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Spoke has felt this moment many times before this.
When his heart drops, his life merely seconds away from ending. When the void of death seems so impossibly close—like it could just reach out and touch him.
Before this, it’s never been that close. It’s been a mere aura, warning him of what is to come.
Spoke had laughed it off foolishly.
Now there is no more laughter left in his throat.
It’s been ripped away by Jamato. Like everything in his life has. Like Jumper has, like Mapic has.
Like his freedom. His control over his own life.
“Step on the pressure plate, Spoke.”
He shuts his eyes, opening them after a breath. “What does it do?”
“That’s for you to find out,” Jamato responds cruelly, “now step on.”
Spoke’s legs move before he can stop them. Before he can try to defy Jamato, defy the one holding a sword to his neck.
The quiet click of the plate goes off, as well as the hum of the lava below them. Perhaps even the own beating of Spoke’s heart, but nothing more than that.
Jamato releases a breath. “Good,” he says, shifting his body towards the arrow cannon. “I advise you don’t step off of that pressure plate, Spoke.”
Spoke sucks in a breath. A lengthy one, at that. He glances at underscore, who refuses to face his gaze.
“This is where you always meant to be, Spoke.”
Always meant to be. That sounds stupid out loud.
He’s supposed to be in the overworld. He’s meant to be with Mapicc and Jumper. He’s meant to be free.
He thought, after the battle with LAW, it would all be over. He’d finally be free. No more BAT, no more invisible mafia, no more anything.
Just him and Mapicc.
But, he was never free. And, after this, he doesn’t think freedom will ever be an option. He can’t beat Jamato, he can’t save Mapicc and Jumper, he can’t do anything.
“… What happens if I step off?” He asks, finding the will to speak.
Jamato looks back at him, mouth twisting into a smile. “If you step off this pressure plate, a thousand arrows will bury themself in your undignified skull.”
He blinks, expression changing into something between pain and fear.
Spoke is stuck.
Not only on this pressure plate, but in his own prison he’s created for himself.
Maybe Jamato was right. Maybe… maybe Ash was right, too.
Spoke looks at Jamato. Looks at the totem in his hand. He could just step off right now. End Null and its entirety.
It’d be that easy. Everyone would be free.
Mapicc would be able to go back, Jumper and those people she left with would make it back safely, and no one would ever get captured by Null again.
Spoke wouldn’t hurt anybody ever again, either. He wouldn’t destroy lives, corrupt minds as he kills his own.
Would Mapicc ever forgive him? Would he wonder what happened to him? Or, maybe, he’d see the death message.
Maybe he’d laugh and think, good riddance. Spoke wouldn’t blame him for that.
Maybe he’d be stunned, left wondering how Spoke let himself die like that.
And, maybe, just maybe, he’d cry. He’d cry thinking about an old version of Spoke. The one who didn’t manipulate him. The one who was his best friend.
The one who was everything Spoke was supposed to be, and the one he failed to keep safe.
And, Jumper? Would she ever find out? Maybe Mapicc would tell her. Maybe they would laugh about.
Maybe she’d never find out what did happen. Maybe she’d spend the rest of her life wondering what went wrong here.
Maybe she’d be happy. Maybe she’d be sad.
Maybe she’d be split between the two—not quite sure if mourning the person who got her into this situation in the first place is the best idea.
Maybe, Spoke and his ideas, would die right here.
Spoke clenches his fist, curling his fingers at his side. Something starts to course through him. Something strong, something fierce.
Spoke looks up at Jamato. He looks up at his former best friend—the one who’s been there from the beginning.
The one who has started to warp his reality—leaving Spoke to decide whether if he’s an enemy. He dips just above that line, really.
He takes a breath, and that’s when the realization dawns on him. That’s when the real view of reality starts to crack open.
This is it.
This is the moment Spoke’s been waiting for his entire life.
This is where everything he has done ends. Every violent act he has committed shoved into this pressure plate.
This is where that totem pops. That everlasting life Spoke and Jamato have shared together, is finally ripped to shreds.
This, is the end of SpokeIsHere.
Or, perhaps, the beginning.
He lets his fists relax. He lets his heart rate slow down. Or, as slow as someone can possibly be when terrified.
The totem shines bright, glimmering with the same fierceness Spoke feels in his bones.
His legs no longer hurt.
His hands no longer burn from the wither burns.
It’s as if everything single feeling in his body has disappeared.
It’s as if his body is telling him it’s ready. Ready to become one with the server, become one with itself.
Spoke is ready too.
A laugh gurgles in his throat, and he opens his mouth to talk for the last time. “See you in the next universe, my friend.”
Jamato immediately clocks it. “What are you—”
But Spoke’s feet are sliding against the stone. Inch by inch his left leg leaves the plate, and then, his right one.
Spoke steps off the pressure plate.
At first, it hurts.
It feels like his body is being shredded from the inside out. He can hear the cannon go off, the familiar sound of the Null guards dying one by one.
He even hears his own death happen. Hears Jamato yell before its silent—and it’s not because that sense is gone.
It’s because everyone is gone. Thrown into the void carelessly, or slaughtered by their own arrow cannon.
Spoke’s dead before he hits the ground. Well, not quite dead. He feels dead—he knows he’s dead.
But, he can feel the floor beneath him. He can feel his soul being sucked out of him. Perhaps by death herself.
Spoke can’t move. Can’t see, can’t hear.
But, he can think. Not very well, but he can think.
Maybe he thinks about Mapicc and Jumper. Maybe he thinks about Wemmbu and Parrot and Flame. Maybe he thinks about Zam, maybe he thinks about Planet.
Maybe he thinks about Leo, Ash, and Jamato. He’d rather not think about that, though.
Something falls down his cheek. Or, he thinks. It’s probably blood or sweat, but it has a salty taste to it.
Tears, if he had to guess. Tears that don’t deserve to fall for what he’s done. Tears that fall despite that.
They say hearing is the last to go.
Spoke thinks dying with the sound of Mapicc’s laughter is a pretty good way to go out.
SpokeIsHere was shot by ________.