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Warning for possible triggers and death.

i . INFECTION.

1. YOU ARE INFECTED. It could be days, hours, or even minutes before you turn. Do you keep it to yourself and pray for a cure? Or do you hand your weapon over and trust your friend to put you down before you can hurt anyone else.
2. YOU KNOW. At least, you're pretty sure. They've been getting thinner, weaker, and the temperature that they're running can't be good. How do you proceed?
3. THEY'RE STILL HUMAN. These zombies are still people, you're the only one that sees it. You just can't take the killing anymore. Or maybe you just want to KILL THEM ALL. You're sick of these things. They're already dead, there's nothing human left in those eyes - you're a zombie killing machine.
4. IT'S YOU OR ME. There's no way the two of you can get out of here alive. Are you a good enough friend to let them go, or are you the sort to ensure that you only have to outrun them.
5. ABOMINATION. You've handled everything you've come across so far, but this is just wrong. Be it a baby, an animal, or a horrific mutation that grants it special powers - this one is throwing you for a loop.
6. NOT YOU. You recognize that one. Maybe it's a family member, a close friend, a lover, or a co-worker - you know who they are. Do you have the strength to do what needs to be done?

ii . SUPPLIES.

1. NOTHING LEFT. You're running out of almost everything. You've only got enough to feed one person now. Do you give it up, or are you ready to kill so that you may survive?
2. FOOD RUN. You and your buddy are all that stands between your group and cannibalism. Better hop to it.
3. ROTTEN. It's sat out too long and now everything is bad. You might have eaten it before you realized how rotten it was and now you're paying the price.
4. STOCKED. You found the ideal hideout and you want for nothing.

iii. YOU AGAINST THE WORLD

. YOU'VE GOT A PLAN. You can protect your team, but it might cost you your life.
2. IMPROVISED WEAPONRY. They're closing in and you've got to think fast.
3. MUTINY. You're tired of their authority. You can do a better job.
4. ESCAPE. That city was getting too full, you've hotwired and tricked out a vehicle and now you're getting the hell out of dodge. Any zombie causalities are completely intentional.
5. SURROUNDED. Your safe space isn't so safe. They're on all sides of you and you're starting to run out of ammo.
6. NEVER ENDING ROAD TRIP. You've been in this car for ages, everyone is getting tired, and you're not sure where a safe rest stop is.
7. YOU WERE IN ON IT. You're safe in the head office of EVIL INC. and nothing can go wrong. Unless that clumsy scientist knocks that vial over, or unless one of your co-workers goes mad with the guilt. Or maybe you didn't know what you were getting into, maybe you've switched sides and you two aim to fix this mess.
8. ONLY ONES LEFT. Everyone else is dead. You're all that's left in the world. Where do you go from here?

iv. WILDCARD.
Create your own scenario, pick one from above or mix and match!

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[It doesn't matter if Tavros can't see it. He can probably hear the way Gamzee tears apart that meat like a starving troll would. He can't suppress the low growl of satisfaction when the food rolls down his throat, or the snarl as his teeth rip into the meat. It quiets down eventually though, and when Tavros chooses to walk back in, he'll find a cleaned plate in pieces on the other side and his moirail on huddled on the ground again, lips stained with blood and his body covered with a bright sheen of sweat.

That was a bad idea. He feels so nauseous. So nauseous, so hungry.]

[ The rays of dawn are what drive him back inside. They won't come at dawn, it's too hot for any troll to survive. Even the dead ones.

Maybe it's his fault. He never really believed in the messiahs. He was too caught up in fairytales and flight and things that weren't possible and couldn't be held up with logical faiths. Maybe if he'd worshiped like a good troll and not left everything to his lowblooded companion, they would have made it through this whole mess unscathed.

he should do something.

He shouldn't be standing here, so painfully indecisive, twisting the hem of his shirt and tripping over his own thoughts for a solution. ]

Gamzee?

[He lifts his head weakly at the sound of his moirail's voice. His chest heaved with the effort and the air was like fire when he breathed. Brown streaks were trailing down his cheeks and smearing his already marred facepaint. He sees Tavros and there's that want in his eyes again. That hunger that seemed to border on lustful.

No. Absolutely not. He will not give into this. He will not attack his best friend, not after the emotional distress he was already causing him.

He wouldn't last long in a fight with him anyway. The thought shouldn't bring him as much comfort as it did.

Gamzee squeezed his eyes shut again and let his head fall back down with a whump. Somehow, he manages to conjure up a feeble smile.]

Hey, motherfucker.

Hey.

[ As much as he'd love to lie down next to his moirail and take him into his arms again, he knows that he can't. Gamzee's all sharp teeth and angles, his guard is always down when they're too close. No matter what the circumstances.

He could tie him up.

He could... He could gag him, do something about those teeth - they'd grow back.

