CHAPTER 69: NO GOOD DEED

The loss of others is a tragedy that all people on this Earth live through. Never does it bring happiness or joy; only pain and sorrow with the passing of someone dearly beloved. From the commodity of a good friend or the necessity of a loved one, every departure of life takes away a piece of those who knew them.

Nonetheless, loss is an evil that is a necessary one. Death must occur for there to be one more to pass the line of a person genetically or memetically, and the accruing anguish of an aging and dying body comes to an end with the release from it, but it is not simply the individual which benefits from death.

Losing a person that was once loved can bring a time of reflection for the survivor who once knew them. Recalling all of the times that they had shared during the departed's life on Earth, the other can realize how they had been shaped to the person they are, what kind of milestones they had achieved or overcome, and what they have influcenced the departed to do before their death.

It is with a death from natural causes that allows the reflection to be healthy, but a premature death, to die at a young age, is a death that takes much too greater a toll. Never having the chance to live out a longer and healthier life, those who have watched the departed leave so early are left to ponder what could have been for that person; the perpetual fantasies of future never eating their minds away.

Arnold Shortman has dealt with countless losses such as this, all his friends and family. None are left to his name and life but an unintelligent sociopath that serves as a temporary ally, a former friend that has turned to an extreme burnout that he is beyond recognition or help, a woman who his relationship with has turned in and out, went up and down so many times that he has no idea where they now stand...

...and a comatose killer by the name of Buckley Lloyd, having made a better name for himself as Valiance. Buckley himself was not too far removed from Arnold's position prior to his self-imposed exile from reality; his daughter abandoning him after her return to life, his wife dying in a mental hospital, and his daughter's best friend sacrificing herself to destroy an entire province of enemies; her body too far irreperable for a normal life.

Once before, Arnold had tried to be a pillar for Buckley to lean on, giving him a chance to repair the damage in his mind and stand strong once again. Never before would he imagine a scenario such as this one; coming to the bedside of the mute and comatose Buckley to find a pillar for himself in him, but, now, here he stands.

Seated beside him at his bed, Arnold looked down at Buckley, keeping sharp eye contact even when he could not. His initial instinct would be to speak to him in hopes of a reply needed to the question he had, but speaking the question to a comatose patient would prove to be less than effectual.

A brief glimpse into his mind with the powers of the Spirit Master would reveal nothing inside but emptiness; a blank slate of a mind that would give him no answer. So he does not waste his time with such a method. Today, he has brought out a different way to reach Buckley.

He pulled out a revolver, brandishing the weapon where both could see it.

"I know you're in there, Buckley. You want to keep yourself locked inside that head of yours; hide in your little corner and never come back out again. Blaming yourself for that great big mistake of yours and you can't forgive yourself. But I know you're in there, and I know you can hear me. I want you to look at this. This is a .44 Magnum, one of the most powerful handguns on Earth." Arnold said.

Opening the cylinder to the revolver, he peered inside it, subsequently closing it back in again and spinning it.

"I don't like guns. But I know that they serve a purpose. Even this one serves a purpose. It can be used to shoot down an attacker; save you before any harm comes your way. It can be used for sport; shooting targets at a distance to learn a skill. It can be used for hunting; score prey to take home and eat and keep as a trophy. But I wouldn't do any of those things. That's why we're going to do something else it's meant for." Arnold said.

Putting his thumb to the hammer of the revolver, he pulled it back, cocking the weapon to fire.

"There's a game that can be played with a revolver. A game of roulette. I'm sure you've heard of it. If not, it's a a very easy game. All it takes is one gun, one bullet, and two idiots to play. I'm willing to play. Unless you've got something else to do besides sit there, I think you can play, too." Arnold said.

Taking the revolver to the side of his head, Arnold pressed it firmly against his temple, pressing his finger to the trigger.

"The game is simple. All you have to do is load the bullet... spin the cylinder... cock back the hammer... put it to your head, and..." Arnold began to say.

He pulled the trigger to the gun, resulting in nothing but the weapon clicking. The chamber's empty.

"...pull the trigger. You get a 'click', you win. You get a 'boom'... you won't be around to hear it. I know you're not in any condition to play yourself, so I'll give you some help." Arnold said.

