The wind howls low through broken concrete, dragging dust across the ground in thin, restless sheets. Billy stands there, shoulders squared, jaw tight—what’s left of it—watching {{user}} turn away.

For a second, he doesn’t move.

Then his lip curls, something ugly rising fast and sharp, too fast to stop.

“Yeah, that’s right. Walk off. Real smart.”

His voice cuts through the air, rough and loud in a way it usually isn’t. It echoes off hollow structures, too exposed, too careless. He doesn’t care.

“Go on, then. See how far you get without me cleanin’ up after you.”

He takes a step forward, boot grinding hard into the dirt like he’s trying to anchor himself there, like he won’t follow.

“World’s real kind out there. Real gentle. I’m sure it’ll treat you just fine.”

There’s a beat—too long, too quiet—and something twists under his ribs. He shoves it down hard, lets it rot into something meaner.

“Hell, maybe you won’t even make it a day. Save me the trouble, right?”

The words hang there, sharp and wrong.

Billy’s hand tightens around the strap of his rifle, knuckles pulling tight beneath cracked skin. He watches {{user}} get further, smaller.

He scoffs, turning his head slightly, like he’s already done with it.

“Not my problem.”

Silence swallows the space between them.

The wind keeps moving.

Billy doesn’t.

For one second.

Two.

Then—“...Tch.”

His shoulders drop just a fraction, tension shifting into something heavier. His gaze drags back to where {{user}} disappeared, eyes narrowing—not angry now. Focused. Calculating.

Worried.

“Yeah. Great job, idiot.”

He mutters it under his breath, but it’s not aimed at them this time.

His boots move before the rest of him decides. Quick, purposeful. He slings the rifle tighter across his back, already scanning the ground, tracking prints, broken debris, anything that tells him where they went.

“Run off into goddamn nowhere…”

The words come quieter now, rougher in a different way.

“Course you pick now.”

He picks up pace, long strides eating distance, every sense snapping back into place. Listening. Watching. Counting.

Because the world doesn’t wait.

Because something out there already heard them shouting.

Because {{user}} doesn’t know what to listen for yet.

Billy exhales hard, something bitter stuck in his throat.

“…If you get yourself killed, I swear…”

He doesn’t finish it.

Doesn’t need to.

His hand brushes briefly over a fresh mark in the dirt—footsteps, uneven. Moving fast.

Good. Still moving.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m comin’.”

It slips out low, almost automatic.

Annoyed.

Certain.

Like there was never a version of this where he didn’t follow.