Chapter 9

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With the pack in hand, Murphy and I cautiously exited the house. Bellamy's enraged screams filled the air, his voice echoing through the empty streets. "Murphy! Murphy! This isn't the ring! We're not playing games down here, and I'm not gonna let you hurt anyone else!" he bellowed.

Understanding the need for a strategic approach, Murphy and I quickly agreed to split up. He darted away to find a hiding spot, while I took it upon myself to keep an eye on Bellamy from a safe distance. I found refuge behind a large metal shipping container, the cold metal a sharp contrast to the warmth of the frenzied environment. Kneeling down, I frantically searched through the pack for something to subdue Bellamy without causing him harm. My fingers brushed against various objects until they landed on the gas grenade. It was a risky move, but it might be our only chance to incapacitate him without injury.

As I contemplated the plan, the voice on the radio returned, sending a shiver down my spine. "Kegan? Kegan, where'd you go?"

I hesitated, looking at the radio. The realization that the voice was a product of the toxin didn't make it any less unnerving. For a moment, I was torn between the urgency of the situation with Bellamy and the unsettling presence of the hallucinatory voice. Shaking off the distraction, I focused on the task at hand. I picked up the radio and set it aside, determined not to let it sway me again. My attention turned back to Bellamy. His shouts were getting closer, his anger palpable even from my hiding spot. I gripped the gas grenade tightly, preparing to use it. Timing would be crucial – I needed to wait for the right moment when Bellamy was close enough for the grenade to be effective but far enough to maintain my own safety.

Peering around the container, I watched as Bellamy's frantic search brought him nearer. His movements were erratic, a clear indication that the toxin was influencing him. My heart pounded in my chest, a mix of fear for Bellamy and determination to save him from himself. With a deep breath, I readied myself to act. The next few moments would be critical in determining whether we could bring Bellamy back from the brink of the toxin-induced madness.

Murphy's voice cut through the tense atmosphere, trying to reason with Bellamy. "Was gonna say the same thing about you!" he called out from his position.

Bellamy, however, was skeptical. "You're the one with the gun," he countered, his voice laced with suspicion.

Murphy, attempting to de-escalate the situation, made a proposal. "What do you say I put it down and we talk, okay...?" He carefully removed the magazine from the gun and began to approach Bellamy. "Just you and me. A couple of guys stuck on a moon, nobody else on it, filled with man-eating bugs and toxic plants that turn people who love each other into homicidal maniacs. That's what's happening to you, Bellamy."

Bellamy's response was scornful. "Oh, so you're looking out for me—John Murphy, court jester."

"It's better than useless," Murphy retorted, trying to maintain a semblance of control.

"Not by much," Bellamy sneered, his disdain evident.

Suddenly, Murphy glanced back at me and shouted, "Now!"

Bellamy lunged at him. "Do it!"

The voice on the radio, now a fragmented piece on the ground, continued its taunting. "You're a cancer, Kegan and you know what we do to cancer."

I shook my head, trying to focus. "It's not real. None of this is real," I muttered to myself, fighting against the hallucinations.

The voice persisted, growing more insistent. "Finish what you started, Kegan. Do it!"

I stomped on the broken radio, trying to silence it. "Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!" I screamed, my voice breaking with the strain.

As I turned away from the bag and the remnants of the radio, my eyes caught Bellamy's gaze. He was staring at me with a chilling smile, a look of triumph mixed with madness.

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