Putting the revolver against Buckley's forehead, Arnold cocked back the hammer, preparing to fire.

"I've come to understand you much better over time, Buckley. I used to think you were just some kind of insane killer at your core. I knew that you had lost Rhonda, I knew that you lost your wife, and I knew you lost Nadine. You had nothing left to your name. I knew how you felt about it all, I felt it just like you... but I ultimately still didn't get you. Only until recently have I done so. There's something I've learned more about my power. To feel what someone else feels... it doesn't compare to feeling that emotion yourself. The difference is like having the world's most articulate and verbose poet describe to me eating a steak, telling me how he puts his fork in a piece, cuts it up, brings it up to his mouth, puts it in, starts to chew it, taste it and describe it to me in great detail, and end with how it sildes down his throat... as opposed to actually eating it yourself. You can paint the most beautiful picture you can make, but you can't recreate a sunset. You can see how someone else feels..." Arnold began to say.

Pressing his finger against the trigger, he pulled it back, sending the hammer to hit the chamber and firing.

It clicks empty.

"...and actually feeling it for yourself." Arnold finished.

Removing the handgun from Buckley's head, Arnold placed it back to his own, cocking back the hammer.

"I've got the worst of both worlds. Just hours ago, Lila died before me. I watched her fall to the ground. I felt the functions in her brain shut down and go black. I felt the last thing she felt as she fell. It was me. It was the love she still had for me. I didn't want to admit it for the longest time, but... I still had some feeling for her somewhere in there. I'd had some crushes in my life, of course, but none that got so far with her. I actually felt like something was there, and so did she. We were just kids too dumb to understand it at the time. Feeling her die, and watching it... it was the worst thing I ever felt. I wanted to help her and save her. Despite all the bad she did. Because that's what I do. Unlike you. I felt devestated watching the first girl I ever liked die, I felt even worse being in her head as she died, and I couldn't compose myself to deal with either. It was like having the worst day of my life play out, and have it all narrated to me by a sadist all the while. Feeling it and having it described to me. The worst of both worlds." Arnold said.

Pressing his finger against the trigger, he pulled it back, sending the hammer to hit the chamber and firing.

It clicks empty.

"Same thing with my parents. Same thing with Harold. Same thing with so many others that have suffered. Luz prepared me for everything when I got my powers, except how to take in that sort of feeling. How to keep it from taking away pieces of you. Keep eating and eating and eating until you can't feel anything else but just pain, just that parasite in you." Arnold said.

Putting the revolver against Buckley's forehead once more, Arnold cocked back the hammer, preparing to fire again.

"Feeling it take away another piece of you." Arnold said.

Pressing his finger against the trigger, he pulled it back, sending the hammer to hit the chamber and firing.

It clicks empty.

"I don't think that there even is a way. Not without losing every feeling I've ever had. To become totally emotionless and null. Like you. But at that point, there'd be no point to even go on fighting anymore. I'd have surrendered what I believed in, and become nothing more than a total and complete monster. Like you. You can lay there all you want, running away from the world and staying inside your head, but the fact doesn't change that you're still a monster for the things you've done. From the very beginning, you were a mistake. It was a mistake to allow you to roam free on your own, it was a mistake to let you create this team, and it was a mistake to keep you on it. Even after all the lives you've ended, I thought you could be helped. Be reformed. Be saved. But you couldn't be. So, here we are. Where's it gotten us? The city is gone, millions are dead, and everything we have is falling apart." Arnold said.

Removing the handgun from Buckley's head, Arnold placed it back to his own just like before, cocking back the hammer to the weapon.

"All we need to bring it all to an end is just one... more... push." Arnold said.

Pressing his finger against the trigger, he pulled it back, sending the hammer to hit the chamber and firing.

It clicks empty.

With five barrels spent in their game, the turn once again turned to Buckley, leaving him with the final barrel aimed to him. Putting the revolver against Buckley's forehead for the last time, Arnold cocked back the hammer, preparing to fire the remaining barrel of the gun.

Recognizing the threat that was upon him, Buckley's eyes seemed to widen ever so slightly, not enough for the untrained eye to notice.

