On The Origin of The Wolf

[Espi]

((The 'real' beach was nicer.))

Random broken shit aside, it was actually a really pretty view, Johnny had to admit. It was also empty of anyone but himself, which was a perk. Wouldn't stay like that forever, though. He knew better.

Johnny had the shotgun laying in the sand next to him, while he sat on the ground with his legs out in front of him. He'd been here for a while, maybe half an hour. Just thinking. Didn't have much else to do. His thinking wasn't exactly good, though; stuff he didn't want to think about, but he had to.

Sunny was going to miss him. His parents too, probably, and his siblings, probably the folks at the shelter would. Not the others at Subway but fuck them. He wasn't going to get to college after all. He didn't think he'd care, but he did. He didn't have a lot to lose, compared to a lot of kids who had fucking millionaire parents, but he didn't want to lose it.

So now what? Kill people until he died, or didn't die? Yeah, murder was bad, but fuck, so was dying, being murdered, this whole goddamn thin. He killed people, their friends would come after him. He didn't kill people, people would come after him anyway. Either way, he was armed, and if they knew he was dangerous, maybe they wouldn't fuck with him? He'd die either way, and so would anyone he did try to kill, unless they were going to win. And if it was them or him, was that any better if he did it on purpose than if he just let it happen?

They gave rewards to people who did stuff, right? A weapon and a meal or something. God, Johnny could go for a steak now. But he was never going to get a steak again, unless they gave him one 'cause he blew some bastard's brains out. Well gee, the choice is obvious then, isn't it?

Fuck. Johnny sighed and buried his face in his hands. He didn't want to die. That was basic fucking science. Living things don't want to die because that's how evolution worked. For the past five billion years, the things that wanted to live would live, and they'd have kids who wanted to live. And that's why these fucking terrorists gave their stupid game that fucking name. How much do you want to live? Are you willing to do literally anything to live? To have a slightly better chance?

Johnny stood up. The more he tried to deny it, the more he knew what he was already deciding on. He didn't want to do it. He didn't have to do it. But he didn't want to die, and he didn't have to die. Johnny spat on the sand. He'd kill someone if they went after him. If he had to make that call right then and there, that was what he had to do. He'd done that with Gervais and he'd been okay. If it was him or someone else, he had to pick himself.

But then, what was the difference in deciding that in self defense or whatever, and doing it to someone preemptively? Was that any better? Did that make it okay? Well duh, his instincts told him, killing people isn't ever okay. It's tolerable, maybe, but not okay. But those were his person instincts, his growing up in a society where they tell you that for 18 fucking years. And where was society now, huh? They weren't helping him. His animal instincts, the ones that he was born with like everyone else, everything else, told him to be afraid of death, do whatever he could to survive.

He started walking.

((The woods were shrill with the warning calls of birds.))