singillatim | Everything you say to me/Leads me one step closer to the edge/And I'm about to break!

Entry tags:

Everything you say to me/Leads me one step closer to the edge/And I'm about to break!

Who: Benjamin "Dex" Poindexter and you!
What: Dex loses his mind and goes on a killing spree
When: Late February
Where: All over Milton including his house

Content Warnings: Dex's mental health issues, gory violence, NPC deaths, will add more as needed

It has been dark for months now with no sign of it returning. The animals have started to disappear, leaving Dex without much to hunt, yet another useful purpose taken from him. He can feel the Darkwalker scratching away at the inside of his mind with what feels like long dark claws all the time. Finally, he ends up barricaded in his home when the fog rolls in. The rune keeps him and Cy safe but it also means he has nowhere to go, left only with himself and his black thoughts for company. Having the wolfdog does help for a while in a way he doesn't understand, affection for an animal being something he's never experienced before in his life, but even that runs its course. It leaves him with nothing to do but think, which is the worst possible thing for someone with his kind of mental health conditions.

Then there's the voices in his head, always there in the back of it, but now returned to the forefront, whispering all sorts of things to him. How he has no purpose here, that all he's ever good for is destruction and death. That he should just give into the darkness all around him. It's what he's always been meant for after all.

Is it any small wonder this eventually drives Dex quietly insane? With all this pressing in on a mind never too stable to begin with, his emotions switch off, leaving only the predator behind. He becomes convinced there are far too many Interlopers here. This many with so few supplies left means that eventually they will run out. That's unacceptable. There's only one way to prevent that from happening. He needs to cull the herd. Take out some of the weak ones. Whittle down the group a little bit at a time, making sure only the strong survive. It's a hard way to look at things but Dex will do what he must to keep the rest of the Interlopers alive. It'll be a mercy in the end for the weak ones anyway. Better to die quickly and with little pain instead of it being drawn out, getting slower and more sickly until they perish.

It starts when one of the Interlopers pounds on his door in a panic. The fog is closing in and his is only house close by to take shelter in. She begs to be let in. When he opens the door, he recognizes her as one of the Interlopers who has said before she's been here for a long time when he spoke with her. Looks like her luck has run out. Pity that. Before she can speak a word, Dex drives a knife into the side of her neck right at the carotid artery and removes it swiftly. She barely has enough time to look surprised, reaching up a hand towards the fatal injury before she collapses to the ground in unconsciousness. She'll bleed out entirely in less than five minutes. Dex simply shoves her body off the porch and into the snow for the incoming fog to deal with, giving what was just a human being a minute ago no more thought than a dead squirrel he might have found on his porch.

But he's just getting started. Dex knows more ways to kill a person than there are even enough Interlopers to test them on. And that was before he could do things like turn into an apex predator with sharp fangs. He's going to keep going until.....until what? His fractured mind can't figure that one out. Just give it time. It'll come to him.

He can only turn into a wolf for short periods now, struggling to shift in the first place, and hold onto it for any length of time. When he does, the mind of the beast tends to take over with shocking speed. But that's exactly what he wants right now. People are disappointingly frail even at the best of times. All it takes is stalking down another victim, biting through their Achilles tendon, then knocking them to the ground before he's gotten his teeth around their throat and is ripping it out. Two down, who knows how many to go?

By the third, though, he's getting sloppier. He hasn't slept in days by now, which isn't helping with the issue of his crumbling sanity. His third kill is anything but neat. Whoever is nearby will hear the sounds of a fight, struggling back and forth, and then a shrill scream which is abruptly cut off with a sickening Crunch! Anyone who runs over will find Dex kneeling in the snow on the ground. There's a woman beneath him, head half-caved in from a large stone, clearly newly dead. Her brain matter and blood soak snow and and Dex's clothes alike.

He looks over at whoever is nearby with a curiously blank expression on his face as he rises. He looks unarmed but that's a joke. Dex is dangerous so long as there's anything around to throw. All traces of emotion or humanity have been wiped off of his features, leaving only something dark and terrible in its place. The fact he's got blood from all three kills he's yet to wash off still on his clothes and body makes him look like some unholy nightmare. Maybe the Darkwalker sent him as some sort of fiend to torment them all. "They were weak. And the weak need to be culled." Approach this one with caution.