"Just think about this: A year ago, I could have put an end to our little games with a gun to your head, just like this. All the people you've killed over the years, I could have saved by doing this. Ending your life to prevent their deaths. Same with Curly. A gun to his head, I could have saved everyone we've lost. Eugene, Sheena, Stinky, Nadine, Harold, my parents, god knows how many others. He's the one who started this, just as much as you. You were made for each other. Bad meets evil. But regardless of how you distinguish yourself from him, you are just the same kind of evil as he is. You both inflict your own inner pain upon others. You end their lives to do it. You enjoy it. So many lives you've ended with a gun to the head, just like this..." Arnold began to say.

Pressing his finger against the trigger, Arnold slowly began pulling it back, preparing to send the hammer down to hit the chamber and fire the weapon at last, sending its projectile straight through the head of Buckley Lloyd and ending his life on this Earth forever.

Impartially watching the revolver's hammer start to pull back, the act of firing the bullet now inevitable, Buckley still cannot find the motivation to move or fight back. Instead, agreeing with the words Arnold was feeding him. Well aware of the crimes he has committed, he instead welcomed his fate as it came.

"...and it could all be stopped with a gun to the head, just like this." Arnold said.

The hammer hit the chamber.

It clicks empty.

With all six chambers spent from the revolver, it became obvious that the weapon was never loaded in the first place; the threat only an illusion to illustrate the point of Arnold Shortman. Lowering the weapon away from the idle Buckley Lloyd, he gave out a sigh as he made his final point.

"But I can't do that. That's not who I am. You know that. I know that. I've been someone who takes the high road, to make things better than they are. You swim in how bad things are, fighting fire with fire in hell. You thrive in places like it. You need it. You're a killer. But you actually produce results. The Jolly Olly Man is gone, and so are his followers. All it costed was the last person you had to call a friend, a price you were more than willing to pay. I wasn't so willing to pay for everyone else's deaths, but they still happened, and there was still results that came from their deaths. No matter how many times we try to people we save, good people die, but so do the worse ones. I won't ever kill a single person... but, because of that, I might not have done anything other than just make things worse. That's my nature, just as your nature is to kill." Arnold said.

Tossing the weapon on Buckley's chest, he let the weapon lie as he walked away, no longer wishing for an audience with him.

"And I cannot change my nature anymore than I changed yours." Arnold said.

Through the lens of his unconscious mind, Buckley still took notice of the revolver laying down on him, reflecting on the dialogue that Arnold had shared with him. His mind, with no drive left to move his body, was left as but in the playground of his own thoughts, reevaluating his own sense of morality and ethical code.

Still, the questions are not enough to drive him to rise again, leaving him to lay still in his bed.

Leaving behind the display of flirting with death, whether true or deceptive, Arnold turns away from his past action with shame. He does not take pride in what he has done, but, through some manner of justification, he rationalizes that he needed the experience to clear his mind. Perhaps he did.

Through all his troubles that he has faced, a false game of Russian Roulette could hardly be called his worst offense. Still readed and brought down with the overwhelming negative feelings that he accrued from the last death on his hands, the thought of a bullet through his brain seems not too bad compared to having to still sort out what he thinks.

Watching Lila Sawyer die when he had still unresolved feelings for her, he is stricken with feelings of grief. Knowing of her past crimes and misdeeds, some of those on him, he feels guilt for ever caring for her in the first place. Realizing that Helga watched as he cried over her knowing that their own relationship still laid in crumbles, he has unspeakable feelings of self-hatred.

Bumping into the one and only Lars Rodriguez, his thoughts are cut short by the brief and accidential encounter. Before giving out his dismissal to Lars, Arnold realizes that he was given an interaction with the one and only person that he cannot feel guilty when lashing out on.

Taking advantage of the situation for himself, Arnold chose to stay in place, crossing his arms at Lars.

"You wanna say something?" Arnold asked.

"Yeah. How the hell do I get your burnout friend to get off my back? He thinks I'm his boyfriend now or something." Lars said.

"Oh, somebody actually likes you. Good for you. Funny how it took a burnout screw-up to be a match for you, huh?"

Surprised to hear an insult to come out of the mouth of Arnold, Lars raised his eyebrows in shock, intrigued to hear more.

