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don't take no guff
[ * ]
There was absolutely no hope. No hope to escape that grim fate in any way, no hope to change anything about their world short of a fully-armed uprising, and even that wouldn't have helped the really small folks (mice, skunks, otters, whatnot) unless they magically pulled three-dimensional maneuver gear out of their rectums somehow.

By pure accident of birth, every single herbivore (and no small amount of carnivores) who lived or chose to continue living were condemned to helplessly watch every minute, every day, every year, every generation, as their number were winnowed en masse, family, friends, perhaps even themselves - until they finally died, and that would be that.

Whoomp whoomp whap his hits land glancing. One strikes the painful arm and sends flares of throbbing agony to the brain again. Ignore it, rush--!

Perhaps they could console themselves with statistics and one in ten-type declarations, burying their fear and pain under a tidal wave of emotionless numbers. Maybe they conditioned themselves culturally to adapt somehow.

Maybe, maybe, maybe. In the end, the only remotely dignified way out Wade could see was suicide, and it had the same result as all the others, just a mask of angry defiance to distinguish it.

This next one is close. This next one is closer. ARGH!

He couldn't help but wonder about those who did try to rise up, his imaginary counterfactual counterparts (and there should've been, there are dissenters in every society and all that) They must have known the impossible odds, the sheer strength of their so-hated enemies. Why would they choose to take up arms in a losing battle? Knowing himself...


... they'd weighed their options, and realized: what else could they do?

Matt's pipe came down fast, unrelenting, undodgeable. In his heart, Wade knew it was a losing battle. From the very beginning, there was little nothing to do except kill himself or pass the time until something or someone else did the deed for him. Given the choice, why the latter?

A slim chance beat certain death. There was nothing else to do, and nothing else to it. All his regrets weren't much in total, faced with the bullets. Just his favorite moments with family, friends, and everything else. A faint desire to see them... only one last time.

That was that, and it just had to be enough. Because a moment after that



Matt's last and greatest blow struck his skull lengthwise, causing it to crack and cave in just enough that his frontal and prefrontal lobes alike were shredded beyond repair.
2015: V6 Incident
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Prey Empathy · The Warehouse