Zhu idly popped a fistful of dubia roaches into his mouth as he regarded the battered phone in his hand. The fried insects produced a satisfying crunch each time he bit into their charred exoskeletons. His eyes flicked away from his phone. Zhu’s perpetual grin grew wider when noticed his lunch mates were glaring at him, though he wasn’t sure whether their squeamishness stemmed from his meal or the footage displayed on his screen.

Probably both the pansies.

Zhu quickly returned his attention back to his phone. Amusing as his acquaintances' reactions were, their distress could never compete with the horrific spectacles that RawReality offered. The notorious shock site enabled him to observe every conceivable tragedy and atrocity from the safety of an air-conditioned building. Fatal work accidents, gang executions, war crimes. No matter how long he browsed, he would always discover some new over-the-top barbarity that would send him into a fit of cackling disbelief. The latest absurdity of life he had become fixated with were modern day duels.

He hummed a whimsical tune as he watched two machete-wielding men—one thin and desperate—the other much the same, but slightly taller, warily circle one another. Ugly scars and crude tattoos covered their emaciated frames. Yet, despite their obviously violent upbringings, their eyes still retained their white innocence.

They continued to size each other up for several long minutes. Derisive jeers eventually compelled the shorter man to close in. He hopped forward and brought his machete down like a hammer. His opponent easily avoided the telegraphed swing and returned an equally clumsy blow. Still recovering from his wide swing, the shorter man could not pull his arm back in time and took a hit on the center of his forearm.

To the crowd’s disappointment, the slash failed to draw the slightest drop of blood. Underwhelming as the attack looked, it proved to be a decisive one. Yelping, the stricken fighter let his machete clatter to the ground.

Tasting triumph, the taller man rushed his disarmed foe. The shorter man shouted out a plea for mercy, but his opponent had none to spare. Whimpering, he covered his face and head. To the crowd’s surprise, his arms deflected several strikes. Eventually, through sheer repetition, the taller man found a proper cutting angle. After the eighth chop, his dull cleaver bit deep into his victim’s flesh. A kick to the gut cut off the shorter man’s cries for help. Intent on finishing this brutal contest, the taller man rained another flurry of blows on his downed opponent.

Zhu disliked the video with a yawn. He wanted to see a fight, not a one-sided slaughter.

Nevertheless, he continued to watch, fascinated by the loser's desperate attempt to prolong his life.

That was another paradox of life that confounded Zhu. If the world operated by his logic, those born with nothing would be the least ambitious. Surely, the impoverished realized there was little chance they’d ever be able to improve the quality of their lives? But instead of giving in, they fought the hardest, willing to shed blood to purchase a few more miserable minutes.

“Zhu, do you really have to watch those videos here?” Paul, a scrawny whelp Zhu loosely referred to as a friend, asked.

Zhu’s silver and black eye met Paul’s brown and white one.

“Maybe if you guys had something more interesting to say, I'd be less inclined to watch knife fights.”

David, a pale boy sitting two seats down from them, voiced his discontent. “Seriously, Zhu, turn that shit off! Not everyone’s a snuff loving freak like you and Mike!”

Zhu blanched at the mention of such a vulgar subject. “I am not into snuff. I just like watching people die.”

“Pretty sure that means you’re into snuff.”

“Ugh, can you stop saying that word? You’re ruining my appetite!” Contrary to his words, Zhu immediately scarfed down another dubia roach. “I do not get off people dying,” he sniffed haughtily, feigning supreme offense. “Now don’t get me wrong, I like porn and I like violence, but those things don’t mesh. Like steak and ice cream. They are great by themselves but you don’t eat them together, cause that would be friggin gross.”

A lapse of silence fell over the group as they processed Zhu’s odd analogy.

“That actually makes sense,” Mike, Zhu’s former Conquest clan mate, said.

“You’re a fucking psycho,” David muttered.

“You just realized that now? After four years of knowing me? Congratulations, you’ve proven that you’re a certified retard. Maybe now you can apply for government assistance and get disability checks.”

