(Agh! My b! Was busy with irl stuff. Thankfully,
@Noneless21 took care of that 'event'. Also, did I mistype deprecating as decapitating? Damn my weak grasp of English, if so!)
With moralistic platitudes running through his mind, Randall made the moron-like choice of running back into the small town that he helped ruin, leaving behind his bag of loot. "...!"
To explain, guilt was, without a doubt, one of the strongest motivators in the world. That is what Randall thinks, anyhow. Frankly, it was the only way that could explain the festering sensation of uselessness and self-loathing in his heart due to his crimes here: which was only strengthened once he uselessly stood by and let somebody else save a fearful child.
Truly, being a tad bit insensitive is important for survival. He thought he could've handled this amount of bloodshed with the heart of a true man, and his greed being satisfied with all of the loot. Unfortunately, his heart was weak, and his resolve of counting this bloodshed was weaker, at this moment...
"Hey! Is anybody here!" He called out to any unfortunate survivors with his hands cupped around his mouth. "C'mom, c'mon! That child was proof that not everybody here is dead." He harshly whispered, wandering frantically like a devil wrought with guilt. "There has to be a chance to fix all of this - or at least make myself feel better...!"
