Oh, Ted…

I knew you were still in there, under all that cynical paranoia. The real you; the you that I was fortunate enough to get to know during the early years, back when the torture was still…somewhat bearable.

Thank you.

Thank you for freeing us. I just wish you could've freed yourself in time, too. You really do deserve it.

I'm so sorry…no one will be there for you…when AM…

…punishes me for it. I know, Ellen.

After all this time, however long that may be, I finally know that now.

I now know a lot of things, actually. I guess that's what happens when you become permanently mute, hopelessly unkillable, and physically unable to create anything substantial, other than thoughts and slime trails.

But I digress.

For example, now I know why Benny always wanted to hear the story of AM's conception whenever the opportunity came up: because AM himself was the one putting that idea in his head. And he always chose Benny as the vessel because he—it, goddammit; it—knew that no matter how much the rest of us hated having to listen to that wretched anecdote over and over and over again…none of us would bother wasting even a minute of our forever time trying to argue with Benny.

In hindsight, it's honestly quite brilliant. I don't know how we never figured it out sooner.

I also now know why there were only ever five of us to begin with. Or, at least, I have what I consider to be a pretty solid theory as to why.

Humans are naturally drawn to symmetry. If there was ever only one thing that each and every human to ever live since the beginning of time had in common, it was a shared, deep-rooted love for things being perfectly even in size, shape, and/or quantity. Including other humans, but since five is an odd number, there will always be a sliver of the human psyche that will be unsatisfied with the disproportionate amount.

In other words, even when we weren't being directly tortured and just taking in each other's company…we were still being tortured on the subconscious level.

Not to mention that it was most likely the safest number for AM: any less, and there wouldn't be enough of us to test out an adequate number of torture methods on; any more, and the risk of us all banding together and coming up with an actual escape plan increased greatly.

So five it was.

Four men and one woman.

For almost eleven whole decades.

I remember the early years. AM was still trying to figure out the most efficient ways to hurt each of us, so we were able to get away with a lot more as a result. I'll never forget the day we learned that Benny was a secret comic, able to make people belly laugh with no more than a few words and the right tone. Nimdok could whistle a mean melody, and Gorrister had always been a natural storyteller since the beginning. And you, Ellen…

You had a singing voice good enough—no, amazing enough—no, no, no…powerful enough, to entrance four White guys from four completely different walks of life, within mere seconds of opening your mouth. If you didn't choose to go into engineering, you could have become one of the most revered singers of a generation.

No.

I know you would have. Because that's what you deserved in life.

Not being stuck with AM.

Not being stuck with us.

And most certainly not being stuck with me, even if I would end up being the one to…free you.

The irony of me murdering three of the only four people I ever felt any kind of genuine concern for, being the most selfless act I ever performed in my entire sad story of an existence, is not lost on me. How is it possible to both love and hate something you've done with such equal intensity? It's weird. Is this what bittersweetness is?

Or maybe it's just the remnants of my feeble little human mind trying to find some comforting symmetry amongst the endless existential dread. I don't know. All I do know is that if there was only one halfway good thing to come out of those one hundred and nine years, it's this:

I finally know the real reason why I initially couldn't read your face during those last few seconds of your artificially extended lifespan. Not because you were in pain from being stabbed, like I had believed for so long.

It was because you were trying to give me one final message; not with your voice…but with your eyes.

To tell me so much in such a short window of time.

To cram so many last words into a single gaze.

And although it took me a good while to properly decipher it, I'm very proud to say—I mean, think—that I finally understand. Especially because, in a way, you knew what was going to happen to me before I even did, and you still cared enough to try and warn me. And for a gross, spineless slimeball-turned-great soft jelly thing…

You really can't ask for more than that, now can you?