8. The Patchwork Woman

It had been three days since MacCready and Lori had emerged from the Grave into the bitter early spring chill of the Commonwealth. The mercenary shivered against the unforgiving wind, his arms tightly crossed around his scrawny torso as he scanned the skeletal woods for shelter.

“This way, RJ,” Lori called, her soft voice muffled by the thick scarf she wore around her lower face. “At least I think it’s this way.”

Now that he could see her more clearly, MacCready was amazed at how much Lori really did resemble Lucy. He had thought the similarities were a combination of the poor light and his own delusions, but the two women could have been sisters, if not twins. They shared the same straight, ashy hair that hung long and loose about the shoulders, the same stunning brown eyes. But where Lucy’s eyes were always warm with compassion, Lori’s were harsher, colder than the wind. And while they shared a sun-kissed complexion, Lori’s exposed skin was marred by strange, precise scars that crossed her body like irrigation lines. Were those marks made by the men who had taken them? Some were pale, faded to white against her tan skin, but others seemed still fresh, particularly those that lay under her scarf, hidden away except for a few red, raw marks that peeked past the thick fabric. He assumed that was why she’d covered the lower half of her face once they’d emerged into the sunlight. She probably didn’t want him to see what they’d done to her.

Whatever had happened to her, it must have been extremely traumatic, MacCready realized. His heart ached for the young woman. How many people had suffered at the hands of men like the ones who’d taken him? What had they done to Lori and the others before he’d been able to set her free? And for how long?

The mercenary followed Lori as she headed downhill, away from the river that they’d been following. “Where are we going?” he asked. From what he could tell, they’d been headed south -- maybe southeast -- for days. Soon, they’d probably run out of Commonwealth to cross.

Lori turned back towards him with a sigh. “There’s a swamp around here,” she said simply. “Last time I was through this area, I noticed a small shack on the edge of it that might be a good place to rest for the night.”

“The last time you were here?” MacCready replied, his eyes wide. “I didn’t know you knew this place.”

Lori hesitated for a moment, her brown eyes narrowed. “I wasn’t always a prisoner, you know. After my brother...I spent a lot of time travelling, trying to find the people who killed him. It’s been a few months since I was down here, but it’s a good place to disappear, if nothing else. No one comes to these swamps.”

MacCready shrugged. After all, he was hardly in a position to argue. Lori had shot down most of his suggestions already, claiming that she was afraid to return to any of the larger settlements in case their captors were still looking for them. Since they’d both been taken from what should have been secure areas, Mac was inclined to agree with her. Hiding out in the wilderness for a while might be their best chance.

After another few hours of slogging through the unforgiving swamp, the pair arrived at the shack Lori had described. The wasteland had not been kind to the rickety old wood building. The slats that made up its walls had warped and twisted, creating huge gaps that allowed the wind and weather easy access to the interior, and one of the corners of the roof had caved in, creating a jagged hole. Still, it seemed safe enough, once they took the time to ensure that no radroaches had taken the property over.

The interior was damp and full of mildew, and MacCready cringed as his foot slipped in a puddle of something viscous that coated parts of the earthen floor. There was no furniture save for an old chair with three legs and a mattress that looked like it’d been soaked in no less than three different types of bodily fluids throughout its lifespan. A filthy metal bucket sat in one corner, the stench emerging from it giving no illusions as to its purpose. It was better than nothing, but that was a pretty low standard, even given the circumstances.

“It’s getting late,” the mercenary said with a sigh. “I suppose this will have to do. I’ll go catch us some dinner and maybe find something less disgusting to sleep on.”

Lori nodded. “Be careful, RJ,” she said softly.

“I’ll do my best,” he replied. “While I’m gone, if you’re feeling up to it, you could gather some mud with that bucket over there. Maybe we can patch the holes in the wall a little bit. Keep some of the cold out, at least.”

“I’ll try,” she said, groaning in disgust as she approached the container. “What I wouldn’t give for a room at the Dugout Inn about now.”

MacCready chuckled. “You and me both, lady. I’m no stranger to roughing it, but I’ve gotta admit, this is pretty rough.”