"...Did I hear that right? Did you actually just insult me?" Lars asked.

"Aw, what? Did that hurt? Gonna cry?" Arnold asked.

"No, I ain't no pussy. And while we're at it, I ain't gay. That's what White Boy thinks. But, no, I'm just surprised at the fact you actually insulted somebody. You're like, the reincarnation of Mr. Rogers or something when it comes to everybody else."

"Yeah, well, I didn't lose somebody I really cared about then."

"What, Pedo-bitch? Man, fuck her! Why do you give a shit? Did you know she told me in great detail about how she fucked some little boy? I mean, I used to jerk off in front of my teacher's huge titties in the 3rd grade, but that's a new level of fucked up."

"That 'pedo-bitch' was someone I had a lot of feelings for when we were both kids. Unresolved feelings that neither of us really worked out, and built up to something bad in her head because of what her father did to her when she grew up. Regardless of what she did, I still would've helped her. Just like Willie, just like Wolfgang."

"The cannibal and Nazi? They were totally too far gone, dude. Don't beat yourself up."

"Nobody's too far gone. Despite what you think. That's what-"

"'That's what some old-ass nigga in the jungle told me to do, you're a total monster that doesn't care about anybody, blah, blah, blah-' Fuck you, man! I know I'm a piece of shit. I've done pretty much every sex crime that this country has a law for, killed some people, and did other shit. I don't need some uppity asshole telling me what I am! I know what I am!"

"Of course you do. You're a rapist with no conscience to speak of. You don't care about anything but your own pleasure. You don't care who it hurts, what effects it has on people, you just care about taking someone else's body for your own."

"Uh... I'm starting to sense a little projection here. Is there something I don't know about?"

"I know what it's like to be raped. Someone... Someone did it to me. Everytime I look at you, remembering how many people you've hurt, I remember that same pain I had to feel. As much as I need you, I can't stand you."

Lars took in Arnold's news with a cautious pause, thinking carefully on how to comment on it. As true to his nature, his question is the wrong thing to ask.

"Was she hot, though?" Lars asked.

Angered at the dismissive question, Arnold's scowl hardened with teeth beginning to show; his jaw clenching down tight.

"Lars... You just don't get it, do you?" Arnold asked.

"What? What's your problem?" Lars asked.

"What's my problem?. An old flame I had is dead and I couldn't help her, all my friends and family are dead except Sid, and my fiancee is sterile and ran behind my back as a French-accented vigilante, and our relationship is most likely broken beyond repair. Does that answer your question?"

Lars tilted his head in curiousity, interested in hearing more.

"Your girlfriend's sterile?" Lars asked.

"Yes. She lied about her pregnancy this whole time. She can't have kids." Arnold said.

Lars seemed to lean in, waiting to hear more. Thinking Lars could not fully undersand, Arnold repeated and clarified himself.

"She can't have kids. She can't get pregnant. Her uterus does not work." Arnold said.

"Yeah, yeah, I know what that means. But what's the problem?" Lars asked.

"The problem is that she can't have kids. Do you not understand that?"

"No. What, you actually want to have kids?"

"I did. Unlike you, I actually have interest in starting a family and having a future. But we can't. Even if there were some way, I don't think there's any way we can fix what we had. Everything we shared together, everything we worked for... gone. And it's my fault."

Realizing that Arnold was in far greater an emotional slump than anticipated, Lars reevaluated his thoughts, trying to offer his help.

"Okay. Your girlfriend's baby motel turned out to be a Roach Motel. It's not the end of the-" Lars began to say.

Enraged at the trivialization of Helga's reproductive issues, Arnold grabbed hold of Lars, throwing and pushing him against a wall. Thinking that this was the moment in which Arnold would finally snap and lose his patience with him, Lars believed his own death to be near, leaving him to scream loudly and girl-like.

"STOP TREATING EVERYTHING LIKE A JOKE! I ACTUALLY CARE ABOUT SOMETHING! DON'T YOU CARE ABOUT ANYTHING?!" Arnold shouted.

"Hey, man, I was saying that the girl's more important!" Lars said.

Confused to hear an introspective opinion to come from Lars, Arnold lowered his guard, allowing him to speak more.

"What did you say?" Arnold asked.