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This isn’t the first dead body that Lucy Gray’s seen. She might wish it was, but she’s not that lucky. Nobody’s that lucky, living in Panem. So that’s not a surprise. But she still feels like she’s right back there in the Games, walking that tight rope so she doesn’t get killed.

Singing to snakes.

So she ignores the blood. Ignores the dead body. Ignores what he said. Focuses on him. “Are you all right?” she asks softly. “You didn’t get hurt, did you?”

Lucy Gray's way of approaching Dex is very smart. Any screaming or panicking would have caused him to immediately lash out on instinct while condemning him for killing someone would have caused him to see her as an enemy. But since she focuses solely on him instead of anything else, it keeps him calm. The body of the woman he killed is already forgotten now that he has no more use for it.

Dex looks down at his own body with confusion at Lucy Gray's question, as if it has only just occurred right at this moment that everything he's been doing might have caused him injury. No sleep and very little food have already pushed him to the edge. It's only due to the madness at the forefront of his mind that is allowing him to continue on.

This hadn't been the cleanest kill he is capable of doing. His knuckles are dripping blood from some scrapes and when he pulls up the sleeves of his jacket and multiple layers, there's some long bloody markings that had been left by fingernails raking over his skin, the mark that his prey had been fighting for her life before he snuffed it out forever. He frowns when he sees them. "Just a few little scratches," he says in that same emotionless and detached tone.

She’s not sure what her plan is. She’s not sure she HAS a plan, aside from staying alive. But keeping him from bashing her head in, too, is a good start.

“We should probably get those cleaned up,” she says, voice gentle. “Don’t want them getting infected. That can’t be good, here.” She doesn’t know the medical situation in Milton, but she suspects it’s similar to Panem.

"I'm fine," he says in such an automatic manner that it's clear he's not even properly thinking of whether that statement is even true or not before giving it out as an answer. His mission isn't done yet, not until there's a lot more dead. He needs to keep going, even if his body feels like shutting down right now.

He glances down at his hands again, watching some of the blood drip off onto the cold white snow. It falls with a steady pace. Drip...drip...drip... Something seems to click on again in Dex's head as he watches, something that has been turned off for a while now. He glances down at the body and then back up at Lucy Gray, looking a bit like a sleepwalker coming out of a nightmare. He still doesn't care about the fact he killed someone, not on an emotional level, but he knows logically this was the wrong course of action to take. He's not supposed to do this anymore, kill wantonly just because he can. He's not following the rules he's set down for himself.

"Shit..." He curses quietly, more to himself than the young woman standing nearby. Tries to brush some of the blood off but only succeeds in spreading it around his hands more. Only then does it really register in his head what's been said to him. He looks back over to her. "Yeah. I probably should."

Lucy Gray exhales, nods. Good. This is good. She thinks. At least, it’s less… bad, maybe. “Come on,” she says. “Let’s get you somewhere so you can sit down and we can take a better look at those scratches.” She might not have much medical know-how, at least not proper medical know-how, but she’s got a lot of less proper know-how. She can at least clean up some scratches and bandage them.

"....Okay," Dex says after a brief pause where he considers whether or not he can trust the teen standing before him. But in group settings like this, especially a survival situation as they've all been thrust into, he's much more likely to cooperate with those around him in order to bring the most benefit to himself and everyone else. Even these murders, brutal and cold as they are, stem from a misguided attempt to make sure as many of the Interlopers as possible would be able to make it through everything as it turns harsher and harder to get through.

He's seen the writing on the wall and knows things aren't going to get better. They're only going to get worse from hereon out.

He's quiet as he follows Lucy Gray. Abruptly he says "My name is Dex" as if he's reading cue cards that are reminding him on how to act human and just got to the one that has reminded him that he should introduce himself to someone new when they're talking to him.

No one’s hands are clean. Not when it comes to survival. Might not be any way to avoid it. She’d done what she’d had to, to stay alive. To survive The Games. Maybe he’d thought he’d had to, too. And who’s to say he didn’t? She’s a killer, as surely as he is. She wouldn’t do it again, if she could. She’d try to find another way. This isn’t Panem. She’s escaped the Hunger Games.