::::

As the mercenary crouched amid the cattails, trying to sneak up on a particularly fat bloatfly, he realized once again how much he missed his sniper rifle. Hopefully, his beloved gun was still safe and sound at Myra’s house. He wasn’t sure how he would cope if his kidnappers had taken it for themselves. There were very few things MacCready treasured in the world, and almost all of them were back in Cheverly. He sighed as he thought about Heather. What would she say if she could see him now, wading through radioactive muck in the pursuit of one of the saddest meals of his life? Damn woman would probably have a field day. Still, what he wouldn’t give for her by his side right about now. Heather was a lot of things to a lot of people, but for him, she was someone he could depend on, and such people were truly rare.

He choked back a few tears as he thought of Duncan. Was he even still alive? MacCready knew that Heather and that lousy husband of hers would do what they could for his son. He had no doubts about that, or he’d never have left Duncan in their care. All the same, he’d been gone a long time. What if the illness had finally taken the boy, and MacCready was just grasping at false hope? It had been months since the last letter from Heather had reached him. Was there a reason she’d stopped writing, or was he simply not receiving his mail?

MacCready shook his head. This was no time to lose it. He could be homesick once he’d gotten back to what passed for civilization. His survival as well as Lori’s depended on him staying focused, especially since he only had his wits and a few rounds of pipe ammo left to rely on.

Much to his chagrin, it took three shots for him to down the bloatfly. He groaned in disgust as he picked through its carcass, salvaging whatever edible bits he could. Between the fly itself and its larvae, there was enough protein for a couple light meals or one decently-sized one for both of them. Not bad. It’d taste like crap, but it’d keep them alive for a while.

He rooted around in the mud carefully, uprooting a few cattails. This time of year, the tops of the plant weren’t all that useful for food, but the roots would make a passable flour for bread once they were dried and ground. He made sure to collect enough to eat fresh, with a few left over for later.  As for the stalks, while they weren’t good for eating, they’d make decent bedding and an excellent binding material for the mud that Lori was hopefully collecting. If they were lucky, they might have a halfway comfortable night, with a little something to grow on.

He packed the bloatfly bits away in the makeshift bundle he carried. One of the guards, fortunately, had been wearing a long-sleeved shirt around his waist. It was fairly simple for MacCready to run a few quick stitches through the bottom with some scraps of cloth and Lori’s knife. The thing wasn’t exactly durable, but it was enough to hold the few remaining supplies he’d looted from the prison.

After he’d secured the meat, MacCready gathered a large armful of uprooted cattails, tucking them under his left arm. At least if there were any threats, he’d still have his right open for shooting. With a sigh, he began his slog back through the marsh, trying to ignore the mud that seeped into his boots. He hated a lot of things, it was true, but being cold and being muddy were definitely in the top tier of things he despised.

Lucy used to laugh when he’d come home after contracts on rainy days. She said he always looked like a drowned rat pretending to be a man. The comment had hurt, the first few times. Now, he wished he could hear her tease him again, just one more time.

MacCready reached for the pack of cigarettes he usually kept in his pack, groaning as he remembered that his belongings were gone. He checked his pockets with a quick pat down his sides, grinning as he managed to locate a crumpled pack in his breast pocket. The cigarette he withdrew from it was bent and damp, and he realized with dismay that he had no way to light it, but it was still comforting just holding the cursed thing between his lips. Lucy always gave him so much grief for smoking and drinking. It was strange how much more he did it when he was thinking of her. Maybe it was because it reminded him of how much she’d cared.

When he returned to the shack, Lori had already started a fire and was warming herself by it. MacCready had to admit that he was impressed. Not everyone could make a fire with damp wood, especially without a lighter. For her frightened, broken demeanor, Lori was proving to have quite a few hidden talents. He smiled over at her, putting the battered cigarette back in his pocket. Maybe he’d smoke it later, after dinner.

“Hey, RJ.” chirped Lori. “Any luck on dinner?”

He nodded, pulling the carcass out of his makeshift bundle. “Got us some bloatfly. It’s not going to be nice,” he apologized, “but it’ll keep us alive. I also found a bunch of cattails, so we’re good on fiber for a while. Can you help me clean the roots?”

Lori nodded, pulling her knife free from her belt. “Yeah, pass them over.”

He handed her the large bundle he’d collected, and showed her where to cut the plants and what parts were safe to eat. It took her a few tries to get the hang of it, but soon enough, the edible parts were separated from the stalks and were ready to be cooked. MacCready took the stalks, laying a number of them out on the floor to create two small beds. Once the stalks were down, he pulled apart the desiccated catkins, laying the downy inner fibers over the reeds to make a slightly softer mattress. It wasn’t much, but the plants would help keep their bodies warm and off the damp ground. The remaining stalks were set aside for the walls.

