Ben was almost amused, almost amused that he wore his anger better than his counterpart. That boy hed only too recently called Jeremy Frasier. Snarling, biting, twitching, flailing like some kind of rabid dog. The sort of shit Ben realized the grown adults of society had to put out of its misery, much as doing what had to be done sorrowed them. It looked fucking ridiculous, Ben didnt need to be watching through the camera lens to know that. Even his form with the bat was cartoon villain.
Had to be that Frasier didnt have a fucking clue. Didnt know what it was like to have morals, to have honor. Didnt know what it was like to step up when a mother had lost her husband and a sister had lost her father. Didnt know what it was like to be a man. Only reason hed spew that shit, whatever it was even supposed to be. Ben didnt know, he didnt listen even as he heard it. Only reason Frasier wasnt meeting Bens good side, the side of Bens fist, was because he happened to have a gun as his ultimate childish retort.
So Ben kept his cool, much as he couldnt say the same for the stick figure opposite him.
You got me man. I dunno shit.
Jeremy had stepped forward, Ben took steps to match. He was solemnly glad Lucilly wasnt in the axis of their confrontation, wasnt to be bothered or disturbed by the legendary showdown of cripple and retard.
Except I do know that youre a dumbass. What youre trying to say I cant even guess at, but Ill make the effort. Bens breath was quick, tempered, measured. Youre saying that our plan isnt going to accomplish shit. Hell, Id be inclined to agree with you. But. You saying your plan is any better would be a laugh if I had any left. Fight. Do whatever it takes. For what? For. Fucking. What. Youre going to run after your friends, fine. Spend your last moments with them doing
shit, the shit you always do? Talk, walk, piss your damn pants?
Ben didnt lick his lips even as they eroded away into bloody crags under the strain. Hed learned this one in debate. But at least youre doing it with a friend, whatever.
The fundamental damn difference here is that you dont have an endgame. Youve consigned yourself, and every other poor ass sucker you think youre doing a solid, to die without those deaths meaning anything. People are going to die no matter what but the people in your so-called plan die without a chance for something more than the wonderful, fulfilling gift of talking with your ass one last time. Its not our plan thats missing the point, dude. You ever think it might be you? All this time while you were running around getting ready to waste everyones time pretending you have the moral high ground for having accepted that theres nothing you can do when you didnt even try in the first place? Word for that, I think.
Ben nodded once, to himself, and chased that angle of attack with the ferocity of the grand generals of yore. I bet you wont even see your own shit ass plan through. Youll chicken out, make some excuse, play for the win. Fucking hell, you dont have the guts. Tell me you can, no... Show me you can tell all this shit you just told me to Penelope. Look her in the eye and tell her, yes, Im going to go killing, Im going to throw aside every possibility just so I can be selfish the final few days of my life.
Ben already felt cold, lifeless, even as his sharp tone carried the organic stench of his breath. He was a dead man walking, sure. But men like Frasier? Theyd already been wrapped up limp and dry in the damn body bag.