But she thinks she might not have a choice here, either. Thing’s aren’t looking so good. Maybe not in the same way as back home, but not so good all the same.

He introduces himself, and Lucy Gray smiles a little at him, as she leads him over to the nearest thing he can sit on, which ends up being a log. “Hello, Dex. I’m Lucy Gray.

It sounds like an old-fashioned name but a pretty one nonetheless. "I'd say nice to meet you, but given the circumstances, I'm just glad you're willing to help me out." That part of his brain consumed with darkness doesn't see her as being a threat, which is good. Killing another person so soon after the last when he's this tired and hungry would be difficult.

He sits down on the log. In the cold air, the bloody scrapes are already starting clot, preventing them from oozing too much blood. Now that he's not completely emotionally numb anymore, they're starting to sting.

“That’s the more important part, anyway, helping out,” she says with a lopsided smile, before he’s sitting down on the log and she’s stepping closer to him. “Do you mind?” she asks him, because she won’t touch him without permission. And not just because he could kill her without flinching. But because it’s polite. And because she’s had too little of control and choice since her Reaping, and she won’t take that from someone else.

He doesn't smile back, the expression on his face suggesting that this is a man who hasn't had a reason to smile in a very long time. "It's okay," he tells her, holding up his hands so she can look at them and the scratches on his arms. He's definitely more stable now. Could he snap back into that cold and dark state where he starts killing again? Of course. But for the most part that's started to retreat into the back of his mind, leaving Dex just with that usual detached manner that sets him apart from the people around him.

He's not a bad or evil person in this state despite being a psychopath, just a cold one who runs far more on logic than he does on emotion. It still makes him difficult to get along with on a personal, though he honestly doesn't intend to cause harm when he's like this, even if it's so easy to do. This is Dex with his restraint and self-imposed rules back in place in his mind.

'Why?'

Arilanna Tayrey doesn't reach for her gun. She'd be within her rights to, under the circumstances, and maybe she should, but for now all she does is ask that single question. If she takes action, she tells herself, it'll be very swift and very decisive. Lowell taught her that. Don't threaten. Don't delay. Kill, or don't.

She's wrapped up even more than usual, her grey scarf over her nose and mouth to keep out the cold and the contagion of the fog both. She keeps her distance. Not close enough for grabbing or stabbing. Lowell's advice again.

"There's too many people here," Dex says in a distant and flat voice, as if he's not really present in the moment. He barely looks in Ari's direction. "Some need to die if the rest are to survive."

He's so very tired, running now for days without sleep and almost no food. His usual careful appearance is far more rumpled than usual. There's bloodstains on his clothes that haven't been cleaned off, his hair hasn't been combed, and he's got a bit of scruff on his face he hasn't shaved off. More disconcerting is the blood on his hands and face that he hasn't even bothered to wipe off, which makes him look like a madman. Maybe he is. Even Dex can't be sure anymore.

There is a horrible, twisted logic to what he's saying, and it's this that stops Tayrey from treating him as if he's utterly mad. She had called this place a failed colony when she arrived the first time. Colony worlds don't fail all at once. They go little by little, as it gets harder and harder to survive.

She doesn't flinch at the sight of all the blood. Oh, there's a part of her that wants to run very far in the opposite direction, but it's overcome by her professionalism. Her desire to do what a Tradeline officer ought to, and never mind her personal feelings. So she stays. Still. Watching him, as one might watch an animal that might attack at any moment.

'I hear you,' she says, low and calm and careful. 'But they have rights, all the same. You can't... you can't just kill people who haven't done anything wrong.'

"People here are afraid of rules. Afraid of consequences." From what Dex has seen, everyone can do whatever they want willy-nilly without ever having to face anything like law enforcement, jail, or even real punishment. He killed two people months ago and not a single person had bothered to do much more than give him a verbal reprimand. That's agitated Dex's mind for months now. Having such a thing scratch around in his head for so long has created something similar to an open wound in his mind, something he keeps picking at without letting it heal.

"I am the law and I'll enforce what needs to be done." That's always been his job. It's what Dex is good at and one of the only ways he can function. He protects the group as a whole. If that means individuals have to be the ones to die, so be it. Even after going quietly insane, he's still trying to function on these principles.

