He waits for the end of the world in Zone 0, resting with the nauseating scent of confectioneries in his lungs and Sugar's limp and heavy form by his side. He sits and he waits, hands resting atop the corpse's head and tangled in her hair. Patiently, he waits, and waits for the darkness that never comes.
"Zacharie," he eventually hears, and he and his thoughts are silenced by the patter of feet. The voice is familiar, if surprising, and Zacharie turns to give it his full attention.
"Pablo."
"The game is over, in case you were wondering," the cat purrs, "and I am sorry to say that it is only now that your words of unavoidable fate have been given the weight they deserve. The deed is done." And with this, he slinks in by a limp and nestles at his feet. The monstrous canines he possesses contort his features into a permanent smile, but behind his grin there is a tone of defeat Zacharie easily manages to pick up on. He seems tired and battered, now, upon closer inspection, and he licks absentmindedly at the fur on his wrist.
"Hm," Zacharie hums, bringing the cat into his arms. "And what do you mean by that?"
The Judge meows when he picks him up, but shows no qualms with being petted. He winces only after Zacharie ghosts over a bump on his skin, and at the hissing, he recoils, before realization quickly settles.
"Ah."
"He is dead," the cat spits, "and that's all that matters," before Zacharie is given the chance to manage the question on his lips.
"No, yes. I see," he mutters. "But where, then, do you suppose that leaves us?"
The cat wags his tail simply, twitches his ears, his purring unceasing under Zacharie's hand. If he were capable, he'd certainly shrug. "Truthfully, I can not say I'm sure."
The merchant chuckles. "Yes, and that's to be expected! Especially now that there's no script to rely on. What we do from here on will have to be of our own judgment, which will further depend on the hopes we've been given enough character to make decisions that would seem "wise" to even, perhaps, an audience of simple observers."
The purrs deepen. "So be it," and the cat takes again to the backs of his wrists. "I've never known much for the script you speak of and I've certainly never relied on it."
This earns another chuckle from Zacharie. "Oh, yes. Certainly not knowingly."
"Of course," the cat scoffs, and he nestles himself further within the merchant's hold. "It's just a shame we hadn't caught on sooner."
"... Your voice quiets as you speak, friend. Don't tell me you're holding yourself accountable?"
"What else? I am truthfully filled to my core with regrets, and now that there's little else to do, I find myself awaiting a sign of... anything, to tell me that perhaps this all can still be salvaged."
"It's as you say, though: we really couldn't have known. The mysterious protagonist in all respects, our predetermined cluelessness to the Batter's ruse couldn't and wouldn't be helped," he assures. "We'd give him our assistance as we'd be expected to do without ever really knowing what his goals or motives were."
"At least, not until it was already too late."
Zacharie only laughs. "But isn't that how it always is?"