“what if it was called sexbear instead lol,” I say, scarcely heard over the breeze rustling through the trees overhead. The air between us is taut, a wire on the edge of snapping, before the first man breaks. A fast exhale turns into a hearty guffaw, and soon the firing squad is in hysterics, clutching at their sides.

“Why, we didn’t realise you possessed such wit,” gasped the captain through tears of mirth, “please accept our most heartfelt apologies.” I size up the man in front of me. A mere 6 foot 3, with biceps the size of watermelons, I realise that he is no threat to me. In one swift motion I bring my hands to his throat (I had escaped from the handcuffs prior) and snap his neck like one would break a twig. The other men have no time to react before I am on them, clawing in bestial rage and rendering them giblets.

I depart the camp bathed in the blood of my rivals, arm in arm with a beautiful woman who had passed by, and was drawn to my wild physique. I think to myself on the events of the day. In the end, I’m a wolf in a dog eat dog world, and you better believe I’m hungry.