The generator’s hum is the only thing keeping the night quiet. First watch. Everyone else is asleep, or pretending to be. Found myself thinking about Claire again. Not the way she begged me for my cum last week, desperate and clawing at my back. But before. When she taught me how to track deer. The way her eyes would light up explaining the difference between a broken twig and one chewed by a rabbit.

Now she just looks at my cock like it’s the only part of me that matters. They all do. My dick is a fucking key, and they’re all just locks waiting to be opened. Their pussies are just the wet, warm holes I use to turn that key. Sometimes I want to scream that I’m more than the load I pump into them. That I had a name before I was ‘The Source’.

But then I see a shadow move beyond the wire, and the thought dies. The generator sputters. Fuck. Back to reality. Their survival, my sperm. That’s the ugly, simple math of it all.