Were it not for the horrific context, she might have found this attitude not just understandable, but admirable. She lives by a strict code, after all. A captain who is afraid to execute someone for wrongdoing is weak, and so is an individual who wants to see justice done but can't bear to stare the sharp end of it in the face.

Except this isn't justice. Tayrey presses her lips together. If she had jurisdiction here, she'd shoot him, and be within her rights - but she doesn't, and she can't. You can enforce code and contract at home when you have all the ships of all the lines backing you up. Here? Action will get her killed, eventually. Even moralising might get her killed.

Some habits don't break so easy. 'You're enforcing the law. What law did that woman break? What was her terrible crime?' she asks him.

He picks up a rock, not one too dissimilar from the one he just used to bash the poor woman's head in, playing around with in his hands. Dex isn't inclined to use it against Ari. It's just the same way some people will play around with a coin or pick at the seams of their clothing when the rest of their body is standing still.

"Taking up too many resources. The weak ones are going to keep using them up until there's no left and everyone perishes. Take out the weak ones and the strong will survive for long." How much longer is something Dex knows even in his insanity that he can't predict. He's not God, Enola, or the Darkwalker. But he can at least give the strongest ones here a fighting chance in case something dramatically changes the status quo for the better.

Her muscles tense as she sees him reach for the rock, and Ari's own hand moves back towards her belt, to the energy pistol she has clipped there. She still doesn't draw it. It only takes an instant to calculate the risks. She's fast. If he advances on her to hit her, she can take him down, she figures. Justice might be a thorny concept here, but defending herself? Simple necessity.

Aside from that? She answers him as if she were back in the debating-hall in Cardalek Tower, as if the problem were entirely theoretical. As if she couldn't see the blood of the innocent literally upon his hands.

'It's a resource problem, and your first resort is summary execution, not... rationing? That doesn't carry. Have you ever been in a situation like this before?'

"Life and death situations? Sure." After a short pause, he adds on: "Too many." That's all that war is when one gets right down to it and Dex had served four long years in the Army learning that fact. When it comes time, one has to make the difficult decision to take a life or let the other person's take theirs. Dex has made the choice time and again to make sure he's lived instead of the other poor bastard.

"A few more should be enough. For now," he says casually, as if six people dead is no big deal in the grand scheme of things. In Dex's fractured and fevered brain, it really isn't, not if it allows the rest of them to survive for any length of time.

Tim doesn't particularly like the idea of being outside while the fog is rolling in and out, but shit doesn't stop needing to be done just because this place wants to kill them. There's firewood to be gathered, traps to be checked -- he's still checking even with the less than stellar results as of late. At least he's figured out he can paint the rune on the back of his hand to reliably keep the fog away from himself.

Though it does mean there's a consistently bleeding cut on his forearm, bandaged with clean cloth to keep it from getting everywhere. On the plus side, it'll leave a pretty cool scar.

There's been literal blood in the streets this month. Those freaky ass kids that keep killing themselves, yelling about the world needing to be reborn. Some people are trying to stop them, but Tim isn't. Least of all because he has no personal attachment to any of them. If they want to off themselves, more power to them. It might work as a small stopgap for the food shortage situation.

Tim is on his way to the community hall when he hears the scream. In Kentucky, he probably wouldn't have hesitated to investigate. The badge on his belt sort of made him obligated to, but he doesn't have his badge here. He does hesitate, but only for a moment. Milton's too small with too few people to ignore something like that.

When he comes around the side of the building, it's with his gun drawn, but pointed down at his side. It's not going to do any good if what he finds is supernatural, but-- it isn't. It also isn't horribly surprising, either. He and Dex have only talked a handful of times, but Tim reads people -- and especially fellow veterans -- well enough to know something was off.

He'd hoped it wasn't anything as severe as this. There's a bitter disappointment in the back of his throat.

"And you're the one who gets to decide who is and isn't weak, right?"

There's a good chance nobody would blame him for putting Dex down here and now, all things considered. Tim's quick, and he didn't make it as a highly sought sniper with the Rangers for eight years because his aim is shit. But, fuck-- he's never liked the idea of killing a fellow soldier, even if he's done it before.

