He watched with barely disguised contempt as she took the first dose of poison. They were all going to do it, each of them. But he would hold out the longest. Not because of hope. Because he was stubborn. He’d decide when it was his turn to die. If the rest of the sheep wanted to get it out of the way, good riddance.
Molly’s death was painful, as they all knew it would be. She embarrassed herself with her crying and wailing and the final betrayal of her body’s decency. He wouldn’t let the rest of them see him like that. Not him.
Sam went next, because Sam always went second. He never did anything scary or hard first, but that just made him a coward. He tried to take an extra-large dose, hoping it would kill him quicker, but the system wouldn’t let him. His death was more pathetic than Molly’s, and he cried the entire time.
Then Tammy. Then Allison. Then Kyle. Kyle was more stoic than the rest, but everyone knew he would be. He’d once dropped a sledgehammer on his toe and only muttered curses under his breath. He didn’t even cry when they cut the darned thing off.
And then at last there was one. He looked at his dead colleagues? Comrades? Companions? Not friends – he held them too far in contempt. Collateral damage. That was the better term. He looked at his collateral damage and spat. First on Molly. Then Tammy, just to anger Sam in the afterlife, if there was one. Kyle he kicked until his body made a sound like a scream. Allison he ignored, like he always had.
Then he took his poison and died too. There was no record of how he died. Just the way he wanted it.