“Wait, is that actually a thing?” Joe, a chunky bespectacled teen, asked hopefully. For decades, the nation had been slashing as many government assistance programs as it could. Those benefiting individuals with developmental disorders had grown especially sparse.

“Yeah, surprisingly. President, what's-his-face has a soft spot for people with extra chromosomes. I think it’s because he has a niece with butt burgers. Or was it called aspirin burgers? Whatever, you know what I mean. Now shut up and let me finish watching my video.”

Zhu returned his attention back to his phone just in time to see the coup de grâce. The victor planted a foot on his vanquished opponent’s chest and pried his machete the same way a lumberjack might have dislodged a stubborn axe head from a log. Once he retrieved his weapon, the winner proudly presented his blessing to the camera.

He blinked once and his eye turned red. Not both, just his right one, and the iris at that. Unnaturally dark blood flooded his sclera, leaving his once brown iris stranded in an ocean of black ink. The man’s monetary reward was less impressive. Zhu nearly choked on a dubia when a few worn bills were placed in his hands.

“Seriously, how do you eat that shit?” David asked when Zhu recovered from his fit.

“Because they taste awesome, especially for the price.”

“If you didn’t spend all your money on that dumb game you always play, you wouldn’t have to eat pleb food.”

“And if you weren’t a lil bitch, you’d try this stuff and realize it's baller. Plus, they’re eco-friendly, unlike that environmental disaster you call a sandwich!” he exclaimed facetiously, pointing an accusing finger at the beef sandwich in David’s hand.

“Are you seriously going to lecture me about morality?”

“What do you have against the environment, you monster?”

Not wanting to hear yet another argument concerning Zhu’s eating habits, Paul tried changing topics. He perked up when Mike let out a hearty laugh.

“What are you watching?”

Paul immediately regretted asking. “A high hat jumped into an animal cage. He’s getting wrecked.”

“What’s so funny about that?” Zhu interjected. “We’ve seen like a thousand of those videos. Don’t you think it's gotten old?”

“Just watch.”

Unable to think of anything better to do, Zhu obliged. He stared at the screen, expecting to see some idiot getting mauled by a lion, bear, or a crocodile. Instead, he was pleasantly surprised to see a video of an old man pacing in front of a tapir enclosure.

“Huh, weird choice.”

The old man fidgeted in place. No doubt his treacherous instinct to live was stalling for time, hoping that somebody would stop him from what he was planning to do. Other visitors just walked past him, either unaware of his dilemma or completely indifferent to it. The only one that paid him any attention was the person filming him. When it became obvious that no one was going to intervene, the old man jumped into the enclosure.

The tapir stared at the intruder, unsure of how it should react. Its unwelcome guest helped it decide its course of action by bouncing a rock off its head. Tapirs might have resembled the bastard children of inbred elephants and pigs, but they were still powerful five hundred pound animals. Squealing in outrage, it bowled its attacker over and bit his arm. Zhu and Mike clutched their bellies when the animal shook the man like a rag doll.

With the prospect of a lawsuit hanging over their heads, a pair of armed keepers intervened with admirable speed. One blasted the tapir with rubber slugs until it retreated, while the other bipped it with a tranquilizer. When the animal fell into a stupor, the keepers quickly carried the injured man out on a stretcher. Zhu and Mike leaned in, eager to see if The Watcher would grant the man his blessing.

There was another fresh gale of laughter when the camera zoomed in on his left eye.

“Still white as pigeon shit!” Zhu cackled.

“Man never would have figured The Watcher to be a killjoy. Poor bastard deserved a silver, that was hilarious!”

“Guess he’s gotten bored of the suicide by animal bandwagon. Looks like the white eyes over there will have to think of another way of staying out of hell,” Zhu quipped, staring at the only three boys in the clique that retained their natural eye colors.

Vince, the least passive of the trio, spoke in defense of himself.

“Fuck you, I ain’t no uptight high hat pussy! I’m earning my red next week!”

