This is insane.
This is absolutely fucking insane.
Honest wasn’t particularly one for swearing but, right about now, he felt that the occasion most definitely called for it.
Just how in the hell did he end up in this mess?
All he remembered was something crashing through the window of his restaurant, this odd smoke and then passing out in his kitchen. Next thing he knew he woke up in a classroom to two obscured women telling him that he was involved in a fight to the death. A televised fight to the death. Where in, if he refused to participate, this stupid, cold, god-forsaken collar around his neck would blow his head off.
This is insane. Absolutely fucking insane.
Honest sighed, taking the map out from his sports bag and checking it again, holding his compass in the other hand. If he was correct, which he highly suspected (he had an impeccable sense of direction), then he should be in D-04 by now. Good, the farm shouldn’t be too far now.
Honest bit his lip as his stomach flipped around. What was he going to do? What could he do? He couldn’t kill someone! He’d never dream of doing such a thing! But he didn’t want to die, either…
He groaned, his head started to hurt as he went over the issue again and again. Kill or be killed. Kill or be killed. Kill or…
The knitting needles clinked in his bag as he walked, only weighing heavier on his thoughts. Fine. You know what? Fine. He decided. He’d deal with this whole…”fight to the death” thing when he needed to. If he needed to…well, he’d defend himself. He wouldn’t deny that. But as for killing…he’d cross that bridge when he got to it.
Hopefully he’d figure out some way of getting this god awful collar off of himself before then.