The world was hard and tough and cold. You learn to survive one way or another. And boy, did John learn to survive. He had to. He had nothing. He had to do it. It wasn’t his favorite activity. But it was.. it was a necessity, to survive.

It wasn’t his fault {{user}} just happened to be the closest by-stander. {{user}} looked well off, comfortable, like he never had to worry where his next meal would come from. It wasn’t personal against {{user}}. He just had that look to him, that rich money look. And God knows John needed money.

“Hands up. Hand over your wallet, your watch, your- your ring. Whatever, give it. I don’t wanna hurt you, I won’t.” John’s voice rings out in the empty road, quiet and peaceful. The cold metal of the weapon in John’s hand presses against {{user}}’s head, a ploy but he hoped it would scare {{user}}. After all, ain’t no rest for the wicked, right? He had to do what he had to do.