[ Video ]
[The camera turns on only after it’s thrown, tossed across the room like a ragdoll by a forgotten child. The angle’s odd, down and half blinded by light like an amateur photograph photoshopped with flare, but what’s shown is easy to make out: Zack, kneeling at the memorial, his face in his gloved hands, shoulders shaking with his grief. He’s talking to himself, the quiet barrage of his own guilt and anger, hissed through his teeth and slightly muted by his hands.]
You said ‘see you soon’. You said there was nothing to be scared of. You said I’d never have to know what that damn Will said.
[One hand leaves his face, just enough to drive his fist into the ground, to punch it with enough force to make the cords stand out like a roadmap on his arm. The side of his face that’s exposed is wet, pale, grief-stricken.]
Hojo. Now this. [The words bitter, impossible to swallow so he vomits them up instead.]
What’s the point of these dreams if I can’t protect a single person?!
You said ‘see you soon’. You said there was nothing to be scared of. You said I’d never have to know what that damn Will said.
[One hand leaves his face, just enough to drive his fist into the ground, to punch it with enough force to make the cords stand out like a roadmap on his arm. The side of his face that’s exposed is wet, pale, grief-stricken.]
Hojo. Now this. [The words bitter, impossible to swallow so he vomits them up instead.]
What’s the point of these dreams if I can’t protect a single person?!