Tommy,
I miss you. I hate admitting that because it makes everything feel final, and I refuse to believe this is final.
You did things I cannot defend. You though killing the 30 felt kinder to you than letting them keep suffering. I was angry at you for that. Part of me still is.
But you were hurting too. You were alone for too long. You kept trying to save everybody with whatever broken pieces you had left, and nobody came soon enough to show you another way.
You deserved more than being reduced to the worst thing you did while desperate. You deserved the chance to change your mind.
This is not a goodbye page. This is a porch light. This is us marking the way home.
I don’t know where you are now. I don’t know what the 30 have done, or which parts of you are still reachable. I only know that you went back carrying a message, and that does not mean you stopped mattering when you disappeared from sight.
I am sorry every choice became survival. I am sorry you thought you had to become cruel to be useful.
You are missed. You are still part of this. Leave a sign. Break something. Send static. Make the lights flicker. Do whatever you have to do so we can find the thread.
Keep holding on, Tommy. We have not forgotten you. We are not leaving you there.
— Jess