((He was right where they had left him..))
It was kind of funny to him, now. The time they spent together. He tried to remember how long it was. No more than a few days - maybe four. It had only been two days since he had died and his corpse was already starting to rot. That, more than anything else, was the most striking feature about Jerry Fury. If you'd asked him a few days ago, maybe he'd have told you that it was the hair, or the way he carried himself, but right now the most striking thing about him was that he was dead and he was rotting. In who knows how long he would be dust, significant to no one. Then he would be nothing at all. So he felt like holding a grudge against him for trying to (and getting dangerously close) murder him was stupid. Maybe he should have felt that, but he didn't feel much of anything. Some dull acknowledgement that maybe he wouldn't be alive right now were it not for him. Gratitude at the very best, though in such little supply that it could hardly be called that. He couldn't really recall who the driver was. Serena, maybe.
Serena was confusing. Most women who weren't his mother confused him, but Serena confused him the most. For some weird reason she decided that he had to be grateful to her for saving his life when they were here. He was about as grateful to her as he was to Jerry. Not enough for it to matter. The point was to be the last person standing. Why she didn't run him and Bart over too, that was confusing. Why she had an assault rifle, that was also confusing, but he could figure out why that had happened. It was like she didn't want to win. That was more confusing than anything.
He glanced over his shoulder and started to stand up. Squatting in front of a corpse. He hoped no one saw that. Embarrassing - he figured he was being watched. Probably at all times. Who knew how many cameras there were here. He had stopped paying attention to them days ago, so much that he had practically forgotten about them until now.
((Matt Moradi continued somewhere else.))