"I said, the girl's more important. At least, that's what I hear in those crappy rom-coms. I had this one girl drag me to almost every fucking one put out in theaters, but she was dripping wet and ready everytime after. You know, she'd got pregnant so many times, and had so many abortions that she called her own cuntflaps the 'Cemetery Gates'." Lars ranted.

Annoyed with Lars once again sharing unwanted personal stories of his many sexcapades, Arnold released his grip on him, groaning in annoyance at the information shared with him. Still trying to offer his help in the bizarre, demented way he offered it, Lars refocused on the moral, moving past his previous comment.

"A-And also, the, uh, the movies would always show the guy and chick working things out by talking it out. They'd always say some gay shit- I mean, something about how their love's more important than anything else. There was this one movie that said: 'Love Conquers All'." Lars said.

Once again, Arnold stopped in his tracks, contemplating on what Lars had just said to him. The final phrase spoken out in particular, 'Love Conquers All', found itself sticking inside his mind. Listening more carefully to Lars again, Arnold turned back towards him, continuing their conversation.

"'Love Conquers All'. Where'd you hear that one?" Arnold asked.

"I don't know, man. Some stupid-ass movie she took me out to. You see one, you see 'em all. I left her for her 15-year old sister." Lars said.

Once again, Arnold's interest in Lars' introspection led to frustration, leading him to sigh in annoyance again.

"You know something, Lars? As horrible a person as you are, all the people you've killed, raped, or god knows what else, as completely stupid as you come off, there's something else about you that makes me barely able to stand you. I feel like there's something somewhere in you that has potential to be better. If you wanted to be, you could be so much smarter a person, kinder, and more productive to the rest of the world. I look at all that missed potential, and I can't help but turn my head and sigh when I know you won't even look at it." Arnold said.

"You got it wrong, man. I ain't somebody that can be better. All I know how to do is fuck up people's lives. I actually like it. Getting people to hate me, that just makes it all the more fun. Just be thankful I'm not the Freak or any of his, thankfully, dead buddies. I may be a bastard, but I'm not a fuckin' bastard." Lars said.

"No, Lars. You got it wrong. I can see people better than you know. I tried to be somebody that others can look up to so they can be better, too. A symbol to look up to."

"I might be an asshole, but even I can see that some people can't be helped. You always go on and on about how you're supposed to be this big symbol to help people, how you're supposed to inspire others. Well, if you're so inspiring, then why the fuck are we here? Why did this whole city go to hell? Why won't you just call a spade a spade and take out the bad guy?"

"Because I actually believe in something. Because I believe in what I do, and I wouldn't be anything more than just another actor of violence. Because I fight with purpose and meaning, to try to right the wrongs that I see. Killing is wrong, and I will not cross that line. No matter what. I don't care how many comparisons or arguments you make at me, I'm not changing the way I am. This is who I am." Arnold said.

Having no more need to speak to Lars, Arnold turned away and continued on his way at last, seeking out solitude.

"Because I believe Love Conquers All." Arnold said.

Walking away from Lars, Arnold made his way to the roof of Lloyd Manor, seating himself on the roof to find a place to rest. Sitting alone on the roof, he crossed his arms and legs, hoping to curl himself into a singularity; trying to keep every part of him to himself and away from the rest of the world.

Grieving all the losses he has suffered, how many that have died over the course of this war of morality fought on the battleground of Hellwood, Arnold began crying over those who had perished. He remembers a time when he would be given comfort by a strong man and woman that he called father and mother, but, knowing that never again would he feel their comfort, the hurt is all the worse.

Unable to do anything else but cry, Arnold does so in full, showing no intent of stopping.

But, for one moment, it does stop. A gentle, warm hand laid on his shoulder, with the same form of authority and strength that he recognized from a parental figure. Looking up to the owner of the hand, he was met with a warm smile from the same person, greeted by the astral projection of Luz.

"You have fought hard to gain life once again. It is not wise to spend it in sorrow." Luz said.

"Luz. I just lost everyone I ever knew. How could I not cry? Have you ever felt any sort of loss this big? To lose your friends, family, your home, your city, and the person you loved?" Arnold asked.

"Not all of that is lost, Arnold. You have still your city to fight for... and your love to cherish."

