The Forgotten

Chapter 16

Sam sat inside the vault.

The cold obsidian dug into his knees, putrid potatoes filled the air, ticks and tocks of a broken clock cracked through the air, and all Sam could do was stare at the man. Blood stained his clothes, hair was matted and chopped in different spots, skin became pale and flakey as the body began to rot, and his body? Oh his body, scrapes and cuts, punctures and slices, an artistic piece of punishment.

His hands fiddled with the communicator, a message typed to Quackity. He had hesitated to send it, why would the man care? He had led Dream to this fate, put the bullet in the gun, removed the safety and pointed it at the target. Time was the trigger. He couldn't put all the blame onto Quackity, he may have been the one to load, aim, and ensure the gun but Sam...he was the gun. The man who had helped create the prison, created the environment and allowed for such conditions to be inflicted upon the man.

Sam laughed at the weak excuse of the man in front of him. One of his oldest friends, his first companions on the SMP. Oh he could cry, remembering all the late night conversations about redstone, the different building plans, the stupid arguments over who had the better set up. Yes, he could cry. But that wouldn't help him now, he still had to figure out what to do, should he send a message to the SMP? Keep it to himself and let the guilt take over while keeping the others away from the same grief. Would they even feel grief? Shame? Doubt? In their actions? In their part in the whole grand scheme of things? Sam truly didn't know.

He deleted the message to Quackity, so he could find out with everyone else. He deserved to feel that sense of dread coming their way when people found out what he had done to Dream. What Sam allowed. Sam was already tired of the putrid potato smell, the obsidian on the floor, the ticks and tocks of a broken clock. So he left and stood on the platform, moving away to freedom of the prison he built. He deleted and typed, deleted and typed, deleted and typed. An endless cycle of wording a message that would announce the death of the feared tyrant. A need to induce a sense of guilt to everyone in the server, make them feel the same way he did. He didn't even know what he was feeling. He was angry. At Quackity. At Dream. At everyone. At himself. He hated the choices that were made in the past. That led them to this outcome. He despised the way he acted towards the man, who now laid in the cell rotting away.

He would have to come back for him in a moment. He needed a break. If he stayed for another second with the unforgiving obsidian, the putrid potatoes, and the ticks and tocks of a broken clock he would've gone mad. Maybe that's why he felt all this guilt mesh with the anger, the knowledge that he could've changed one or two things in the past that would have affected the present. He paused in the gateway, rereading his final message. It would have to do, he couldn't stand fixing the wording once again, it would make him think more and right now, right now he needed to talk with everyone, someone. But Dream had no one, who did he talk to? Only two people heard his screams, his pleas, his cries and apologies. He had heard his anger towards them all, for making him be there, for choosing his fate. Yet, he ignored him. Like so many others had done before, he ignored them and lived his life.

Sam sighed, he felt like screaming. So he did. He threw his trident against the wall, a couple of swords too. His helmet and chest plate were flung at the floor as he screamed in anger, grief, and agony. He lost his friend. One of the few who cared to hear his designs. Challenge him in redstone. Even help build the long and articulate buildings. All that matters now is that he lost him. With tools and blocks thrown around him he looked at the communicator's message, he snarked a broken laugh meant to be arrogant and taunting but felt it crack and break with the hot tears coming down his face. His throat hurt. And he had only screamed for a couple of minutes.

Before he could back down from sending the message, he clicked the button. Watching as his message lit up the group chat shared between the entire server. A sickening smile flooded his face. Others will feel the pain he's feeling, this was all of their burden to bear. They all chose the weapon and target of choice. They had decided on the ammunition, lit the fuse, and bore the arms. No one could be saved from their shared fate. He sent a quick follow up message to the group, he would discuss it with them all. At the place where everything began, the only place still intact that is. He picked up his items, his trident had a chip but he couldn't care less, his helmet slotted back onto his head. He watched the chaos erupt after his messages and he just had to laugh, why were they surprised at the news? It was the fate they chose.

<Awesamdude> I checked in on Dream. He's dead. I don't know how long he's been dead. We
                                  messed up guys, he wasn't supposed to die, we only needed to teach him a
                                  lesson. We took it too far this time, and now we can't hide. It's our burden to
                                  bear, we can't blame Dream anymore.

<Awesamdude> Meeting at the church to discuss what we should do

Messages from Sapnap, George, Quackity, Punz, Puffy, Foolish, and Bad flooded the chat. Some were surprised, concerned, calling it a bluff, hurt, overreacting, and angry. So many people were angry. But why were they angry? Why are they lashing out at each other and trying to blame one another? They should blame themselves. Maybe it's because Sam sat in the cell for an hour, with the sharpened obsidian, the putrid potatoes, and the ticks and tocks of the broken clock. He had time to process and understand, they would too at one point. Everyone would have to understand at one point, he would help them. They could all use some guilt for a while but they would get past it. They would learn, just like they always had. Sam felt his arms shake as his trident vaulted him away from the black box of death.

He was going to rip it apart, and never let anyone else experience that. They would learn from their guilt. Their bad decisions for personal gain and greed would come back to haunt them.

Who knew it was going to be sooner rather than later?