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Chip ponders his plan of action back and forth for weeks after he plunges his sword into Gillion's chest, deep in the water.
When Limited Life started, eight weeks ago, an alliance with the strongest warrior on the island seemed like a good idea. Gillion was gullible, naive, and fiercely loyal. He reminds Chip, still, of himself. Price's hand until his last breath.
Now, Chip regrets this course of action. Because against all odds, he finds himself just as ridiculously loyal to his fishy friend as Gillion is to him.
Sand trickles down the glass wall of the hourglass.
In Chip's most buried of dreams, he is embracing Gillion as they share the glory of Limited Life. Much more prominent in his mind is the memory of taking an hour from Gillion under the depths of their base, to save him from the other hands seeking to take him. Somewhere between the two mental images, Chip imagines himself, seaweed crown adorned with blood. He has won, and his sword is lodged in the chest of his best friend.
No longer is he gleeful, as he imagined that he would be, standing on the doorstep of the Mean Gills base, coyly asking for Gillion to allow him to sleep in his bed. No longer does he thrive under the bloodlust of choking out the man who took him in. In this memory, Chip is solemn.
Chip is far too familiar with the memory of mutilation and gore. And still, despite Gillion willingly offering his time, Chip flinches at the thought that he had slain his best friend and that he intends to do it again.
Now that they are both adorned with the red that bled out of them, coronated as red lives, Chip knows he needs to build up the courage to kill Gillion once again.
Yet, looking over to the hourglass, watching the red sand topple upon to the yellow grains pooled at the bottom, almost seeming green again in the moonlight, Chip cannot feel the courage that he needs to kill his best friend.
Jay is dead, Gillion breaking her heart one final time. He never took dishonesty well, Chip fears to himself. Lizzie, after outliving the foolish deaths of her crew, the Bad Boys, had somehow managed to fall to her death in the exact same way. Chip would have found it funny if he didn't miss her like shit. Gryffon, a bounty hunter he had never understood quite as well as Gillion had, sleeps in a cavern on the other side of the map. When the dawn breaks, Gillion has offered him an even level playing field for an honourable duel.
Chip wants to kill them both.
An easily placed lava bucket, an axe to the throat, a sword in the back. It wouldn't be difficult. As soon as their armour is removed, all he would need to do is play a little dirty.
All he would need to do is kill the man that he loves the most, who has defended him, built him a home, saved him, killed himself over and over so that Chip can see an hour of extra time, kill the man curled up next to him, sleeping in their base, warm and stable and trusting, by his side.
In the dark of the night, or perhaps in his sleep deprived state, the red sand particles seem to mould together into blood, draining down the hourglass outside.