the ultimatum ↬ elliot alderson ✔

<trustw0rthy01.dat>

It's here. The day has arrived.

Some people get easily anxious when they see change. Change makes people afraid. But this change is something we all deserved.

I fumble with the trigger, trickles of damp blood dripping down the handle of the glock. I wasn't meant to do this. Shit. I feel the contact of his blood with my hand. It's sticky.

But somehow, I don't find it disgusting.

I don't know why I did what I did. Mr Robot made me, I know he did.

Let's run through the facts for reassurance.

Angela called me. She was at Evil Corp, with that asshole- Phillip Price. She was scared. I knew why she was crying.  She told me her boss is still panicking over the AllSafe hack that's crushed Evil Corp three weeks ago, which they still haven't recovered from. They lost 20 million dollars in the past three weeks, which is quite damaging after the Anonymous hack from two months ago. 

She knows that the company is at risk. I should be glad, but I can't rejoice over this victory.

These are facts, I did not make this up. These are facts.

I stare again and the darkness, lowering my gaze to the man in a suit. I lick my lips nervously.

Is this a delusion? Shit.

It's not. This is real.

The body shows no hint of movement, but is it too late? He's losing blood- and a lot of it.

I focus on my surroundings. I'm at the top of the Evil Corp headquarters, on the roof. But, how did I get here? 

Did I black out again? No. Is this a dream?

This can't be real. I cover my mouth, but the blood from the palm of my hand sticks to my cheek. Fuck.

Shit. have to be imagining this. This can't be real.

I kneel down beside the man, whose blood is staining the solid concrete of the rooftop.

I know. I know. I shouldn't have done this.

I shouldn't have.

I get up from the ground, the sound of my heels crunching on the concrete making my heart race. I drop the gun to the ground, landing with a thud next to the body.

Did I do this? Did Mr Robot do this?

No... I did this. I shot Tyrell Wellick.

***

<One week earlier>

I lick my lips nervously, like I always do. I don't have time to feel nervous. I can't risk losing this. 

Friend, I know you're there. You have to help me. There are always two voices in my head, constantly buzzing like a zapper being plugged in my brain. 

I have to find the courage.

I take a seat on one of the lounge chairs at Ron's Coffee, at the spot where I usually meet with the rest of fsociety.

You're probably wondering what fsociety is, friend. I don't blame you; I didn't recognise my moves until now.

I remember. I remember the damage I had after my father pushed me out of the window of my childhood room. The damage made the memories all entangled like thousands of strings; all connected at one focal point.

I hear the door open again; it's happened hundreds of times in the past half hour I've been here. I know there's a valid reason this place is so well-known, and I'm gonna tell you why.