They had set out to win, but somewhere along the line that had got lost amongst a desperate scramble for revenge. When it all went to hell, maybe it was an effort for survival, at least that's what him and Bdubs had whispered to themselves at night. Pretending the other didn't hear, pretending they didn't both know it was bloodlust, bloodlust searing through their veins. Pretending that even if it was spiteful, malicious revenge, it was because of the red tinting their vision.

It was scary, how quickly the amicability had fallen out of practice, in favour for far more primal motivations and desires. That it wasn't even desperation for survival that led to the last day, the last few deaths. The traps, and the manhunt for the yellows. Given that, he really couldn't blame Pearl for killing them both.

Pearl. Pearl, who'd been abandoned and mocked the entire time. Pearl, who was feared and declared insane. Pearl, who was always going to snap. It just turned out that her snapping, was more snapping their necks. The second their alliance fell apart, and they were left vulnerable...

She was on the hunt, and she won.

And now there was no Bdubs, no distractions from him and his thoughts. His thoughts racing through every possible thing they could've done differently. His thoughts insisting on replaying the phantom pain of arrows tearing through flesh, of teeth tearing chunks of flesh out onto the grass. His thoughts, arguably the worse torture of all.

His hand was cold, void of physical contact he so craved. No matter how much he curled in on it, it was still as hollow as his heart. His cold, bitter heart. The little warmth previously keeping the fire warm no longer present, instead feeling similar to it being dunked in an ice bath.

Surely, he didn't deserve this fate? Surely, he hadn't messed up this bad, surely he wasn't an inherently bad person. Surely?

Or maybe he'd just held enough anger that it didn't matter. The anger he'd once tried to release, but instead let it fester and grow like a parasite. Taking over his actions, turning all logic and reason into irrelevant mush. Maybe that was his sin. It was certainly enough to allow guilt to fill the aftermath. Guilt in many ways, was just as bad as anger. Maybe worse, maybe a lesser sin, but still a dangerous virus. Because then guilt was sustenance for anger, and anger food for guilt. An endless, destructive paradox.

And eventually, the destruction led to their demise. And really, he should've seen it coming. And yet, time and time again he didn't. Nobody did. Though that provided little comfort, when at the end, nobody was left. It was a pattern that had repeated thrice before this, and would surely only repeat the next time, and the time after that.

And each time, Impulse would be oblivious. And maybe that wasn't so bad.