Notes: this is my first time making something like this! It’s v short but I wanted to make something about the ending of SL!
The arrow shoots, and Pearl screams. She jumps back, retreating to the ravine, and Scar looks behind him finally. “Oh, there was a Zombie,” he says absentmindedly.
“Pearl! I’m coming for ya! I’m coming for ya!” He shouts, going closer to the ravine.
“Where’d ya go?!” Scar yells, chasing her into the ravine. He saw her fall down there, he shot her and she fell down there. “Where’d you go?” He asks, quieter.
Silence. He didn’t kill her. He didn’t. He knows he didn’t, he doesn’t feel like he’s killed her. He doesn’t feel like the game is over. He’s still scared, he’s still half deaf with the blood pounding in his ears. He desperately searched the ravine, ignoring the zombie closing in on him.
She’s here. She has to be here. Scar doesn’t win; he doesn’t win. He can’t win. He has no chance at winning, everyone knows this.
“She’s dead, Scar,” he hears, like a whisper. Like it’s inside his own head, like it wasn’t real. It sounds an awful lot like Grian. He’s always felt like there was something there with Grian, like Grian is somehow important to him. Like his soul knows this, but he can’t remember why. It’s always been this way with Grian.
Scar freezes, sword at the ready, inhaling sharply.
“You won,” the not-voice projects again, solidifying the truth.
And Scar does feel it then, feels the overwhelming loneliness all at once. It slams him over, almost makes him fall down. “Oh,” he says softly, letting the zombie get closer. It doesn’t matter if he kills it or not; he’s won. He’s the only person left alive. He’s alone.
He can’t be alone. He can’t have won. That doesn’t-that doesn’t make any sense. “Really?” He asks out loud, hoping Grian the non-voice will respond. The Zombie starts to claw at him, but Scar can’t bring himself to care.
“Oh my god,” he tells the Zombie, looking into its undead eyes. It continues to claw at him, unhearing and unknowing. “How did that happen?” He asks the non-voice, the zombie, his fallen competitors. Anyone that might answer, that might make this make some sense.
“How’d the guy with no friends win?” He asks the zombie, and starts to laugh. Because isn’t that the truth? Here he is, alone, the victor; with no one but a zombie here to keep him company. Even when he had no friends, at least he had people to talk to. People to offer him friendship even if he couldn’t accept. People to keep his secrets, even if he was breaking the rules.
The zombie continues to claw at him, and his laughter turns to broken sobs. “How’d…how’d the guy with no friends win?”
He laughs/sobs into his hands, hearing his sword drop to the ground. The zombie keeps clawing him, and Scar finally starts to hit back. He kills the zombie with his fists, and for a split second, it isn’t a zombie anymore. For a split second he’s in a desert, not a ravine, and he’s facing his only ally/friend/enemy left in the world. He doesn’t know why he sees this.
“GG Scar!” Sounds inside his head, and it snaps him out of it. He finishes the zombie off, and starts to make his way out of the ravine. He realizes he’s on half a heart. He could just jump back in, if he wanted to.
“How did this happen?” He asks, going for laughter and ending up with tears. His face gives him away; he can hardly see through the stream of constant tears. “Like, I’m genuinely like in actual shock,” he tells no one. Maybe the voice will come back. Maybe another voice will answer. Maybe Pearl will pop up with a battle cry and put him out of his misery.
“I suppose the only thing left for us to do is literally to succeed the task,” he thinks out loud, hoping for some reassurance. He doesn’t get it; just the eerie feeling coursing through his veins that something is pleased. It’s cold. It feels like the same shock of cold he got every time he succeeded a task.
“The task, of course, this session, was to win the series,” he adds, running towards the secret keeper. He’s getting more excited; surely, when he pressed the button, he’ll die. Surely this is his escape, the fate he deserves.
He starts rambling, not even paying attention to what he’s saying anymore. A performance; that’s what the secret keeper wants. That’s what They want. The beings who made the death games, the gods who control the world. A show. That’s what this is all for, isn’t it? A show. So he performs. He rambles. He doesn’t pay attention.
He finishes his monologue by pressing the succeed button, ready for it to insta kill him. It doesn’t. Instead, it gives him five heart.
“You have succeeded.” whispers in his ears, louder than the secret keeper’s usual whispering.
Scar’s own heart stops dead in his chest, and he stares up at the secret keeper in horror. “No,” he says, whispers, yells; he doesn’t know. “No, I won,” he says. A new secret appears in his inventory, and his palms start to sweat.
His hands shake, and he opens it carefully. Win Secret Life.
“No!” Scar gasps, dropping the book on the floor. “I already did!” He hits the button again, and he gets another five hearts. He gets another book.
Scar stares at his new book in horror, breath accelerating. He hits the button again, and again, until he’s at full hearts and he has yet another new book with the same task.
“I don’t get it,” Scar whispers. “Was I not supposed to win? Because I know that! I know I shouldn’t have won! But I did, it’s over now. There’s no one left!”
A breeze. It feels like a hand on his shoulder. He realizes he’s kneeling in front of the button, realizes tears are streaming down his face. How long has he been here? How many times has he hit the button?
“It’s time to go home, Scar,” is in his head, but not out loud. There’s no one left alive to say it. He’s alone; completely and utterly alone.
“I want to,” he answers anyway, using his free hand to wipe at his face. He looks up at the secret keeper. “Let me go home.”
“Look at me, Scar,” the non-voice says. It sounds sad.
Scar looks behind him, breath hitching. Grian stands there; or something that feels like Grian. It’s more a shadow, but Scar just knows. It’s Grian. It’s offering Scar a hand, looking at him without a face.
Scar looks over Grian’s shoulder, and sees three more forms behind him. Scott. It has to be; it has stars circling its head like a halo, and its arms are hanging loosely by its sides. Pearl. It has a hood, it’s slightly red. It cocks its head to the side, watching him curiously with a hand on its hip. Behind Pearl is Martin. It has its arms crossed over its chest, its chin jutted out in defiance.
None of them have faces, all of them are shadowy, as if they aren’t really here.
“It’s time to go,” Grian says, and it sounds more real this time.
Scar is scared. He knows he has to die to join them; he knows they’re taking him away from the safety of being alive in Secret Life. But he won’t be alone, with them, will he? And it’ll be over. It’ll finally be over.
Grian offers his hand once more, and Scar can almost see his sad smile.
