Lyle's POV- Ten years down the line
I left Seattle after the police let me go. They refused to tell me anything about what happened after Micah chose to accept Eun's last wish.

I had nothing left. Except the YouTube channel. I kept that.

I dated the woman who consoled me on the street for a few years. I was gonna marry her someday.

She was killed in a car wreck.

I chose a new life. And by that, I chose to have no life. I stuck to the roots and the channel and travelled. I don't stay anywhere for longer than a few days.

I sigh, and glance up at the bar before me. A drink wouldn't hurt.

I plop down at the counter. There's more people in here than I would've thought.

"What'll it be?" The barkeep looks at me.

"Just a beer. Anything will do," I reply and he slides one at me.

He turns to the guy next to me. My eyes follow. The guy is kinda dirty looking, old clothes, a scruffy beard.

But something about him reminds me of home. I see something I recognize in his eyes.

Then he speaks.

"Another shot please." He's mumbling, but I can hear enough to know. I'll never forget that voice.

"Miles?" I can barely hear my own voice, but apparently he did hear.

His head shoots up and his eyes meet mine. Tears are already there.

He pulls me into a hug and rests his chin on my shoulder. I return the favor.

"What happened to you, Lyle? You're a literal brick wall. I watched a few videos a while back." He pulls away, hand still on my arm.

"I'm not too good with people anymore. But what about you? You look like you haven't slept in ten years," I reply, laughing a little. I haven't done that in a while.

He smirks and shakes his head. God, I missed seeing that. I missed seeing them.

"You're correct. An alcoholic with PTSD. That's all your old pal Miles became. So, I'm pretty sure you wanna hear about what happened?" He asks, looking me in the eyes once more.

I nod. He throws back the shot he ordered a moment ago and coughs.

"He found an old factory in the countryside a few hours from Seattle. He picked us off one by one. Ezra had the worst. Dangled from the ceiling, arms slashed open, left to bleed out. Soon enough, it was me, Ryan, Jack, and Megan. He shot blindly, hit Ryan in the chest." Tears build up in his eyes and he struggles to blink them away.

He holds out his left hand, a gold band sitting on his ring finger. He forces himself to swallow.

"Micah fell to his knees. Jack tried to console him. I couldn't tell you why. But there was nothing he could do. When I turned around, Micah had already put a bullet into his own head. We left. We had to tell everyone's family. They couldn't save Ryan. This ring was supposed to be his." His eyes stray.

I hadn't noticed the tears going down my face until now.

"If you would like to see Megan and Jack again, you can. Megan lives in the apartment she did back then. She works for the company that bought our space. Jack is at Western State. They don't normally allow visitors, but for you, they'd make an exception." As soon as he finishes it, he gets a text.

After he reads it, he glances at me. "Correction. You can go see Jack. Megan's funeral is this Friday," He chokes out.

Then, he hugs me tightly. "Make something of your life. The rest of us failed." He presses his lips to me temple, turns to pay his bill, the leaves. He never spares me another glance.

That was the last time I ever saw my friend Miles.

He died two weeks later from a fire. The apartment next to his caught aflame due to a cigarette butt.

He would've been fine. But like my old boyfriend, he was a hero. And like his old boyfriend, he was compassionate.

He saved the couple that lived next to him. The woman who caused the fire and the man she loved.

He died from smoke inhalation. The pair paid for his funeral and attended it, alongside his and Ryan's family.

I couldn't bear to be there. I sent flowers.

I sit here, in a hotel in Texas. Thinking about what happened. I guess it's finally time to address it.

I open my camera and turn the mic. I can't be bothered to use better equipment equipment.

"This is the last video I will ever make. Ten years ago, a friend of mine, a man I trusted, killed all of my friends. The ones who were left physically alive were mentally gone. Including myself. So, here I am, an emotionless nomad who's lost everyone he's ever loved. It's time to see goodbye." I cover the camera with my hand before turning it off.

I take out the info card and set it on the bedside table.

I grab the bottle of Ibuprofen and take half of it, swallowing each pill one by one.

It takes a while, but it's worth it. I want to die the way my friends didn't get to. Quietly. Slowly. And without pain.

Third person POV
The hotel staff found him a day later, after he missed his checkout time.

There was a small funeral. Not too many people came. But it was a beautiful service.

Micah Stevall was a man who inherited schizophrenia, anxiety, multiple personality disorder, and depression from his mother. Along with the bipolar disorder and insanity from his father.

A man who gained the trust of many people.

A man who killed his friends.

A man who broke free.

But at what cost? He took so many lives to free himself.

Including his own.