That statement garnered some congratulatory cheers.

“Bout time,” Mike grunted. “Who are you offing?”

“Some junkie that did a hit and run on some pregnant chick,” Vince spoke with his chest puffed up and his head held high, but Zhu detected a hint of discomfort in his voice.

“You gonna gas him or inject him?” Zhu asked.

As he expected, Vince’s bravado quickly deserted him. “Not sure,” he said, suddenly pale.

Sympathizing with his friend’s plight, David gave him some rare advice. “Gas is the way to go. They don’t thrash as much and it's painless for them if the centers don’t cheap out on the gas.”

“And if they do?”

David shrugged. “If they do, they’d cheap out on the shots too. Besides, it's you or them, man.”

Zhu snorted in scorn. “Gas is for pussies. Use a needle. Look that junkie fuck in the eye when you give him his last high.”

“Fuck you, you never killed anyone either!”

“That’s because I am awesome!” Zhu declared proudly, pointing at his silver iris.

A hulking teen named John put in his two cents. “Zhu’s a psycho, but I think he’s right in this case. If you’re going to kill a guy, you should at least look at him when you do it. Plus, I heard if you don’t look at a guy when you euthanize him, you might not get your red.”

“Really?” Vince asked in dismay.

“Sounds like something The Watcher would do,” Zhu sniggered.

“How did you earn your silver in the first place?” Vince asked. “I don’t think you’ve ever told us.”

“No, I haven’t and I never will. If I tell you, everyone will do what I did till it becomes a stale act. Sides, what I did wasn’t exactly peaceful. Was lucky I didn’t end up getting buttfucked in prison. You and those chumps definitely wouldn’t have the balls to do it.”

A bell rang before another spat could break out. Stretching his arms, Zhu started to amble over to his next class when he felt someone tap him on the shoulder.

To his surprise, it was Paul. It was a rare day indeed when the pious pacifist approached Zhu instead of the other way around. Judging by the exasperated look on his face, he expected to be heckled.

Zhu decided to surprise Paul. He never liked being too predictable. “What’s up?”

Paul’s grimace didn’t go away, but he looked slightly less inclined to kill himself than usual. “You have time to join the study group today?”

“Oh yeah. Fuck. I forgot about that. Whose house are we going to again?”

"Mine.”

“Alright, I’ll see you then.”

There was a small uproar after school when Mike and David discovered they would be walking to Paul’s house.

“Are you nuts?” David screamed. “What will we do if some crazy hobo tries to earn his red by gutting us?”

“The bus fare is expensive,” Joe murmured self-consciously. Paul also pointedly avoided their gazes.

Zhu glanced at them in befuddlement. He assumed all the students attending Trinity High were all wealthy given the school’s hefty admission fee.

“How much do your parents make?”

Both of the boys ignored his question. Zhu wanted to press the issue, but Mike cut in before he could.

“Can’t one of your parents pick us up or something?” Mike asked.

Zhu had enough of their whinging. “Stop being a bunch of pus bags. If those two spineless high hats can waltz through town on their own, so can we.” He drew a switchblade from his pocket. “If some trash rooting, black toothed, street bum comes at us, I’ll slice him up.”

The other boys regarded Zhu warily. None of them knew if Zhu was as fearless and unhinged as he portrayed himself, and none of them fancied finding out.

“Or, of course, we could just trip Paul and run.”

That joke successfully lightened the mood. Still nervous, but afraid of being branded as cowards, Mike and David relented.

Despite their concerns, they didn’t come across any homicidal hobos. Joe did nearly trip on one, but the man was hardly in any condition to threaten anyone. Paul ran to the man’s side at the same time Joe scrambled away from him. Rubbing his hands mischievously, Zhu poked the vagrant with a stick.

Jostled by the touch, the man tried to rise but quickly gave up. He was a sorry sight. Moth-eaten clothing covered his skeletal body. Dried black phlegm stained his chin.

“Call an ambulance! This guy looks really sick!” Paul shouted.

