DRAFT SCENE SEVENTY-ONE
Vincent just back from a talk with Mr McPherson. All these kids just came into the Academy, sucked into their own personal drama like it meant anything. Vincent knew the world, knew what’s important.
Vincent is looking out the window, not certain he wants to be out in the lounge with the shifters and sorcerers. They knew, or at least, they suspected. They knew he wasn’t like them. That he would never be like them. It unsettles him. He was okay when he could fake it, when this weight of who he was, what he did was only seen by him. But if the others knew? It would all come crashing down. He would lose all redemption. He could lie to himself right now. He could pretend that what he did was honorable, the only choice he had to save their lives. Once his secret got out, that option was gone and he’d have to face the monster he really was.
He didn’t kill to save. He killed because he hated those men and women. He hated them so much he couldn’t bear to let them live another day. If he wanted to save those shifters and demons, he would have done it years ago. He would have been brave, like Fox who cared only about his family back home. All he had to do was mention an opportunity to fight back and Fox was ready. Vincent never fought back, he gave in. He grew small, complacent, and rigid all to survive in a situation where others didn’t.
He shouldn’t have survived. He should have fought. He should have saved them or died like all the others.
Hears arguing through the door and shakes his head. They were falling apart, afraid. If only he could have killed that bastard.