The barrel is hot to the touch, I’m not sure how many full magazines I have left and I’m pretty sure the one in my rifle is running on empty. My eyes are stinging from the sweat dripping from my brow, the sun is too bright and too hot, and every part of my body burns in some way, be it the cuts and scratches caused by the flying debris or the strain I’ve been dragging my muscles through.

I see two targets and send some lead their way, I see a slight puff of red smoke as they dive into cover, but I cannot confirm if they’re neutralised. I relay the information to my squad, who do the usual.

They send Ares.

Ares sprints through the street, ignoring cover, ignoring the rounds that blast through his body and into the ground behind him. He sits behind a destroyed car for a few seconds, as the holes in his body close up and the left-over metal ‘plinks’ to the ground. He then jumps onto the car, not sliding over it or moving past it, but literally jumps onto the car before jumping back down to the ground. Ares charges their position, rounds the corner, and unloads a full magazine of his fully automatic rifle into their bodies. His arm swings out, throwing the magazine metres away, before overacting his reload, spinning the box in his hands before ramming it into his gun and pulling on the bolt with flare.

“Who the hell is this guy?” I say, with some fear in my voice.

“Ares, it’s certainly a fitting name. A literal God of War.”

I nod as I watch him continue, before the squad and I follow his lead.

“Ares! How do you do that-“ I’m looking straight through him, his eyes are somehow hollow. He stops all movement for a moment, like he had lost control of his body. Then he sprints straight into me, knocking me over, causing me to fire a few rounds into the air as my finger slips over the trigger.

“What the hell- Ares!”

He is running into a wall, jumping against it, like some kind of mental patient desperate to escape the confines of his padded room.

Blood hits the ground, before it is instantly sucked back into the wound, which immediately closes around the retrieved blood.


“Give me the controller back! I haven’t finished the level yet!”

“Mum said it’s my turn on the xbox!”

“You can play after this level!”

“Boys! Dinner time!”

“Fine. You can finish it after dinner.” The younger brother sprints off downstairs, and the eldest sits back in front of the tv to find his allies staring at him questioningly.

“This game sure is realistic…” He chuckles to himself, before pausing it and running downstairs.

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