“I’ll get dinner started,” MacCready said. While I’m cooking, do you mind using a couple of those rocks to break up the fibers in the leftover reeds? We’ll need them to keep the mud on the walls.”

Lori nodded. “I don’t think that I would have thought of that,” she replied.

“I told you I was the best. Well, I’ve never used cattails before,” MacCready replied as he pulled a battered metal bowl from his bundle and braced it against the side of the fire with a few stones. “Back home, I had to repair a few of the walls when we settled there. A friend taught me how to make mortar out of mud and dried grass to fill the gaps in the wood and metal sheets we used. It actually works pretty well, as long as you mix the stuff right.”

“Tell me more about your home, RJ,” the woman said as she beat the cattail stalks. “If you don’t mind, that is.”

“It’s fine,” he replied. “Honestly, there’s not much to tell. After my wife died...well, I got tired of wandering around all the time. That’s no life for a kid. So we moved to this abandoned town on the outskirts of the Capital Wasteland called Cheverly. One of my closest friends already lived there, so me and Duncan just sort of just moved in next door and started a farm. It’s not much, but it’s good to have something that’s yours, I guess.”

“That sounds pretty great,” the woman mused. “If I had a home like that, I’d never have left it. What made you leave?”

MacCready stared into the fire for a long time before responding. “I had my reasons,” he said finally. He wasn’t quite comfortable telling her everything. Not yet.

“They must have been pretty good reasons,” Lori pressed.

“Yeah,” he said glumly, his eyes misting. “Maybe I’ll get back there someday.”

Lori stopped working and wandered over to sit beside him at the fire. She shivered, leaning against him. Instinctively, he wrapped an arm around the slight woman, sharing his body heat. “I’m sorry for prying,” Lori replied. “It’s just...I understand. After Karl died, I tried my hardest to keep our homestead up. But I’m just one woman. It didn’t take long before it got taken away from me. Then, I guess I didn’t really have anything left. So I came here to try and make a life for myself. Obviously, that hasn’t worked out.”

MacCready chuckled. “Well, hey. It’s a life, at least. You’re still kicking, so I guess that means you’ve still got some hope, right?”

“Yeah…”she mused, snuggling against him, her head resting on his chest. MacCready could feel his heart racing as he looked past the top of her head, eyes trained on the fire. It was so easy to talk to her, so hard to remember that she wasn’t Lucy, that she was just a stranger that fate had thrown into his life. All he wanted was to share her warmth, to keep holding her in his arms. But a hiss from his makeshift pot startled him, and he gently pushed her away from him so he could stir the meat.

“Sorry!” he muttered, his ears burning. “Can’t let the food burn.”

“No, I’m sorry,” Lori replied, a faint blush peeking from under her scarf. “I shouldn’t have...I’ll be over here.” She wandered back over to the rocks, continuing to work on the mortar.

MacCready groaned. He was an idiot. Here he was, trying to be a good guy and hopefully keep them alive, and he was getting distracted by...what? Feelings? For someone he’d just met? It was ridiculous. He wasn’t a kid any more, and he needed to get his act together before he made a mistake. Out here in the wilderness, even the smallest lapse in judgement could be fatal.

She wasn’t Lucy. He had to get that through his thick skull. All the closeness he felt with her was an illusion, a product of their circumstances. He knew nothing about her besides what she’d told him. Hell, there was a possibility that none of that was even true. Still, he couldn’t help but relax when she was nearby, and there were so few people he really felt that way around. Maybe there was something real between them after all.

He sighed, stirring the cooked meat and roots before carefully pulling the makeshift pot from the fire with his duster sleeve. He swore under his breath as his grip slipped and his knuckles grazed the hot metal. What he wouldn’t give for a damn oven mitt about now.

“Are you okay?” Lori asked, rushing back over to him.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he muttered, embarrassed. “Dinner’s done. Now we’ve just got to let it cool a bit.”

She frowned, pushing his sleeve up to look at his hand. “Well, I’ve seen worse,” she mused. “I think you’ll live.”

