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A Degenerate
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So Sebastien treated himself to a hearty breakfast of water and a Slim Jim, because apparently something reasonable like trail mix or dried fruit was too much to ask for. He'd found his "weapon" while digging for food and immediately tossed it away, and it quickly became obvious that the only thing useful in that backpack was the food and the first aid kit. It almost might have been funny if it didn't irritate him like hell. Oh yeah, and it spelled almost certain death. That too.

While he ate, he tried to get his thoughts in order by reviewing the facts of his situation. The world's worst cram study session.

So, fact one: I, and probably a lot of people I know, am on a televised death game.

Fact two: All my friends are idiots and will probably fall down a hole if someone doesn't keep an eye on them.

Yep, that more or less summed things up. He sighed and let his head fall back against the seat, staring at the theater ceiling. So here he was: lost, alone, with hardly any useful supplies, and forever the designated driver.

Someone called out close by, and Sebastien quickly sat up straight again, holding the half-eaten stick of beef jerky like it was something he could defend himself with. Whoever it was didn't repeat themselves, no gunfire or any other sounds of weaponry.

Sebastien took a deep breath, swallowing around the sudden lump in his throat. "Hello?"
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Killer Munchies · The Cigarette Holder Theatre
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