[Week 2, Saturday: Max]

[purrtagonist]

[HEY MAX I KNOW THIS ISN'T OUR WEEKLY PC, BUT--]

Seven?

You were kidding, right? That was a joke, to throw off the Players?

Comments

[concertmaster]

You're thinking the Game continues if their group wins. I didn't say anything about that.

[purrtagonist]

[ah]

[it's all suddenly slotting into place]

Three distinct groups. Three win conditions. Three ways to end the game.

Tell me, Max. Is only one group allowed to win? Is that why the Composer can't tell us how many people will earn their second shot at life?

[because only the people in the winning group will get it?]

[concertmaster]

[with a frustrated huff:]

I can't tell you more about the Composer's endgame. And there's four ways to end the Game. If you reach the time limit.

[purrtagonist]

[ah, right. the time limit. a frustrated huff of his own, but he's trying]

Now that we know there's a way to save those already Erased, you can't tell me what it is either, can you?

[. . .]

[concertmaster]

[there's a second where he's looking a bit deadpan before he sighs and moves on:]

Nope, I sure fucking can't. Things go on as they are, it won't matter anyway.

[purrtagonist]

[and finally, a bit of lightheartedness, although it's in a deadpan tone of his own]

Listen, I just had this huge bombshell dropped on me, you can't blame me for asking a bunch of questions.

What do you mean it won't matter?

[concertmaster]

There's two of you left, Joker. I know you can count.

[that's condescending, max]

The other Reapers win, that's how the Game ends. You know we judge Players based on performance. How do you think it'll look if they end without catching a single one of those Reapers?

[purrtagonist]

[listen, he knows there's only two of them, and it's giving him anxiety, trust him]

Extremely bad.

[does't take a genius to figure that out. hesitation, before he asks. . .]

Will it help them if we-- if we. . . [god] Target those Reapers for the Players?

[he can't believe he's suggesting this]

[concertmaster]

[wow.]

Didn't think you had it in you to even suggest that kind of thing. [and then he just... shrugs] Maybe? It wouldn't make things any fucking worse, honestly.

[purrtagonist]

[barks out a laugh, but it's so self-deprecating]

I didn't think I had it in me to set Enoshima on fire after she burned a woman to death, and yet.

[spreads his arms wide. HERE WE ARE]

. . . don't misunderstand, that isn't what I want to do. [drops his arms to his sides again] If anything, I'd prefer to work with them than against them.

[but he's already aware that they have exactly zero incentive to accept such an offer]

[concertmaster]

[...]

We all do shitty things to survive the Game.

[he sighs]

I can't advise you on a course of action. Player adviser and all that shit. But you should talk to your Conductor about all of this crap. She might have more info for you.

[purrtagonist]

[we all do shitty things to survive the Game. he feels like his survival is getting less and less certain by the day]

All right. I'll do just that.

Thanks, Max.

[he means that. truthfully]

[concertmaster]

Don't... thank me.

[he also means that, truthfully]

[purrtagonist]

[. . . ?]

Why not?

[concertmaster]

You realize I'm literally obligated to throw you under a bus if it comes down to it, right? My job in this Game isn't to help any of you.

[purrtagonist]

Yep. Considering how many times you've done that already. And that one time you told me you couldn't tell me about the Player boons.

[HE GETS IT]

But you're still helping me when you can. That means sometimes.

[concertmaster]

You... are a fucking sap.

[purrtagonist]

How is that sappy? It's just the truth.

[he will never let you live, Max]

[concertmaster]

I'm going to vomit.

[ he hates this. ]

[purrtagonist]

Just please don't throw up on my shoes, okay?

[concertmaster]

I would aim straight for your face if I could reach.

[purrtagonist]

That's disgusting.

[he's ten, of course it is]

[concertmaster]

That's the point.

[purrtagonist]

[an amused huff]

Sometimes, you really do act your age. . .

[concertmaster]

[ with his own annoyed huff ]

See, that kind of talk is why I remind you assholes I'm a kid.