“Thank god!” he retorted with a grin. “I was worried you were gonna amputate for a moment there.”

“Still, we should get some water on this,” she continued.

MacCready shook his head. “Check my left pocket. There should still be a little thing of ointment in there. I don’t think they actually searched me that well. Morons.”

Lori reached into his coat pocket, her long fingers gently caressing his side as she rooted through the crap he carried. MacCready whimpered slightly at her touch, hoping she didn’t notice. If she did, her eyes didn’t show anything, but he could have sworn that she took longer to find the burn cream than she needed to. “Is this it?” she asked, holding up a small tin.

The mercenary nodded. “Yeah, that’s the stuff.”

She nodded, opening the tin. The familiar reek of Moira Brown’s All-Purpose Survival Grease filled the air, and the young woman recoiled. “What the hell is in this stuff?” she cried.

“I’m not really sure,” he replied. “I just know that it works. Friend of mine helped develop it. Trust me, it kicks serious as...um, I mean, it’s really good.”

Lori chuckled softly, rubbing a small quantity of the ointment between her fingers before carefully applying it to his knuckles. After that, she pulled her scarf loose, wrapping it carefully around his injury. The darkness and the flicker of the fire obscured her features, but he could still plainly see the dark, still-fresh scars that crossed her thin jaw, her soft, pale throat. It might have just been a trick of the light, but the skin seemed less cohesive around her lower face, the shades and textures not quite matching up properly, as though she’d been torn apart and put back together slightly wrong. MacCready did his best not to stare.

“Now, normally, I’d kiss it and make it better,” Lori joked, “but that stuff probably tastes even worse than it smells.”

“That’s a shame,” MacCready said without really thinking.

“Well, I mean…” Lori mused, leaning towards him slowly, “I guess it’d have the same effect if I just kissed you, huh?”

MacCready gulped, backing away slightly. His mind raced. Was she really doing this? He couldn’t deny that he ached for her touch, but he also knew that it wasn’t her touch he really wanted. Was it really okay for him to... “I...well, hang on,” he protested. “What about dinner?”

She grinned, the patchwork lines of her face shifting and warping as she smiled. “You said it needed to cool, right?”

He nodded slightly, his mind blank as she closed the remaining inches between them, her mouth suddenly on his. MacCready let out a small squeak of surprise as she pulled him to his feet, leading him away from the fire. “What are you…” he managed as she broke the kiss, smiling seductively up at the mercenary.

“Just relax, RJ,” she soothed. “Let me take care of you.”

He gulped, the heat rising in his cheeks. “I mean, that sounds like...um...yeah, okay.” She kissed him again, her lips warm and chapped against his skin. He moaned as she kissed down his jawline, her teeth grazing his neck. “But, you know, we just met a couple days ago, and I...well, I haven’t...you know. For a while. A long, long while,” he added with a nervous laugh.

“Me neither,” she mused, her fingertips grazing the lobe of his ear. “Not on my terms, at least.”

MacCready pulled away from her slightly, his eyes searching hers. “Lori, I…”

“Shh,” she replied. “It’s okay. You can pretend I’m her if that’s what you need. I don’t care. I just...I don’t want to be alone tonight.”

He frowned, holding her at arm’s length. “Are you serious? That’s not fair, is it? Why would you be okay with that?”

Lori rolled her eyes. “Look, RJ. We’ve been through a lot in the last few days. I just thought...I mean, if you’d rather not…” she touched her face gently, her eyes tearing up. “Is it because of the scars?”

MacCready shook his head. “Hey, that’s not the problem. I mean, I really, really do want to. And I mean, you’re really fuc...um, really pretty. But I’m not comfortable using you like that. That’s not the kind of guy I am. If we’re gonna...I’d like to know it was because I wanted to be with you, not a ghost. And I’m still not...I don’t think I’m ready to let her go.”

Lori snorted. “Well, look who decided to grow a fucking conscience, huh?” She pulled her knife free from her belt, holding it just under his chin. “Come on, RJ, at least make it worth all the hassle of getting you alone out here.”

MacCready’s eyes widened as she drew the very tip of the cold steel blade across his throat slowly, delicately, a kiss of ice on his sensitive skin. He kept himself as still as possible, trying to avoid getting cut, but his brain was screaming at him to get away, to move, anything besides allowing this to continue.