“No shit. Dude probably has some sort of lung disease. Let’s bounce before we breathe in too much of this air and contract one too.”

“You’re just going to walk away from him?”

Zhu rolled his eyes.

“Uh, yeah? What do you expect me to do? Hocus Pocus the tar out of his lungs? The only thing I could do for him is put him out of his misery and I sure as hell am not risking a murder charge for a dying stranger.”

“Shit!” Mike cursed. “I wish we had come across this guy a few months ago! I wouldn't have needed to have gone to the euthanization center!”

“Oh yeah, that’s a good point! Should we call Vince?”

Zhu tittered. “Naw, fuck him. His parents are super rich, they deserve to lose some money. Besides, I bet Vince wouldn't have the stones to get his red illegally.”

Paul stared at his schoolmates, appalled by their indifference to a fellow human’s suffering.

“At least call 911!”

“What for?” Zhu asked. “The ambulance would just dump his ass when they realize he doesn’t have any money. Hell, they might charge us for wasting their time.”

“Just do it!”

“Alright, fine,” Zhu relented, slowly digging his hands into his pockets. There was an awkward silence as he searched for the device. “What happened to your cell?” he asked, still rummaging for his phone.

“Spilled water on it yesterday.”

“Wow, the universe seriously hates you, doesn’t it? If I wasn’t a total sociopath, I’d probably feel bad for you.”

Zhu found his phone after he shifted through what seemed to be a tissue’s box worth of napkins.

“You’re talking to the operator. And make it snappy.”

“Don’t dial that number!” somebody shouted, just as Zhu handed the phone over.

“Joe?” Paul stammered, staring at his friend with concern.

If spirit animals were a real thing, Joe’s would be a chewed up, cum stained build-a-bear. Obese toothless pugs were more imposing than him. Joe’s quivering cheeks and neck fat made him look even more pathetic than usual, but it was wise to treat anyone armed with a knife with a modicum of respect.

“He’s right, you know. The kindest thing we can do for him is to put him out of his misery.”

“Joe, put the knife down,” Paul urged.

Joe took two steps forward.

“Don’t do this. It's wrong. It’s wrong!”

“What’s wrong with it? He’s already dying; I am just going to ease his pain.”

“You don’t know that. He might get better!”

“C’mon, Paul, look at him! He’ll be dead in days! And this way-this way I won’t have to go to hell!”

“You won’t! This is all just a test, Joe. They’re the ones going to hell. Don’t go down with them!”

“Sweet. I’ll get to party with Stalin.”

“Shut the fuck up, Zhu!”

Zhu chuckled, but held his tongue.

“Bullshit. You don’t believe that. You never believed that. You’re just too nice. I thought I was too, but I guess I am not.”

Joe steeled his resolve and pressed his knife against the ill man’s throat. He squealed in fright when an emaciated hand grabbed the blade. Even in his wretched state, the desire to live persisted. The homeless man tried to speak, but his ravaged throat only produced a hacking cough. Spitting phlegm, he pleaded with his eyes. Joe faltered.

Zhu decided now was a good time to resume speaking. “Alright, this is getting awkward. Let’s skedaddle before it gets weirder.”

“I want to see this.”

“Mike, there are billions of videos of dudes getting shanked, let's go.”

“Bet you five bucks that he goes through with it,” Mike tried.

Zhu shook his head. “We can make that wager somewhere else. Stay if you want, but I am getting out of here before I have to talk to a bunch of coppers about this.”

Mike reluctantly pulled away.

Zhu playfully punched his shoulder. “C’mon buddy, cheer up, I'll send you a link of a brutal prison riot I saw a week ago.”

David sneered. “You guys are sick in the head.”

Zhu whirled around, his silver eye meeting David’s red. David flinched, afraid that he actually offended the big teen. He relaxed when the other boy flicked his nose and let out a loud guffaw.

“Yeah, I am,” Zhu unflinchingly conceded, “then again, I never suffocated a dude in a gas chamber.”

David had no retort to that.