Pseudocide @givethemtriumphnow

Staying still, staying silent. 

It had become… not second nature, no, but an instinct that he had honed until it was razor sharp: another weapon in his arsenal that he deployed at will, not bound to it by irrational fear.

And so Burt Gummer stayed still and silent, until long after the flames had been doused, until the calls of his name had petered out, until the sound of grief and burial cairn-making had ceased.

Until the last footsteps faded into the distance, and he could no longer hear any breathing but his own.

It was only then that Burt Gummer opened his eyes, and the whites of them became visible against the thick red mud and orange gore he had been coated in.

Smudges of black and grey ashes further broke up his outline, and clung to him as he pried himself out of the sucking mud that wanted nothing more than to pull him back into it's clinging embrace.

With a long sigh, he squinted at the carnage, all that was left of the queen, Burt scraped away some of the offending mud from his eyes and spat out the clay that had coated his tongue. He walked forward with purposeful strides towards the cairn that was his grave.

Burt Gummer was dead.

He took a brief moment to examine the mementos left behind, but his gaze was drawn to two of the objects in particular that adorned the rough cross.

He smiled. 

Tugging the blue cap onto his head, he placed the sunglasses on his nose and welcomed the respite from the glare of the sun. 

Then, he turned his back on his grave, and set off towards the coast, the one opposite of Jazz's camp. 

He'd have to make his own raft, but he had done so before, and on much worse islands to scavenge from. 

He wasn't sure where he was going yet, but he had the entire rest of his life to get there, with no more 'missions', no more Graboid hunts, and no more Big Brother looking over his shoulder.

After all, Burt Gummer was officially dead.

And no one could interrupt a dead man's retirement, now could they?

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