>>34044044John McAfee flicks open the cylinder of his Smith & Wesson revolver and empties the bullets, letting them clatter onto the table between us. A few tumble to the floor. McAfee picks a bullet off the floor and fixes me with a wide-eyed, manic intensity. "This is a bullet, right?" he says. "Let's put the gun back," I tell him. I'd come here to try to understand why the government of Belize was accusing him of assembling a private army and entering the drug trade.
But he explains that the accusations are a fabrication. "Maybe what happened didn't actually happen," he says, staring hard at me. "Can I do a demonstration?" He loads the bullet into the gleaming silver revolver, spins the cylinder. "This scares you, right?" he says. Then he puts the gun to his head. My heart rate kicks up; it takes me a second to respond. "Yeah, I'm scared," I admit. "We don't have to do this." "I know we don't," he says, the muzzle pressed against his temple. And then he pulls the trigger. Nothing happens. He pulls it three more times in rapid succession. There are only five chambers.
"Reholster the gun," I demand.
He keeps his eyes fixed on me and pulls the trigger a fifth time. Still nothing. With the gun still to his head, he starts pulling the trigger incessantly. "I can do this all day long," he says to the sound of the hammer clicking. "I can do this a thousand times. Ten thousand times. Nothing will ever happen. Why? Because you have missed something. You are operating on an assumption about reality that is wrong."
I'm not seeing the world as he sees it. He opens the door to the bungalow, aims the gun at the sand outside, and pulls the trigger. This time, a gunshot punctures the sound of the wind and waves. "You thought you were creating your reality," he says. "You were not. I was."
He pulls the spent cartridge out of the chamber and hands it to me. It's still warm.
https://www.wired.com/2012/12/ff-john-mcafees-last-stand/ 