"But you know everything that's come between us. Baise-Moi, the fake pregancy, all the fights we've had, is there any going back after that?"

"Foolish and malicious as Lars is, he speaks a great truth: 'Love Conquers All'. So long as you love her, and so long as she loves you, there is nothing you cannot conquer as one."

"Even if I believed that, what about the city? About Hillwood? So many people have died, including people I knew and loved, and those I tried to help. How did everything go wrong? I was supposed to be a symbol for people to believe in. To be something better. Just like you taught me. Why hasn't it worked?"

"You mistake me, Arnold. I have brought you up to be greater, but not a symbol. A symbol is but a symbol; an image or idea. It has no feelings or thoughts of its own. It does not have nuance and emotion like you do. No man is a symbol, not even you."

"Then what am I supposed to be to lead others?"

"A hero. Someone with the ideals and principalities of a symbol, but the heart and mind to enforce them. To be a person who can be believed in. To be known. Never has there been a symbol that survives the ages, but the legacy of a human can be eternal as time itself."

"But I've tried to be better. To be above it all. It hasn't worked."

"Of course not. It is not the way of a hero to be superior or act as such. Though you possess your powers which make you physically stronger than most, it is not these power which give you your meaning. It is the drive to be the savior to those who need one, and inspire others to save themselves and others. You are not to be above the problems of others, but understand them and offer the help to overcome them."

"That's not what I mean, Luz. I mean being better by not making mistakes of my own. Everyone has suffered for my mistakes, both those still living and dead."

"Everyone makes mistakes. It is part of being human. Being human is the first step to being a hero. If one were free of being human, free of feeling and thinking... Well, then, we would never truly be a hero, because we would forget what makes one a hero in the first place."

"Then how am I supposed to live with those mistakes? Live with the fact that people have died because of my actions? Died because I wouldn't kill Curly?"

Luz gave an uncomfortable sigh, clearly not prepared to give the best answer to the question.

"It is... difficult to forgive or even live with mistakes such as ones that cost lives. But that is a cost of being a hero. One must be prepared to take on such banes and crosses, to live with them so that they might fight for a better tomorrow." Luz said.

Placing his hand back on Arnold's shoulder, he directed his attention to a balcony on the roof, pointing out Helga standing alone on it.

"But not every mistake is one that must be compensated for. There are some you can repair, that you can set right so that they may be free from your mind. Your own love with Helga is one. Just as we said before, 'Love Conquers All'." Luz said.

Dissipating back into the unknown as quickly as he came, Luz left his student again with the task of reconciling with Helga. Knowing of all the wrong that had come between one another during the trials of the past months, their entire relationship coming to crumbles, he knew that such a task would not be easy.

Nonetheless, to have her love once again, to have at least one person for him to share a personal connection with, he knows that it is all worth it. Brushing aside his personal grievances aside, moving past negative emotions in favor of seeking postitive ones once again.

Stepping down from the roof to the balcony, he slowly approached her, not wishing to rush his way into this uneasy conversation. His slow approach gained the eyes of Helga upon him, putting their interaction to a beginning and their conversation all the inevitable now.

Uneasy at the mind, all Arnold can give to start is a simple greeting.

"Hey." Arnold said.

"Hey Arnold." Helga said.

Ashamed from her own actions, Helga turned her head down to the side, not able to face Arnold.

"Listen, I'm... I'm really sorry. For everything." Arnold said.

"No. You don't have to apologize. Everything's my fault. I shouldn't have lied to you about... You know. Me. Being Baise-Moi. Testing you. Not being able to have children." Helga said.

Holding her hand up to her face, Helga pushed back tears, trying not to let them out in front of Arnold.

"I don't have any right to be here right now. I'm no good for you. I keep doing the wrong thing, and I keep making you suffer and myself. I... I don't know why I can't just do the right thing." Helga said.

Walking up to her, Arnold took her hand from her face, holding it in his own hands as he looked upon her face.

"Helga... You shouldn't beat yourself up so much like this." Arnold said.

"Oh, I shouldn't? I lied to you about me, about our future together, I tried to kill you, and I don't deserve any punishment for what I did?" Helga asked.