When Dex looks up at Tim, there's a startling lack of humanity in his eyes. The affable if socially awkward man Tim has talked to a few times is gone, replaced by something dark, cold, and altogether unlike most human beings. He just stands there for a moment, crimson spots of blood dripping down onto the white snow from his hands. It takes him a moment to absorb the words, tired physically and mentally as he is.

He doesn't move to attack Tim. In Dex's eyes, a former soldier is just the right type of person to be able to survive this kind of place. He's strong and the strong ones will be able to survive. Everyone else's lives are the ones still in question for the former FBI agent.

He reaches up, absently wiping a hand across his forehead. All he does is spread blood and a little bit of brain matter across his face, making him look all the more demented and unstable. "There's no law here. But there can be order." He's gonna be the one to create some. He can make the tough choices that no one else is capable of. That's what has led him to this point already.

Tim thinks for a moment, weighing his options. His own safety doesn't come into play for any of them -- even before he got kidnapped to this hell hole, he rarely did anything in the interest of his own well-being. If they'd let him, he probably wouldn't even wear a vest when kicking down doors. It's how he'd prefer to go out anyhow, in a hail of bullets.

Things are a little different now that he has Raylan. Something worth living for, but the utter hopelessness he's been plagued with dampens that, too. What the fuck does it matter if he dies now or dies later? The death part feels inevitable either way.

No, he's not worried about himself. He also doesn't want to shoot Dex if he doesn't have to, even non-lethally. So he holsters his gun into the leather holster he found and modified to fit the glock. Dex is unarmed but Tim's seen him demonstrate how that doesn't really matter. It's a risk -- but Tim's better at things like this than he cares to be.

"You're sloppy," he says shortly, gesturing without a glance to the woman's body on the ground. "Anybody who looks at you right now will know what you've done. You're leavin' bodies in the streets. It's gonna catch up to you, and then who's gonna keep the order?"

Tim approaches, not slowly or hesitantly, but casually and with purpose. Non-threateningly.

"C'mon. We gotta hide this body before someone else stumbles across it."

The mention of doing something with the body makes Dex pause. One can almost see the gears turning in his mind. He hadn't even bothered to do anything with the first two bodies after he'd killed them, aside from eating part of the second one. But that had more been to do with just the hunger that has come from the lack of supplies than any attempt to do something about the dead body just lying there in the snow for anyone to find.

"We could just leave it for the fog." That's what he'd done with the one by his house, just ignoring the problem until it had rotted away. Of course, he can't guarantee either that the fog will work fast enough to rot the body or that it will even come in when he needs it to. The Darkwalker might just as well enjoy seeing the chaos that can be caused by a body left out in the open.

Jesus Christ. There's no way of knowing if the Dex he'd been getting to know was just a mask for all this, or if this is something he's been trying to bury and just couldn't manage it any more. Which part is more genuine, how much of a disservice is he doing to this town by not putting one between Dex's eyes right now?

It could just happen again. Some guys lose too much of themselves overseas to piece together anything resembling a human being when they get back home. Sometimes they can pretend, but that's made exponentially harder in a place like Milton, with something like the Darkwalker looming around.

Tim has to trust his gut, and his gut is telling him adding more blood to the snow isn't the answer. So he shakes his head and points to the building less than fifty feet from them.

"That's the community hall. There's too much foot traffic 'round here and no guarantee that the fog's gonna roll in before someone comes through." Tim stands at the head of the body, not looking down but keeping his gaze on Dex. Poor fucking woman. "Now c'mon and help me take care of this before that happens. Woods aren't too far off, body'll stay hidden there til the fog can take care of it."

When Dex doesn't have his mask up, doing his best to act like a normal person, he's a terrifying individual. There's no emotion there: no kindness, compassion, or empathy, nothing that makes a human being truly what they are at their core. There's no emotion on his face and his eyes are dead in the same way that a shark's can be. It makes him a completely unnerving individual to interact with.

But this? It's even beyond what Dex is usually like once he stops pretending. Most of the time, he's just a cold and calculating individual who will serve his own interests first and care nothing about the people around him. Right now, he's out of his mind, and that insanity can be measured with the body count that he's leaving behind.