“Why?” he asked quietly, his eyes locked with hers. He’d never seen those brown eyes so cold, so full of icy hate.

Lori smiled slightly, caressing his cheek with the blade as he backed away. She moved with him as if locked in a dance, backing him against the shack wall. “What do you mean, why?” she mused. “You’ve been a bad, bad man, RJ MacCready. It’s high time someone made you pay the price.” She chuckled, grabbing the hair on the back of her head and pulling roughly.

MacCready whimpered in pain as she forcibly pulled his head back, exposing his neck. His chest throbbed as his heart beat frantically like a small, tormented thing seeking to escape the cage of his chest. She used the flat of her knife to pull his scarf free from his neck, letting the fabric fall to the filthy ground. Seemingly delighted at the new patch of skin to play with, she ghosted her lips across the flesh of his collarbone, humming gently to herself.

“Now,” she continued, “I’m going to hurt you, RJ. But before I do, I’m going to give you one more chance to do things the nice way. I’m still going to hurt you, but I can make you feel good first. It’s entirely up to you.”

“Screw you,” he hissed. “Why would I ever go along with that?”

She tutted, yanking his head back even further. “Don’t you want to be with Lucy again? I’ll admit, I’m probably not half the wet blanket in bed she likely was, but I can fake it, if you’d like. Just stare at the ceiling and wait for it all to end?” Lori laughed hollowly. “Well, either way, one of us will be doing that tonight.”

“If you really want to help me be with her again,” MacCready growled, “just kill me and be done with it.”

Lori scowled, drawing her knife across his collarbone slowly. A thin line of crimson followed her blade, and MacCready yelped as he felt his flesh give way. “So you’d rather just go right to the pain?” She asked. “Fine. It’s a shame, really. I wanted to at least make you think you’d gotten everything you wanted before I tore it all away. Oh well. I’m getting bored, and this works too. On your knees, asshole.”

MacCready froze, his mind racing. “Why are you doing this?” he asked softly. “I helped you.”

The woman sighed impatiently, grabbing his collar and yanking him forward. As she did so, she kicked downward across his knees knocking his legs out from under him. The mercenary cried out in shock and pain as he fell to the damp ground. “I said on your knees!” Lori hissed. “You’re a smart guy, aren’t you, RJ? I’m sure you can figure it out.”

“I’m really not that bright,” he grumbled in protest, grit and filth filling his mouth, “so why don’t you explain what’s happening here.”

She crouched beside him, her knife glinting in the remaining light. “You almost had me, you know. I was this close to deciding to let you live. But you don’t deserve mercy. You have to learn that your actions have consequences.”

“My actions?” he retorted. “What have I ever done to you, Lori?”

She laughed bitterly, slicing into the exposed flesh of his arm. MacCready cried out in pain as she ran the knife down his arm, expertly avoiding his artery. “You’re really going to pretend that you don’t know? I didn’t go through all this trouble for someone who can’t even fucking remember. It was all going to be so simple. I was just going to kill your beautiful, sweet, useless wife. But you couldn’t even keep her alive long enough to get to Fairfax, could you?”

“Fairfax?” MacCready cried, gasping in pain. “You’re from…”

“The Capital Wasteland,” Lori finished with a sneer. “That’s right. I’ve been tracking you for years, you bastard. You’re the last one. The others were easy. But you? You’ve always been so damn lucky.”

The mercenary scowled defiantly. “I’ve gotta admit, I’m not feeling that lucky right now.”

Lori pressed her nails into his wound, pulling the flesh apart slowly. MacCready screamed as the burning agony sent shocks through his nervous system. “But you are, aren’t you, RJ? Look at you. You took everything from me! My brother, my friends...and what did you get? A fucking second chance! You had Lucy, your son, a happy life. It wasn’t fair! You deserved to be punished for your crimes, not rewarded! So I had to make it right. Don’t you see? I had to even the scales.”

MacCready stared at her through tear-blurred eyes, biting his lip so hard it bled. Like hell he was going to give her the satisfaction of another scream. “So what?” He finally gasped. “You think this’ll bring your brother back? You think this is what he would have wanted?”

“I don’t give a fuck what Karl would have wanted!” she screamed, slapping him so hard his ears rung. “He was always too kind for his own good. So was I, back then. I really believed that people were mostly good. But then, you and your friends showed up. And I learned different. You stole his life. Now, I’m going to enjoy destroying yours.”

