowly oozing blood, how he now had a very angry Salem looking out for him... he was probably gonna die from any of those things at any moment. He may as well take the edge off how badly his body ached all over.

He wasn't sure if, at some point, he'd passed out or not. Weed kinda made time move all funky, and it wasn't like there was much to do around here, especially now that he was alone yet again. All he knew was at one point it was night and then suddenly it was morning.

And he knew it was morning, not just because of the rising sun, but because the loudspeakers blared to life once again. He supposed it had been too good a thing to be true, that notion that someone was coming for them. If the terrorists were still doing announcements it probably meant whatever had happened had now passed. Maybe it'd been a fluke accident after all, or they'd beaten back whoever attacked them. He supposed it didn't matter. It just meant he was still here, and still had to do what he'd promised he'd do, despite how vanishingly unlikely the chance of success was at this point.

Especially because, according to the announcements, Jezzie and Mônica were both dead.

A knot formed in his stomach at the mention of their names. He couldn't deny, on some level, that they'd probably had it coming. Both of them had killed people, with what sounded like little provocation and thin excuses for it, and Mônica in particular had done it to her own brother. But he'd spoken to both of them, and they'd both seemed... so normal? Nice? Still the same as ever? He'd not really known either super well before this, much like with Greg, but despite the havoc they'd wrought, he still felt a subtle sense of loss at the news. Especially with Mônica; she'd died after they got separated, and they got separated largely due to Salem. He couldn't help but feel indirectly responsible for it.

And there was, he couldn't deny, a selfish factor in it too. Both of them had cared at least a little that he was still kicking. He doubted he'd find much of a sympathetic ear among whoever was left; he was lucky neither of the girls had killed him when they had the chance. Really, he was lucky that Salem was the only motherfucker who'd tried to take a bite out of him so far. From Tully to Kathleen to D to Greg to Jezzie to Mônica, everyone else had been at least semi-normal and only Salem had tried to kill him. Though maybe that was about to change; for all he knew, the girl who'd killed Mônica might want him dead too just for associating with her. And maybe he'd deserve it, even, given how blase he'd been when he'd learned what she'd done.

Jacob shakily rose to his feet, wobbling unsteadily. His head still felt like death, and he still felt half-blind and disoriented; not the optimal condition for what he had to do. He slid back down, sighing. It probably wasn't wise to move until this passed.

If it passed.

((Jacob Winters continued in it's raining somewhere else))