“It’s just dirt.” Antoine took a step back and pointed at the hole in the ground. He’d let the sight sink in before using his feet to brush all the dirt back in place. There was a layer of dust and blades of grass that he’d sweep up once Kei left. “Anyway, that’s what Bernie wanted.”

Digging into his jacket, he pulls out an envelope and offers it to Kei. His name is scrawled atop it in neat yet rigid handwriting.

“Payment and a coupon for a free meal,” Antoine says. “Bernie wouldn’t mention it, but if you bring a date, he’ll cover you both.”

He walks back to the building, holding the door for Kei.

“I’m gonna clean up a bit.” Might as well kill some time while Bernie’s in the meeting. Give him plausible deniability, too. If he never sees the cue stick, it makes lying all the easier. Not that Bernie’s the type of man to need the help. “You remember the way out?”

---

“Well this has been fun,” Antoine had been looking for a reason to excuse himself. Watching the end of the event, and the luck that befell them as they happened to survive the arena. The twist was that they were now set free to live the rest of their lives — something they were woefully unprepared for. Funny. If it weren’t for the fact that no one could ever prepare for life. There wasn’t a lesson here. They were mocking them for being nothing more than entertainment and proving themselves competent enough to be set free… perhaps so they could be hunted down for sport later.

This did, however, spare everyone here. Had their lives ended, had they fallen victim to unlucky stars, then he would have shared the luxury with every spectator here. Instead, he sought out the mirror, looked to purchase it, and be on his way.

Bernie had some fucked up friends.

“But I’ve gotta get back the bossman.” He looked at everyone before stepping away, lying through his teeth. “Cya around.”

---

Ghouligan didn’t fear death.

When you’ve taken as many lives as he has, you don’t have a right to. He could not fathom the hypocrisy in doling out his brand of justice only to preemptively mourn a life that hadn’t yet ended. If he were to feel anything about the matter, it’d have to happen after the fact. Until then, he’d live until he couldn’t. Make no mistake he understands that fear is not a wholly cognitive process. While some of it comes from understanding actions and their consequences, they are insurmountable, unknowable truths that haunt humanity’s every moment. The most anxiety-inducing is the very nature of a post-death experience — what happens when you die?

He worried not about the unanswerable questions. It’d detract from everything worthwhile he offered the world. Even if he weren’t otherwise preoccupied with an easy enough question before him, prompted by what he presumed to be Meliora and their mercurial familiar.

The code.

The dreaded moment.

Ghouligan had not given an alias. The entire meeting had been prompted by Bernie — a man who knew better than to expose himself with any details of his career or personal life. But when it was Antoine on the line, covered in black umbra that hid his true identity, he would gladly undercut his overly serious, obsessive persona.

If he wasn’t wearing a mask, and if underneath that mask he was capable of making discernable faces, he would have still remained stoic despite the word escaping his lips.

“Lovesnack.”

---

And with that, they were free to go.

Everyone except the cat, unless someone claims it at the last second. Even if it were an ordinary cat, he’d check it for any devices that might have recorded their conversation. If it were somehow subject to a quirk’s ability, itself being some type of organic camera, he’d have to accept there was nothing he could do. On the other hand, he also had to stop the tiny, bone man with the gruff voice from eating it. Even though he was pretty sure it was a joke. He hoped it was a joke.

They’d all be contacted soon enough to deal with the trafficking situation ahead. Whether word traveled by mouth or if he found their information when scouring the underbelly of Japan, it’d be easier to find them with aliases to address them by.

They’d shut down that damn ring.

---

[attr="class","likedo"]

“I’m not the friendliest-lookin’ guy,” Ghouligan began. “Even without the mask.”

It was a truth he had to wrestle with. Even Bernie noted how his demeanor was more likely to get him a date than any meaningful friendships. With his father’s death, he’s struggled to make friends. His walls were high and thick and he reinforced them whenever someone tried to break them down. But he’d be lying if he said making, let alone maintaining, friendships was any easier prior. He’s never been much of a team player. Trusting someone is almost impossible.

The Undertow challenged his very nature. Ghouligan considered the project dead on arrival, giving it a chance only to help people who needed it. He couldn’t do it alone but didn’t see himself nearly charismatic enough to gather people in a room. So, when people like Guts or Gadget made themselves readily available with their contributions… he couldn’t ignore it.

“But I appreciate you,” It’s difficult to get out but he does it. “I’ll be heading out now. I’ll keep in touch.”

---