But he's suffering so much. ] It's, going to be day soon. You should get some sleep.

[Daylight.

There's an idle thought wandering in the back of his mind wondering if he'd make it to dusk. Or if the infection would finish him off while he slept.

It wouldn't be so bad, really. He could go to sleep, forget how painful this was, and that would be the end of it. By the time he woke up again there wouldn't anything left of him there to remember.

But he can't. He can't. He can't. Tavros is still okay and he can't turn on him like that with no warning. It was hard, and he was tired, but manages to shake his head at Tavros's suggestion, grinding his forehead into the floor. He tried to ignore the fact that he could practically smell him at this point, all sweat and sinewy muscle, tried to ignore the fact that it felt like he had swallowed hot glass shards that were currently tearing holes in the lining of his insides. He tried to ignore that aching, painful hunger.

He wanted nothing more than to pull his moirail into a hug and tell him everything was going to be okay because he's got so much motherfuckin' faith in his bro, and you're going to do great things, just you wait and see. But Gamzee couldn't trust his instincts that far with his friend so close.]

I'll give it a go later, Tavbro. This is some sicknasty shit.

[ He's reminded what a terrible fucking moirail he is and always has been. It should be a give and taken relationship, yet he's so reliant on Gamzee... and he's never done a thing for him in return. If the tables were turned, Gamzee would have done what needed to be done.

He would have.

Or he would have done it for him. ] Gamzee... [ He swallows hard. ] Go to, sleep. You can, sleep it off.

[He's so tired. Tavros's gentle suggestion was appealing to his weakened, wasting body, and Gamzee could feel the edges of exhaustion on the corner of his eyes. How wonderful it would be to go to sleep and forget this ever happened. He could sleep and maybe hide in the comforting darkness of a dream bubble before he lost himself completely.

He swallows again and the dryness of his mouth sends him into violent coughing, brown blood spilling out of his mouth and splattering onto the floor.

He's just glad his face is against the ground at this point.

It won't be much longer. Maybe several hours or so. God, by now it was almost comforting.]

Tavros. [His real name this time.] Got anything that'll get this facepainting to go all up and get its disappearing act on?

[He may not have grown up with the teachings, but he's been a follower for sweeps. He always felt less like himself without his facepaint. Like a part of him was missing.

It was a sense of anonymity that was starting to appeal to him. Maybe this disconnect from himself would help Tavros do what needed to be done, when the time came.

Or sooner.

Preferably sooner.]

... Gamzee.

[ He knows what he's trying to do.

And so he has no choice. Stop thinking about him like that.

He's just a lowblood. He's always been just a lowblood, you knew that he'd die long before you would... A lance wouldn't be swift enough. Tavros settles in the corner, silent for a long moment. ]

I, have a rag.

[He rolls back onto his back. It takes several pushes before he finally manages one strong enough to rolls him over. He grasped blindly for the mussed hoofbeast hide, pressing the fur absently to his chest.

So cold. How was is so cold when the air was like fire to breathe in? He coughs, and gags, and blood dribbles out of the corner of his mouth and he lifts a shaky hand to wipe it away.

He draw it back again, staring intently at the smear on his palm before forcing himself to put his hand down.

He reaches in Tavros's direction, arm outstretched and palm facing upward, fingers splayed.]

Throw it the motherfuck over, bro.

[Just a little longer. Then he'll just look like another troll to him. Just another infection. Tavros would be fine without him. If he could find Nepeta and Karkat, then they'll keep him straight. Tavros would make it out to space and show everyone exactly what he was made of and Gamzee would be getting his motherfucking proud on....wherever his next destination was, if there was one at all.]

[ Please, don't go. I can't go on without you. Fight it. Be worth something, prove all of the faith I've put in you. Don't leave me alone again, I can't be alone again, not after having you in my life.

The rag is absolutely filthy. It's stained with the dull, maroon blood of the hoofbeast. He tosses it over without a second look, turning away. ]

[Yes, you can.

You can do this.

I believe in you.

It's hard to use the rag. The smell was dizzying and Gamzee has to take a moment to bring it to his nose and just breathe in the scent of death on the rag. He ground his teeth against his lower lip to stifle a moan that bubbles up in his throat that was so ecstatic it was unseemly.

He scrubs furiously at his face, hoping the thick greasepaint would overpower any smell of blood on the rag. By the time he's done, his face is raw and bleeding in some places where his claws had caught the skin and the gaunt, wasted look was even harder to deny. But it was clean and that was all that mattered and Gamzee hurls the rag as far away from himself as he can manage.

He flops his head bonelessly to the side and attempts to smile at his friend's back.

This act never fooled Gamzee. Not once.]

...Think I'll be taking your advice now, bro.

Good.

