Chapter Text
It's almost time.
Time for this tragedy to end, time to fix his mistakes, time to let go and finally rest.
But for now...
Keep working, he doesn't want to work here, just keep tapping the keys, keep clicking that mouse, keep ordering more supplies. 'what's the use? it's going to burn down anyways so why He and Henry have gone over the plan 5 times already,
Uncle Henry didn't want to tell him about the plan at first, but Micheal made him do it. He knew something was going on.
Henry Emily was never a good liar.
Michael Afton (or is it Mike Schmidt, Fritz Smith, [Redacted], Eggs Benedict, or maybe one of the dozens of other aliases he had used and will never use) is tired.
He is but a shell of a man now. A dead man walking, or at least he should be.
But despite all of that, he is still here, still here.
Walking the earth, an undead corpse.
Is this some sort of revenge, is Fate laughing at his misery, or maybe this is karma?
Karma for failing his siblings dozens of times over; failure of making his father proud of him, just once; his failure of the freedom of his dear sister from that damnable cursed circus; failure of the freedom of those pitiful children, forever cursed by his father, the father he still loved and wanted to make proud, just like his baby sister, his dear Elizabeth to wander the halls of a prison disguised as paradise, with a body that is not their own.
Or maybe this is karma for the fratricide of his baby brother, the baby brother he tormented for months, or years? He´s forgotten how long.
By God, does he exist, if he did, none of this would have happened surely he doesn´t remember his name, the name of his baby brother.
Sometimes, Micheal invented names for him (or maybe one of those names is his): Evan, Norman, Christopher, until he started amusing himself by calling the child [Redacted], [YOUNGEST], Crying Child, C.C, Bite Victim, B.V. and other amusing names.
Well, amusing to HIM.
Was this heartless of him? Even in death, he still makes a mockery of his younger sibling.
But again, Micheal Afton never claimed to be a good person.
That´s why Mike Schmidt and numerous other pseudonyms existed. To be what Micheal Afton could not be. What he WANTED so desperately to be.
A savior, a HERO, someone to be recognized, to be PROUD of
Someone that never failed his sibling I FAILED, someone his father was proud of NEVER, someone who had friends and allies who would fight for him DEAD AND MISSING, someone... who loved him.
Pathetic.
Absolutely pathetic, that someone like you would ever be loved.
But still, he hoped.
Still, he wanted.
Huh.
Shakespeare was right.
To be or not to be, that is the question.
The smell of fire and gasoline starts inundating his senses.
Finally, it's time.
"Connection terminated. I'm sorry to interrupt you, Elizabeth. If you still even remember that name..."