[If pressed, he doesn't know if he'd describe life as a game. But there are structures like it is one- there are ways to lose, so there are ways to win. There are ways to play it right, so there are ways to cheat. People have been trying to wrong him his whole damn life- deadbeat parents, relatives who would only feed their kids and not him, a birthright of being unwanted. He's cheated his whole life. But when he can't win, when the deck finally falls? He has to get better. He just doesn't know how.

He feels like he's barely breathing, a hand having worked itself up to the side of his head, gripping hard at his hair. An old nervous tic. An almost literal grasp on his mind, like something's going to slip if he lets go.]

I don't know. Some of 'em.

[He can't think about Kravitz now, Kravitz who he fucking ran from and left there and probably never wants to fucking see him again. Another thing, lost.]

It's just... what's the fucking point. If they can kill us whenever the fuck they want, just for fun, just because they want to, what's even the fucking point?