[ He sits. Knees to his chest, breathing deep an deven and he doesn't care stop looking at him. He was a highblood. He could manage on his own, he could, he could. The only reason they made it so far was because he had taken it upon himself to be the fighter to save Gamzee from having to wash the rainbows from his skin and stare directly into those glossy eyes.

A lance wouldn't do it.

Maybe a sword? ]

I'll be here, when you wake up. [ It's soft. It's a gentle promise, but he won't let you wake up. He wants to, he wants to wait, to see, but it's not going to happen and he knows that once you're asleep he won't be able to watch any more. The sentence breaks in the middle, Tavros rubs one hand over his eyes. Stopping the tears before they can even fall. ] So, get some sleep. We can, go, at dusk and meet up, with everyone else.

I know. [There's nothing but trust in his hoarse, thick voice. He knows how hard this is. He tries to think about how he would feel if the situation was reversed and it his heart gave an agonizing lurch in rejection.

Tavros had it harder than him. The troll Gamzee will be finished by dusk, whether or not Tavros took it upon himself to end his suffering. Tavros had to live. Live and suffer and make it out of here alive and Gamzee wouldn't be able to wrap his lanky arms around his neck anymore and tell that voice known as Rufio to kindly shut the motherfuck up and leave his best bro alone.

He keeps his eyes on Tavros, ignores the stabs of hunger in his stomach, feels his pain and fear, and wishes he could do something, anything for him.

But he's so tired.]

...You find those other hard motherfuckers to travel with. You'll be okay.

[Nepeta could take care of him. Karkat could take care of him. He won't be alone, no matter how much he thinks he will be.

But he has to get there first.]

[ Two little trolls go away on a quest. One limps away, half the troll he used to be with none of the warmth. He sucks in a shaky breath closes his eyes, waiting, god, waiting for his friend to slip away so he can end his suffering.

Be a good moirail for once in your life.

Listen to Gamzee's pain. Fight the urge to reach out and pull him into your arms because he's going to get you infected too. Think of the better times. Think of the days spent in the horn pile, startling yourselves when you rolled the wrong way or hands touched.

Think about missed opportunities.

Think about how you should have capitalized on them because life is short and his has always been even shorter. ] Have, sweet dreams.

[There's so much he still has to say to him. Tell him how he was stronger than he thought, for all that blustering and bloodbashing. Tell him how motherfucking proud he was to be his moirail, even if the time was shorter than he would have liked. Tell him that if it hadn't been so goddamn dangerous, it would have been all kinds of kicking to have the quadrant be a little more flushed.

But it was too late. He's wasted too much time now. Anything else would just hurt him in the end.

Exhaustion creeps in and he watches his friend through half-lidded eyes, a lazy smile on his face that was almost peaceful. The last thing he'd see was his favorite troll on Alternia. There are worse ways to go. He wishes he'd smile for it, but even Gamzee figures that's probably asking for too much.]

I got so much motherfuckin' happy on all over the fact that you and I got to get our meet on, Tavbro.

Honk!

[And then softer, quieter, more serious:]

I'm glad I met you.

[Be his motherfucking miracle, baby.]

[ In a way, Gamzee's silence is nothing short of a gift.

But he can't look away. He can't. This is the last time they'll speak and he knows it. Gamzee knows it. There's no need to pretend any more, Neverland isn't real and Pupa Pan isn't going to whisk them into a land where the sun doesn't burn and rainbows cross over cerulean waterfalls. Tavros turns slowly, he doesn't want to look, he knows what he's going to see and he knows how he'll feel. He knows how badly it's going to hurt and how, in the end, this is how he's going to remember his best friend.

He's going to remember brown blood all over his hands, all over the floor, cradling the ruined remains of his head in his hands and muffling his sobs into those curly, curly locks. This helplessness and overwhelming loss will remain with him for the rest of his life.

He's going to remember taking the body with him because he didn't turn yet and if he has to get away from a horde then it will provide precious seconds. The betrayal can't be washed away like the stains it will leave on his hands.

But he tries to smile. Succeeding, even if the watery indigo streaks down his cheeks betray everything he's feeling. Even if he's flipping through his modus, trying to find the weapon he'd captalogued before everything had gotten so very, very out of control, trying to find the means to snuff out the only light he's ever really known. ]

I'm glad, that we were friends. I don't, know, who I would be, without you.

[ But he's going to find out. ]

Get some, rest.

[Gamzee always looked at a glass as being half-full.

Miracles were real, they existed, and one day, Tavros will find his Neverland and realize he didn't need a Pupa Pan to show him the way because he is Pupa Pan, he is miracles and magic and all of Gamzee's hope and faith incarnate, and he didn't need a green suit and a silly fucking hat to be so.

