Fatal Order

Part 4: Meaning of Death - 1

The following morning was cold, quiet, and soulless.

Alex woke up feeling utterly restless, likely due to the stress that yesterday's discovery had caused him and the others, especially as this time it was a suicide.

He would usually attempt to lie in for a while, but he didn't even have the motivation to do that today. He slowly but surely got up out of his bed, groaning as he did, and slipped his body into the same clothes he was wearing yesterday.

He had become almost entirely effortless, as though losing hope for whatever future they had.

It seemed like every few days, somebody new was ending up dead as if this entire game was rigged to kill each prisoner off until the last one hopelessly gives in to whatever lies at the end.

The only thing keeping him going was the tiny glimmer of hope that something great awaited him and the others on the outside.

And... of course, the desire to see his parents again. 

But, with everything Fate had fed them so far, it didn't seem like the world on the outside was going to be a bright one.

However, thinking of a potentially destroyed or corrupted world made no sense, as from what Alex is able to somewhat remember, the world was completely fine before he had ended up in this mess.

His concept of time had been affected a bit, as he could constantly sense what felt like gaps in his memory and whatnot, leading him to further question the circumstances and what happened between his normal life in the world, and ending up awake in Cell Block A.

Discarding his worries for now, Alex slipped into his shoes and stepped out of his room, to find Dante sitting down against his door, staring mindlessly at the ground.

He appeared to be twiddling his finger pointlessly as he sat in a state of dejection.

Alex took it upon himself to go and sit down beside him, in an attempt to provide some company for him, as he assumed that he would need that during this time.

"Hey, man," he began as he sat down.

"...Hi," Dante replied softly.

"You holding up okay?" he asked in concern.

"No," he sniffled. "Keep thinkin' about Erica."

"It was not your fault, Dante," he assured, placing his hand on his shoulder, "I know you're blaming yourself but, none of this is on you."

"I get what you mean but-" he cried, "it's just- even if I directly did nothing wrong, it's the fact that I *could've* stopped this that's got me fucked up."

"How do you mean?"

"If I had just gone and checked up on her last night-" he sniffled, "just one little conversation could've changed her mind."

"You're being way too hard on yourself. Seriously," Alex reassured.

"Why? I could've saved her, dammit!"

"Take this example," Alex began, "if somebody were standing beside a bridge, thinking about jumping that evening, and I walked past, not saying a word, and then they were found dead, would I be right in blaming myself for not talking them out of something I didn't know they were planning to do?"

Dante waited a few seconds as he comprehended Alex's morbidly bizarre example, before shakily replying, "N-no... you couldn't have known..."

"And that is exactly the kind of situation that you are blaming yourself for, man. Please, you did not do anything wrong."