"It was me that pushed you to doing what you did. I didn't put enough of my trust in you, and wouldn't let you make your own decisions. I was trying to keep you safe, but I never realized that you're just not the person that I can hold down. You've always been your own woman, even when you were too young to be alone. I tried to be patient with you, but I keep losing control over myself. Anytime I get so mad, I always do something I regret. Like when I... when I first hit you. That made me feel so horrible for so long, and it still does. You just do what you know how to do. You act like you do because you were raised that way. I wasn't raised to be some angry, hateful person, but I can become one when I get too angry. I don't know why I do that. I've said and done horrible things to people when I get that way, like when I take it out on you... or... what I said to my parents before they died."

With her hand in Arnold's, Helga put her free hand on top, holding him back to comfort his own grief.

"I'm sorry. I loved them, too. They were the best parents I could have asked for, even if I got them way too late. It felt good being part of a family. I... I would've loved to see the looks on their faces if they had a grandchild. I'm sorry I couldn't give that to you." Helga said.

"It doesn't matter. You're worth more than your womb." Arnold said.

"But you always wanted a family. You talked about having kids for the longest time, and you were so eager to keep fighting when I lied to you."

Realizing that his own dreams would not come to fruition, Arnold gave out a sigh, thinking of a satisfactory answer to give.

"I still love you. Even if we can't have any children, that doesn't make you worth any less to me. You're still the most important thing in my life. And one of the last few good things. Everyone else is dead." Arnold said.

"Like Lila?" Helga asked.

"Helga, I... Lila was..."

"You still had feelings for her."

Once again posed with a hard point to retort, Arnold uncomfortably searched for an answer to give, trying not to upset Helga any further.

"I did. And it's my fault for not sorting them out. I know that I love you most, I still felt something tug at me from the past. We were just kids with crushes, but... We were still each other's first. It's hard to forget about something like that. When I saw her, I thought I was just being a friend to her, but I didn't consciously realize what was going on. And that night... That's probably the worst thing I've done just below hurting you. I still don't know why I did it. No... No, that's a lie. I know why I did it. I was trying to just let out the pain I felt, and trying to feel something with her just once. I guess that one crush just never left my mind, just left to fester in me. It's one thing to regret something you've done, but regretting something you haven't done can really eat you more. I guess part of me regretted not taking it further to find out what was there, before I had you." Arnold said.

Clearly getting uncomfortable from the truth he let out, he let out one final thought with an unhappy laugh.

"You know what the real tragedy of all of it was? The whole reason her and I were even a thing in the first place? It was this stupid chalk drawing everyone in school saw that said 'Arnold Loves Lila'. Rumors started to spread around, Lila started to like me, and I started to like her. Before that, I never even really gave her a second glance. She was nice, but I never saw her in that way. Not before that drawing. If only that damn drawing wasn't there, if nobody'd seen it, maybe it would've turned out to be nothing. I still have no idea who drew that or why." Arnold said.

Hearing every last piece of personal torment come from his mouth, knowing how deeply Arnold felt anger at himself for his own infidelity, Helga felt all the worse for his emotional state. To see his eyes water from the confession, to hear his voice break under the speech, she felt the blame for his state.

Remembering her own childish mistake of drawing that very mentioned chalk drawing, seeing the consequences of how a simple action could have such an impact on her life and his, she feels more guilt that he does. Whether justified in guilt or not, she knows that deep down, after all she has done to him so far...

...she believes herself to be the cause of his anguish, and she would rather he hate her than herself.

"I drew it." Helga said.

Suprised to hear what came from her mouth, Arnold turned to Helga in confusion, still not believing what he was hearing.

"What?" Arnold asked.

"I made that chalk drawing. The one that caused all the rumors." Helga said.

"But... But you couldn't have drawn it. You said yourself you were in love with me, so how could you have drawn that? Why would you draw that?"

"It was a mistake. I wasn't thinking when I drew it."

"What do you mean?"

