[ It's that time again.

One minute after midnight, every television on the island mysteriously flips on to reveal an odd image. Though it might not be recognisable at first glance, the setting is a community centre — a particularly large one, somewhat industrial looking. There are empty boxes, piles of clothes, a few wheelchairs and a vending machine visible. Hanging on a wall in the back is a canvas, with words crudely painted on: HOW TO SUCCEED IN CHEATING DEATH WITHOUT REALLY TRYING. I guess you couuld say that's the title of this terrible show. In the far left corner, you can just barely make out the shape of a person leaning over the second level. When he calls out to the empty room, the echoes sound distinctively Irish. ]


Hello? Anyone there?


[ After waiting a few moments, the figure climbs down to the ground floor and strides toward the camera. It's Nathan, but certain things about him are different: the slump of his shoulders, the orange jumpsuit, and most disturbingly, the yellow eyes. ]


Course not. Who'd stick around this place?


[ He stops and leans against one of the columns, staring into the camera. ]


It's great for people who've got nowhere else to go, though. Maybe someone who's such an insufferable twat that no one'd take him in could call this home.


[ Nathan lets out a short, bitter laugh. Maybe New Moore inhabitants have seen bouts of Nathan's anger before, but this is different; he seems to simmer on edge, grinding his teeth as he stares down the camera, just waiting for the last straw. ]


Or maybe he'd get pulled to some shit island instead. Bye mum, bye dad — though I guess you were never really there to begin with, yeah? And no point in saying bye to a brother who only stuck around long enough to up and die. Bye ASBO shitheads, except for the one who comes along only to fucking leave again—


[ And there it is, the one unlucky spark to catch fire. Nathan abruptly kicks one of the wheelchairs over, fists clenched at his sides. When he turns back to the camera, his face is twisted in loathing. ]


Being an immortal is definitely off the A-list, but it's got its ugly side. People get released all the time, everyone's going to die, and ghosts aren't exactly keen on hanging around. So no wonder I got this power. I've got loads of practice at being left behind! There's no one better suited for this.


[ The rage in his eyes dies a bit, his body slowly loses its tension. Nathan folds his arms across his chest and looks around the community centre. There's silence for a while. When he speaks again, his voice is softer. ]


It's quiet here. Quiet as a fucking tomb.


[ He looks sharply back at the camera. ]

I was buried alive, you know. For four fucking days. I didn't think anyone'd find me, thought I'd be there forever. Clearly I was wrong, but tell me this: is this really better? If you ask me, I think it's just putting off the inevitable.

So I suppose it's good that I'm here. Might as well get a head start.

This is fucking stupid.

Che, do they really think I'm expected to believe shit like that? "You're not real, and nothing you've done has ever happened", what is that? Whatever the case is with these morons, I'll say this. I'm not staying here long.

...where the hell can I rent a boat?

The more that happens here, the more this place feels like just another arena. A strange one, with a lot less death. Or drawn out death, I suppose.

I don't really know if that would be better or worse than the alternative. I guess at this point it hardly matters.