Second chapter woo! I ment to upload this sooner, but my computer is so crummy.

Thor was hungry. How long had he been in this hell hole?

He used to be such a big man. He still is big but not as big as he used to be.

He wished there weren't as many people. Maybe he would get more food if there weren't too many people.

It was hard, at first, eating the food that they gave him. The bread was stale at it was hard to swallow. It did not sit well in his stomach.

He used to be a bookkeeper. Numbers were more comfortable for him. People were too chaotic. They were so inconsistent in their body language and what they said. He would sit alone with all those numbers and he would think. Think of his homeland. He missed Norway but he was still glad to be in the land of opportunity. Sure, it gets tiring correcting people. He was not Swedish. He was Norwegian, but they all would laugh and tell him they were sorry for the mix up. They'd forget again and he would have to correct them again. They did not even bother to remember that little fact of him but he got used to it.

People were confusing. They were so nice to him. They would smile, he smiled back and stumble around to greet them properly. They would talk to him and he would try to respond. He knew enough English yet it was still hard for him to actually talk to others. He just wanted for them to leave so he could get back to his numbers but he did not want to outright tell them that. They leave and he was content to go back to his numbers. Numbers weren't confusing.

He would hear their whisper. They were so nice to him up front and he was nice back, but they say things. He's strange, too cold, too controlling, unfriendly, etc. They made fun of him whenever they thought he wasn't listening. He put up with it. He did not want to cause any disharmony among people.

He joined the military and he was a quartermaster because he liked dealing with numbers. Supplies always had numbers attached to them. Supplies equaled numbers.

He was helping his new home fight against disorder. He did not fight in any battles, never even saw any. He did not think he would be able to handle all of that disorder.

Then he became prisoner of war and he hated all that disorder. He hated that place. He hated being hungry. Food was another comfort for him, and now that comfort was scarce. The numbers were scarce and he was losing so much numbers.

Why aren't they adding up?

The people were so skinny, as was he. They kept dying and dying, and all he could do was watch. Some of them would go to that place where they weren't supposed to go and get shot and die. Some started to eat whatever they could find. Dirt, twigs, it didn't matter. He even tried doing that, but he was still hungry.

He woke up one night because his arm hurt. He had collapse earlier during the day because he was just too tired/weak.

Some man was biting his arm.

Thor grabbed something with his other arm and used some of his strength to push that man off. He used that thing he had in his other hand and he stabbed and stabbed and stabbed. He even gouged the man's eyes. When the other man was good and dead, Thor realized something. That man had meat on him. Meat was food.

He needed to hide his food. He needed to eat. The hunger was just too much.

The eyes were the first to go.

He felt sick but he had food. The man tried to eat him after all. It was only fair, right, just.

He hated (himself) the disorder of that place.

The place was rotten.

The world was rotten.

If the world was rotten then he must become even more rotten than the world...

...To do what's right.