He listens to what Tim has to say and finally nods slowly. He has a point there. "Okay. That'll work." The words are said in the same emotionless and empty tone that he's had this whole time. He kneels to start picking up the body and put her over where Tim has indicated.

Sam knows that expression, and the stark familiarity of it makes him reel back a little. He stands, a few feet off, quite quite still. Not wanting to make any sudden movements in case he startles the man he recognizes as the guy who shared his pizza.

Or he was, anyway. Before whatever happened to him to push him this far.

"For sure, pal," Sam nods, a little hesitant. "Good thing you're strong. Right?"

"Uh-huh," Dex says, the sound more of a grunt that's just barely able to be deciphered as an actual word than anything else. He wipes one hand off absentmindedly on his pants, staining it with gore and blood. "Gotta do this. For the good of the group."

While it does give Dex a lot of pleasure to kill, more than he'll ever admit to another living soul, at this point he's so tired that he's only going thanks to that sniper mindset of his, the kind that says he's on a mission that needs to be completed. The fact that he can't figure out what the ending even looks like anymore just shows how far he's fallen into the dark madness that's taken over his mind.

It's not the first time someone loses their shit and starts killing others. That doesn't make it any less unsightly or disturbing, but it does mean that Levi is more likely to try and limit the violence he's exerting himself.

There's been enough deaths already... and, having been overtaken by the green fog himself before, he knows that someone in this position is not necessarily a continuous threat.

They just need to wait it out. Let the creature's grasp slip away.

Except, of course, some interferance might be necessary -- like now. If he leaves this man be, who knows how many more corpses he'll end up creating before he's of sound mind again -- assuming that's the issue, of course, but Levi has seen him around town before and hasn't heard anything about serial murders.

Until now. And he probably hasn't so much heard it as happened upon one that is clearly not the first, and everything about this is unsettling.

Murder isn't new to him. Hasn't been even before this place. Kenny even tended to wear the same damn blood-drenched trenchcoat everywhere, making no secret of his nightly activities. And yet he'd never had that sort of a dead look in his eyes, that sort of droning tone when claiming he was doing everyone a favor. No, it had been something more like, "What's the face for, runt? Doncha worry, pigs ain't people so they don't count," or something of the sort. Still matching the person beneath.

This doesn't particularly feel like a person at all.

And yet, so far that only confirms Levi's suspicion that the Darkwalker is the one responsible for this. Maybe that's why he approaches without hesitation, planting himself in Dex's way, expression as unreadable as always.

"And who decides that? You?"

Oh, hello there small short man who doesn't look like he's slept in the past decade. Where did you come from? Dex blinks in a moment with something that would have been surprise on his face had he not been so tired and worn down that he's already far past the point of feeling emotions properly, even in his own strange way.

He looks rough, at least as rough as Dex will ever allow himself to get. Far more rumpled than his usual pristine appearance ever usually suggests. He has hair that hasn't been brushed in a few days, the same amount of stubble having grown in on his cheeks, and wrinkled clothes with (blood)stains on them that he hasn't bothered to wash out yet.

He tries to wipe some of the blood off of his hands but only ends up spreading the gore further across both hands. He's barely looking at Levi as he speaks, though he apparently absorbed what was being said well enough to respond. "There's no law in this place. No order. No consequences for when bad things happen. So I have to enforce them." What he says is all in a flat, dead tone that suggests he is simply stating facts rather than opinions ruled by emotions.

This place has definitely done nothing positive for his complexion. Or his sleeping habits. At least in the dark (or torchlight, or eerie green dusk) he doesn't look as bad as he might in actual daylight.

"Enforce them," Levi repeats, as if not quite sure he heard that right. He doesn't seem too troubled by Dex's unkempt appearance or flat tone; it's been rough for everyone, though he does take note of the weird detachment he senses. "The bad things, or the consequences?"

Because this definitely looks like the former. The fuck did that poor sod in pieces on the ground even do to deserve this?

"The consequences," Dex says in his flat and distant tone. "There's not enough food to go around. Not enough by half. So the weak ones have to be taken out so the strong can survive. It's the best thing for them. Even if they do survive for a while, all they're in for is a prolonged and miserable death. This way is much quicker. It gets death over with fast."