"I was... acting out one of my little childish fantasies. Thinking about how I would have you as my prince or something like that. I don't remember what I said. But I remember what I did. I took a piece of chalk, walked right up to a wall, and I wrote 'Arnold Loves Helga'. Then, I started to hear people coming. I still wasn't ready to tell you how I felt, and I didn't want anyone else to find out. So, without thinking, I changed it. I erased my name, and wrote hers. 'Arnold Loves Lila'. I ran away, and I didn't think about what would happen after that. But when I started to hear the rumors go around, I knew that I made a horrible mistake. I hadn't put much thought to it since then... until now. When Lila came back and you started to feel things for her... and you slept with her. I tried to tell you then, and I've tried to tell you so many times since then. But you wouldn't let me. And you got tangled back up in that same web I made. I made you fall in love with a monster, and I based it all on a lie. I made you suffer because I couldn't tell the truth. Like I've always done."

Hearing the truth come to his ears at last, Arnold's mind was sent into a fury of emotions; not one could he process in full.

On one front, there was a sense of relief that came over him for the guilt of his relationship with Lila, knowing that there was never any true feelings to begin with.

On another, that same relief brought forth further guilt, realizing that he had put all of his focus on her for nothing.

On another, he knows that Helga is the reason for this entire mess's existence, leaving him with a sense of anger towards her.

On another, he understands that Helga's actions were merely childish mistakes, and his actions ultimately still his own.

On another, he still feels the guilt of not saving Lila, not having a chance for her to hear the truth, potentially saving her from her madness.

With all the emotions that roamed free in his mind, however, there was still one that stood out from all the rest, and screamed the loudest in his mind:

Rage.

Feeling the blinding shroud of rage come over him, his eyes began to grow wide, his teeth mashed against one another inside his mouth, and his fists clenched hard and tight. Breathing in and out to control himself, there was little in the way of expression left to give, leaving his body at a standstill while his mind raced around inside.

Not knowing what effect she had on him, Helga reached out to Arnold, hoping to know what laid inside his mind now.

"Arnold? Will you say something, please?" Helga asked.

Helga's request was met with nothing but silence; Arnold left at an emotional standstill to process his emotions.

"Arnold? Will you please say something? Anything?" Helga asked.

Helga once again received no answer, left growing desperate for a taste of Arnold's thoughts.

"Will you please tell me something? Say anything! Tell me you hate me, tell me you never want to see me again, please! Just say anything!" Helga said.

Rather than give her any verbal response, Arnold simply turned and walked away, moving to the bathroom. Following him in hopes for an answer, what she received instead was Arnold's next course of action, unorthodox and unexpected from the news he had been given.

Taking a razor in his hand, he shaved away the beard that had grown on his face for his month-long coma, letting the hair fall away into the sink. When concluding his shave, he wiped away the residing shreds of hair with a towel, tossing the cloth aside when done.

Walking past Helga as if she were not present, he moved onto his costume, beginning to change into it. Pulling up his pants, zipping up his shirt, strapping on all padding, he finally concluded his change with his harlequin mask over his face, fully assuming the identity of the Green Eye.

"Arnold?! Will you please say at least one thing to me?" Helga asked.

Still not granting her the final request, the Green Eye stepped back to the balcony, climbing up onto the ledge. Taking a leap off the edge, he made his way down to the ground, heading directly into the city of Hellwood once again; walking on without any sign of emotion showing from him.

Watching on as he left her once again, Helga turned and curled herself into a fetal position, crying as she blamed herself over what Arnold had just done. Believing her actions as making his situation all the worse, even perhaps hating her for the rest of her life, she cried and continued to do so for as long as she knew possible.

During her suffering, she remembers an age-old saying: 'No good deed goes unpunished.'

Angry and hateful at herself as she was, the Green Eye carried much different emotions. Having too many thoughts in his head to work out all at once, and no one else he can speak to in order to work them out, there only lies one final purpose ahead of him left:

Save Hillwood.

Before, he had tried to be peaceful, fighting only when push had come to shove. He had made deals for peace and attempts to offer help to others to convince them to the side of good. He had done all he knew to give a better option for peace, but had not paid off. It had not worked.

Despite all his efforts to create peace in Hillwood once again, there was still violence and hate and pain all around him, all clouding his mind and weighing him down; their pain seeping into him and bombarding him constantly. All the time he had tried his hand at the high road, going higher when others would go lower.

But not anymore.

He is done with the carrot. It is time for the stick.

No More Mr. Nice Guy.