Lori stood, grabbing MacCready by his collar and dragging him to the back of the cabin. She pulled a length of rope from underneath the soiled mattress, looping it through a pair of heavy metal rings anchored to a concrete slab on the floor that the disgusting bedding had obscured. Quickly, she bound his arms and ankles together, lashing him to the floor so that he was forced to remain kneeling. His arms ached as they stretched behind his back unnaturally, the wounded one substantially more so.

“What’s your plan, exactly?” he groaned. “If you’re just going to kill me, why make such a production out of it? I’m guessing all of this...the kidnapping, even this place was your doing, right?”

Lori nodded, sneering down at him. “After I lost everything...I realized what I had to do. I couldn’t just kill you and the others. I needed you to know, to understand what you did when you took my brother’s life. I swore to make each of you suffer through the same thing you put me through. But after Lucy died too early, I had to come up with a new plan, a better plan. So I spent all the caps I’d saved, sold the farm, walked away from that life. I bought friends, men willing to do what needed to be done. It’s amazing what you can get from some people with a few caps, isn’t it?”

“Spare me the morality lesson,” MacCready spat. “I’m sorry, okay? If I really did kill your brother, I’m sorry.”

Lori rolled her eyes. “It’s too late for that. There’s no forgiveness. Not for you. I mean, you can’t even remember if you killed him or not. That means you’ve killed too many people to remember, doesn’t it? You deserve worse than this, don’t you?”

The mercenary nodded. “Yeah. And I imagine someday I’ll have to pay for my sins. Hell, maybe I already am. I’ve already lost Lucy. But my son...he’s dying. You can do what you want to me, but please, let me try to save him first. He’s innocent.”

“I’m so sorry,” Lori said gently, caressing his cheek. “That really must terrify you, right? Knowing that there’s nothing you can do to save someone you love?”

“I can save him,” MacCready continued. “I just need time.”

“Okay,” she replied, her hands slipping back behind him, fingers touching the knotted bonds. “If I let you go, you have to come right back, okay?”

“I promise,” MacCready said softly. “If Duncan lives, I’ll let you do whatever you want to me.” His eyes met hers, pleading with her to listen, to understand.

“The only problem with that,” Lori continued calmly, “is that I don’t give a fuck about your son. If he has your blood in his veins, then he can rot too, as far as I’m concerned.” She released her grip on the rope, dragging her nails along his wounded arm again.

“No!” MacCready yelled, struggling against the rope. “He’s just a child!”

Lori smirked, showing him his blood on her fingers before slowly licking it off. “Interesting. Somehow, I imagined yours would taste different. Unlike the girls who gave me their skin, you’re hardly innocent.” She sighed halfheartedly. “Tell you what? Why don’t I go check on Duncan for you, once we’re done here? I wonder who he takes after more, you or me?”

“You’re crazy!” he protested. “Your skin...none of it’s yours?”

Lori nodded. “It took quite a lot of work to make this face just right, you know. And it’s a shame I haven’t been able to completely mask the scars. Blood baths help the skin take, but there’s not much they can do for the space between. It was worth it, though, wasn’t it? Look at me. All that effort, and I really do look just like her, don’t I?”

MacCready laughed hoarsely. “You might have the looks down, lady, even with the scars. But you aren’t a thing like Lucy. You never could be.”

Lori kicked him roughly in the ribs, and he whimpered in pain as his body tried to collapse in on itself only to be hampered by the ropes binding him in place. “Why, because I’m not soft and weak, not…” her eyes widened, welling with compassion. “...vulnerable, lost, needing your help?” she finished, her voice soft and fragile, a macabre recreation of Lucy’s. In an instant, her eyes hardened again, and she grimaced. “But that’s not the point. The point is, I wasn’t able to take her away from you then, but I sure as hell can now. Her and your boy. By the time I’m done with you, you won’t have a single memory of her left that I won’t have tainted. And when there’s nothing left for you to grieve, maybe I’ll let you die.”

The mercenary braced himself as she kicked him again, crying out in spite of his best efforts. As the blows continued, the world began to fade away, until all that was left was the pain, the darkness, and Lucy’s face, malicious and crazed as the woman who wore it laughed and laughed. Oblivion, then, was a welcome escape, and he embraced it wholeheartedly, letting the nothingness take him.