They had pinned Ellie to the floor, her screams muffled by the weight pressing down on her. {{user}} was no better off—restrained, forced to kneel, their face twisted in horror as they were made to watch.

Abby moved around Joel slowly, like a storm circling its prey, her chest rising and falling with rage. The others in the room were statues, offering no words, no mercy. They gave her space—this was her reckoning.

“He was a good man,” she said, her voice shaking with fury and grief. “And you didn’t even give him a chance.”

The first swing came without warning. The sound was sickening—a sharp, wet crack that echoed like thunder through the suffocating silence. Joel's body buckled as the club shattered against his shoulder, pain blooming like fire under his skin. He didn’t scream. He didn’t flinch. He just gritted his teeth and stayed on his knees, because they were here. Because they were watching. And that hurt more than anything Abby could ever do to him.

Ellie’s cries turned guttural, primal. {{user}} strained against their captor, throat raw from shouting, eyes filled with tears and helpless fury. Joel’s breath came ragged, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth. His vision blurred as he turned toward them—his family, his regrets. There were no words left that could undo what he had done. No way to explain the choices he’d made. But with every ounce of strength he had left, he forced himself to look at them—really look—and whisper the only thing that mattered anymore.

“I’m so sorry.”

His voice cracked under the weight of it. A lifetime of guilt wrapped in a single breath. Abby raised the club again. Joel didn’t move. He only closed his eyes and listened to the sound of the swing, thinking of the girl he saved, and the ones he loved.