In his fevered way of thinking, it makes perfect sense.

"And you've designated yourself strong, of course."

He takes a single step closer, stops, stares at the man's face. He does have a little bit of a point in that a quick death may be more merciful than slowly starving, but there's no knowing if and when their situation might change. If it improves, they might all manage to make it through together. If it stays like this indefinitely, everyone will starve to death, and the only thing such a culling would do is prolong the rest's suffering. This guy is banking on a very narrow possibility where this would make any sort of sense -- and it's disgusting to begin with.

"Panicking and going on a rampage 'cause your dinner plate got a little smaller doesn't seem very strong to me. Who'll be enforcing consequences on you?"

Of course he's strong. Dex knows in a dog-eat-dog world, he'll always come out top. "I'm not panicking." Indeed, Dex seems so calm he might as well not be feeling anything at all. Indeed, all his emotions have been turned off as thoroughly as if someone flipped a switch on them. "I thought this all the way through. It needs to be done. Everyone here lets things like emotions and morals--" He sounds near contemptuous of the word. "--cloud their judgment. I've used logic to figure out what needed to be done."

Dex gazes at Levi with a thousand-yard stare, seeing him but also with his mind a million miles away. "If I become a problem, then someone better not miss when they come to take me out." Otherwise, Dex will just add another body to the count he's already had going here for months, and forget about them as soon as they're a rapidly cooling lump of meat lying there in the snow.

He levels him with a stare, unintimidated. He can tell the man is dangerous, but he simply does not have the option to back off if this is truly what he's set out on. And the first rule of the Underground is: use intimidation to your advantage. Never let anyone else see vulnerability or weakness. Dominate the room.

"Panicking isn't always screaming and crying. Sometimes it's 'using logic' to land yourself with shit-ass decisions."

Just because Dex looks calm doesn't mean what he's doing wasn't dictated by suppressed fear in the first place. It happens a lot, honestly. And Levi doesn't plan to budge. He does, however, slowly shrug his backpack off, to give himself more maneuverability just in case.

"Which you're now done with." His tone doesn't leave room for argument. "Stop here and we'll write it off as another Darkwalker craze."

He has a feeling he won't manage to argue this guy into cooperating right now, but it's at least worth a try. He can't bring back the people already killed, but he can do his damnedest not to add to that count.

Edited 2026-04-01 15:06 (UTC)

Dex spaces out for about a minute, listening to the voices in his head, the ones that have been instrumental in urging him on and on in this mad quest to keep this place from falling into chaos. It's clear he's not really listening to anything Levi has to say.

He finally tunes back in when he's told firmly that he's done with this now. Dex honestly considers the words for a long moment. Maybe...maybe he can stop and rest for a while. He feels so very tired right now. But he can't. That's not possible while there are still so many people in town, weak ones just taking up valuable resources. He shakes his head. "No. I need to finish what I started."

The fact that he doesn't even have a solid plan on what finishing would even look like doesn't even enter into his fevered thoughts. When he's done, he'll know it. Whether that's one person or ten later, he'll just keep right on going until they're all dead or he is.

And isn't that spacing out creepy and, worse, familiar. It reminds him uncannily of Eren, or maybe what was the remaining shell of him, the way he'd seemed both there and not on the airship, and later here in this snowy hell. (He wonders where he'd gone. Nobody has found the bodies. Did that mean he returned home, or?..)

He can't begin to guess what Dex is thinking about, but he stares him down for that whole minute, waiting patiently like a prowling animal.

"What if someone had a broken leg?" he inquires flatly, observing him. Does he count injury as weakness?

There's a ready answer for what Levi says. "Then leave them in the snow and let them die," Dex says in just as flat a tone. There's also a dismissive edge to his tone as if the answer to the question should be obvious.

But Dex is now starting to grow restless. His latest kill has only temporarily satisfied him and already that's beginning to fade. He needs to find another person and kill them. He starts to look around the streets, wondering if another target will handily present itself.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Everything you say to me/Leads me one step closer to the edge/And I'm about to break!

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guess who never got this notif anywhere!!

R U D E, DW! Very rude!