Gamzee wishes he could get up, thumb those tears from Tavros's face, wrap his arms around him, tell him everything was going to be okay in the end, how brave you are, Tavbro, how motherfuckin courageous and he's so goddamn proud of you it made his heart ache.

He wishes he could talk him through this. Tell him it's okay, he doesn't want to hurt anyone, he wanted this because it hurt too much to be scared anymore, and Tavros was a better moirail than he would be in this scenario because just the thought of having to do anything of this magnitude to his best bro made his entire body shiver and shake with panic.

But, Gamzee knows better. That's an awful lot of miracles for a dying (it almost felt blissful to admit it to himself) troll to take, and he can't be all up and hogging his Messiahs' generosity.

He breathes, and he prays. He prays for them to take all those miracles he wished for and give them to his Tavbro, ease his mind, soothe his thoughts, shoosh-pap that Rufio bastard into the grave because there's never been a thing Gamzee's hated more than Rufio and all the agony and distress he caused his best friend.

He can't do any of the things he wants to do. So he just looks Tavros in the face, those dull, glassy eyes filled with warmth and pity and a smile on his face like the kind of smile one might give a cherished lover. All tenderness and sweet words swimming just beneath the surface. Words that never need to be said because the bond was strong enough not to need it.

Gamzee says them anyway.]

You'd be motherfucking amazing, Tavbro. Because that's who you are.

Motherfucking miraculous.

[ It would be wrong to tell a dying troll that he's mistaken, so Tavros doesn't. Without Gamzee he would have become someone like Rufio, someone fueled by hate and small mindedness who could hardly stand to see anyone below himself breathing the same air as he does.

He holds fast to that look and commits it to memory.

It will be fast. The sword will bite through his neck so quickly he won't even realize it. Another hole through the head for good measure, he'll try to leave it in tact because he can't stomach destroying that face. He focuses on that, not the soft words, not the fluttery feelings or the waves of pity and love that wash over him every time he looks at his face.

The sword rests in his hands. He looks up, still smiling, even if now he's fighting to keep his breath even.

It's okay. I'm not, going to let you hurt, any more. ]

[Gamzee's eyes flicker to the sword in his hand, before traveling back up to meet his gaze. There's a spark of fear, his smile flickers slightly- what troll doesn't get agitated at the sight of death?

If only he could tell him it's okay. It may not be the best ending but it's the one he wants, even if he's scared of the journey. There's little time now for if onlys.

Even with fear, there's nothing but trust in those eyes. More than terror, there is relief. There is gratitude. There is silent reassurance that everything's going to be okay.

His eyes flutter closed, eased by the knowledge and confidence that his best friend would take care of him.

This is the the last chance he'll get to say anything before he falls into those hazy walls of sleep, down into the comforting embrace of a stray dream bubble. He should tell him how much he always loved him, how he knew from the moment he saw him that he was something special.

But that would only hurt.]

Thanks, Tavros.

[He's exhausted. Gamzee's breathing evens out in a matter of minutes, hoarse and deep and hair forever untidy and strewn across his drawn and wasted face, a ghost of a smile still evident on his lips.]

[ You are about to be alone in this tent.

As much as you would like to delay this horrendous act you know that waiting any longer would only be cruelty and you know it. You wait until he's sleeping - until all of those signs are impossible to ignore, until your instincts and long ignored powers gently inform you that this is the time and you know that if you so desired, you could join him in that dream and make sure it was something sweet.

But that would run the risk of giving into the darker side of your nature.

You stand. The sword is heavy in your hands now, if you were a weaker troll you'd have let it drag on the ground as you made your way over. But that would run the risk of waking him up and for the love of all that is holy, for the Messiahs and all that makes up the miracles and magic in this world, you don't want that. You can't do what needs to be done if you have to look into those loving, trusting eyes.

You look at that smile.

You remember the face underneath that paint, when you were both young, before Gamzee latched onto the teachings that you had always been uncertain of. His jaw has always been sharper than yours, the plains of his face harder and somehow more intimidating even though he was never anything but gentle. It's been so long since you last saw that face you can pretend it's someone else.

That's the only reason why your hand doesn't shake when it comes down.

That's the only reason that the sobs are manageable and the tears flooding down your cheeks aren't blinding you.

You lose it when you have to slice into his head. Tossing the sword far, far away and pulling the wet lump to your chest. Sliding down the wall, muffling the wail by stuffing a fist in your mouth and biting down until your own blood fills your mouth and the shaking quells. You don't sleep, you don't think you're ever going to sleep again.

Everything hurts and you're more alone than you've ever been. It might have been better had you never known what companionship was. You're suffocating in the vastness of the tent, it's only worse once you capchalogue the body.

You paint tiny pictures with the blood until moonrise. Your apologies fall on deaf ears as you toss him into that small, dark space you carry with you and set out alone under the pale green light. You need both hands. ]

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Tavros: Be the murderer