Scott sat in his house, perched on his bed, with a book in his lap and a pencil in his hands. He turned to a blank page, then gazed pensively out his window and at the view.
He tapped his pencil against the corner of his lip.
In the past, he'd written about his allies and the chaos of the server. He'd documented the advancements made to the base. He recorded silly, useless details that had potential to become useful in the future.
Mostly though, he tried articulating his memories.
Other players - specifically the ones who hadn't been cursed blessed with victory - had poor recollection of past games. The memories were still there, they would still reappear from time to time, but mostly they lurked in the dark recesses of their minds until called upon. Those memories were old. They had no purpose to them other than to have them keep playing; the reward for victory, after all, was to remember.
Grian remembered everything. Scott knew that he remembered throwing himself off a cliff, cheating on Scar, his slow yet steady loss of his fellow Bad Boys until he had been left alone.
Pearl remembered everything, too. She knew about the trio he, her and Cleo had been in the past; how she had been abandoned by her soulmate yet still came out on top, and Scott took his life so she wouldn't have to suffer in that world longer; how she had at first been in a duo in the Nosy Neighbours, which soon became a trio.
Martyn remembered. He had been the Red King's Hand, his loyal soldier and servant who'd had the burden honour of taking his king's life. He, too, was left by his soulmate and had spent weeks trying to undo his wrongs and get back in her good books. He had been Scott's only ally in the last life game, loyal and devoted, and had taken the mantle of victor.
Scott knew what they remembered, because they had told him. In the cold, empty Void, awaiting the next game as they sat alone with no company but each other, they didn't have much else to do except share what they remembered.
He remembered flower fields with Jimmy, a poppy tucked behind his ear and a wedding ring of twine around his finger. He remembered his allyship with Pearl and Cleo, which split into a duo in the life game afterwards. He remembered the fish tail that had swished behind him and still half-expected it to be there at night.
Most of all, they all remembered the pain.
Scott had tried articulating his thoughts, writing them on paper to go over later. It didn't work, predictably. But the sentiment had been there.
Martyn and Jimmy were Red Lives now.
It was an odd thought. Jimmy had never had the best luck in the games, always being the first one to be eliminated from the game. He had been a terrible ally - always so accident-prone and clumsy - but he'd also been joyful and kind. He had been as vibrant as the colour of his canary wings, and burned as bright as the sun.
It seemed sensible that Jimmy would go down so quickly.
Martyn, on the other hand...
Martyn was vicious. He was ruthless and cunning and quick. In the heat of battle, his sword always struck true. He was a fighter, from birth to death. He did not die easily.
But, like all of them, he was mortal. And he was human. He was subject to such things as mortality.
Scott scribbled this down as best he could. His handwriting, normally pristine and fancy, was erratic and scruffy. The others would probably think someone else wrote this, but the winners would know.
They always did.
He set down his pencil and lay down, staring up at the ceiling.
His bed felt cold.
He sat up again and rose to his feet. He shuffled to his door, opened it, stepped outside into the cool night air and began to walk. Where, he couldn't say. His feet were carrying him in whichever direction they saw fit.
Scott left behind the plateau on the mountain and approached the open field at Spawn.
He spotted Martyn standing there awkwardly, yawning and dragging his feet along the ground.
"Martyn? What are you doing up this late?" he asked.
"I could ask you the same thing," Martyn replied. His eyes glimmered red, sparkling rubies or flowing blood. Either way, they were beautiful. "Besides, a little Green Life out here, with no protection, and with a Red Life no less."
"You wouldn't try anything."
"Wouldn't I?"
"No." He spoke with conviction. He slowly drew nearer to the Red Life and paused a few centimetres from him. Scott cupped Martyn's cheek, and the Red Life leaned into the touch ever so slightly. There was hesitation in his eyes.
Martyn sighed, taking a step back. "I want this to end."
"You want to go back to the Void that much?"
"No? Yes? I don't know! It's... it's frustrating." He folded his arms and stared at the floor. "I just want things to be clear again. I want to talk to you without feeling the urge to rip your arms off. Hell, I want to talk to people in general!"
Scott grabbed Martyn gently by the arm. Without a word, they both travelled up to Pearl's base. He knocked on the door and was met with the image of Pearl - bushy hair, bags under her eyes - grumbling to herself.
"What?"
Scott, with Martyn in tow, pushed past and into the room. "Wait here," he commanded. "I'll be back soon."
He quickly ran up to the plateau, silently sneaking into his house and taking the bed. He legged it all the way back, using the diving board for assistance. He placed it down up against a free spot on the wall.
Pulling the covers back, he hopped in and patted the space next to him. Martyn nervously crawled in.
Pearl watched them awkwardly. Then she sent out a message via her comm.
"We're having a winners' sleepover." she stated.
Scott nodded.
Grian appeared a few minutes later, with two other beds. He placed them near to Scott's and the other two victors got under the covers.
"To victory, and shitty memories." Scott said, and the others repeated it.
Scott and Martyn tangled in each other's limbs with a small smile on their faces. It felt good, to be like this again. He'd missed it.
As slumber overcame him, Scott had one final thought.
He was home.