(Untitled)

[kingshit_lloyd]

[continued from here]

Lloyd was pretty sure he’d heard something, and that something had sounded a hell lot like a scream. He wanted to believe it had been his imagination playing tricks, the wind howling, or just the island being up to its usual shit, but he wasn’t counting on it

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[the_adversary]

Reluctantly, Flagg made the decision to go the door. He had no idea who it would be, but it would do him good to use the gun, maybe reawaken the muscle memory in his trigger finger that had apparently frozen up in the face of Bateman's idiot laughter. He slipped it into the front pocket of his hooded sweatshirt, patted Glen's hand reassuringly-- I'll be right back-- and headed towards the cellar door.

The lights from the lab barely reached the squat stairwell, and he fumbled a bit before he found the handle, his heart still hammering from the humiliation he'd just suffered. Heaving open one of the cellar doors, his free hand found the gun.

Flagg stared up... at Lloyd. But he didn't shoot, didn't even pull out the gun.

But maybe it was time, after all. Why else would Lloyd be here? And even if it wasn't ka, it was a friendly kick in the ass to do what he should've done awhile ago. Lloyd's reliability as a henchman had long since expired.

But he won't give back the stone. And in Gilead--

Shut UP!, he thought, actually flinching from the force of his own mental rebuttal. How many times will you let them make a fool of you, Walter?!

That feeling of ka-- or at the very least a feeling of surrendering to something greater than himself, which, at the moment, was almost certainly the fervid virus of his own hysteria-- swept over him. Once again, his finger got cozy with the trigger.

"Hey," he said, and though his voice was dry, it snapped right back into his usual, relaxed good humor. "Aren't you a little old for trick-or-treating?"