The Pound

[Salic]

If there was one thing that John could describe himself as, it was sore.

After leaving Angelo and Zora at the snowfield, he'd trudged on for hours, but Juanita was nowhere to be found. In fact, he hadn't met anyone else over the course of the first day, and he somewhat missed Angelo's and Zora's company. Sure, one may have been incompetent and one may have been caustic, but having someone was still better than wandering through a lonely, desolate forest all by himself. Still, as a wannabe soldier, he convinced himself that loneliness, in terms of urgent treatment, ranked several levels lower than a paper cut, and he kept pressing forwards.

He eventually made it to the lower mountain pass before realizing that he was just too tired to continue. His legs were leaden and it seemed that his body had squeezed every drop of lactic acid into them. John slept in a secluded area between a rock and a hard place, protected from any sort of theft or harm until the morning.

===

The sudden squeal of the speakers elicited a startled yelp out of the formerly asleep John. He bolted upright, furiously twisting around in shock, only to be confronted with the voice of Danya wailing over the loudspeakers. The First Announcement had come, and all he could do was perk his ears up and listen closely.

By the time the announcements were over, John was already on the move, his legs setting a pace that was practically half-jogging as he marched. Although he was glad to hear that Juanita, Angelo, and Zora were alright, he felt overwhelmed by the fact that eleven of his classmates had been unceremoniously killed. There were no accidental deaths. There was no mercy involved. All eleven of them were killed simply to improve everyone else's already astronomically small odds of living. A rotten slime roiled in his gut, made up of nothing but sheer shock and disgust. But then again, it was like this every version, wasn't it?

John had morals. He had guidance. Violence was always out of the question unless he had been struck first. It was a simple rule he'd formulated years ago, back when the twins had lost their father figure and he had to step up to the plate. But what about violence against others? When others were being led like cattle to the slaughter, who stepped up to protect them? Who stood up to the butchers who relished in the blood they shed? Who stood up to people like Katelyn or Janice, who had cut short the lives of not one, but two of their fellow classmates on the first day?

In every school in every version, there had always been people who acted like rabid dogs, maiming and mauling all who crossed their paths. Rabid dogs needed to be put down for the safety of everyone around them. It was common sense. Someone had to play the role of animal control to take the dangerous ones away and protect those who couldn't do it themselves.

And if John didn't step up to take that role, then who would?

A grim determination fueled his speed. A frown carved its way across his face. Animal control was dangerous, and thankless, but it needed to be done. Under the watch of John Milton Davis, the rabid dogs would find no sanctuary.

((John Davis continued elsewhere))