The Inner Monologues of a Disposable Foot Soldier from a Video Game

Tuesday, 2:15 A.M.
 
Well, today has been exciting. Donald, Ben and I have all been standing around for about 4 hours patrolling a completely random segment of open area that was sprinkled with a few strategically placed explosive barrels. I’m still not entirely sure what we we’re keeping safe: the random and highly explosive explosive barrels, or large open area of nothing that leads to another area of nothing filled with more guards (Ted, Ramon, Alfredo, Sam). The barrels can’t possibly be important to the Boss’ master plan. These things get explode-y with a stiff fart. You can’t keep nuclear codes, or whatever, in something that temperamental.

 
Anyway, yeah, this job sucks. When I signed up for this job — I’ll admit it — I was suckered in by the brochure. “Exciting Locals!”, “Adventure at every corner!”, “Senseless Murder!”, “Crushing all of the world’s hope!” I’m not saying that it was a complete lie, I mean, I have senselessly murdered at least 80 people since I started this gig, but the adventure thing was a bit exaggerated. It seems all the adventure is being hogged up by the Boss and his closest minions. Like that one guy with the scar down his face and the electricity hands; the other day I saw him hanging off a helicopter while escaping from that douche bag American Hero that wants to put an end to all of our evil plans. God, what an ass that guy is. I loath him. If I ever get my hands on him I’ll –

AHH! There he is! He’s here! He’s really here! I’m…I’m gonna go kill him know. BRB.

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Anyway, yeah. What was I saying? Something about a guy trying to foil our plans, or something? Yeah, I don’t remember. I vaguely remember a gravely-voiced badass springing from the shadows with a surprise attack, only to duck back in to the cover of darkness as he muttered something about not wanting to be seen, and “trying it again when the exclamation points aren’t floating over their heads.” That dude’s crazy, man. Wait…what dude? What am I talking about? I don’t even remember a guy popping out of the shadows.
 
Ah, screw it. Nothing happened. I guess I’m just going to talk to Donald and Ben some more. But Donald’s dead. His throat is sliced. Hm. Who could have done that? Whatevs. I gotta stay focused. I’m on patrol, here.
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Tuesday, 2:30 A.M.

I was talking to Ben about Donald’s dead body. He can’t figure it out either. It’s like we both remember that something happened, but neither of us can remember if something happened. Whatever. Dead Donald or not, we have a job to do, and I’m fulfilling my role in this vast international conspiracy of evil by standing here (now in warehouse hallway #245587!) and talking to Ben, loudly, about what we know of the Boss’ master plan — kidnapping the president’s daughter, nuclear missiles, something about awakening a long-dormant war god. It’s all a bit sketchy, seeing as all we know has been gleamed off of encrypted inter-terrorist organization memos and idle radio chatter.

That dead Donald thing is really bugging me, though. Can throats spontaneously rip apart? Is that a feature of the human throat?

What was that sound? I could have sworn I just heard something…

…It was nothing. Just the wind. The wind and bullets. That always happens at this time of night. The wind blows, bullets fly, your buddies die mysteriously after they turn a corner.

And, hey! Look at that! When something piques my interest, I do get an exclamation point over my head! God, I really hope it isn’t the side effect of a belligerently malignant tumor.
 
Now with Ben being dead and all, I think I’m going to call some more guards in to check things out. Something fishy is going on here, and us guards are going to get to the bottom of it and make the Boss proud. Maybe he’ll give me some sweet-ass powers and a promotion? Fingers crossed.
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Tuesday, 2:43 A.M

He’s here! The badass hero guy is here! I’m taking heavy fire, using this explosive barrel as an excellent means of protection! I called in reinforcements, but it seems that our terrorist training is failing us, because as soon as one of the guys runs in through the door, he gets shot. Then one of the guards behind him will yell “Saaaaam! I will avenge you!!” then they run in through the same door and get shot. Then the guy behind him will be all like, “Alfredo! Noooo! I will avenge yoooouu!!” Then, well, he’s dead, too. If this keeps up, the only door out of this room will be loaded up with bodies and I’ll be trapped here with this psycho that has a deranged love of stomping on people’s heads and tea bagging the remaining pieces of our faces, and all while his body absorbs our bullets and converts them in to rage – rage that I think he uses to slow down time. I know. Crazy, right? But I swear this guy is making time slow down, because when a normal person leaps through the air to perform a sideways, gun-blasting dive, that shit takes like 1.5 seconds, tops. This guy seems like he’s being carted along majestically through an 8-movement symphony of my friend’s death gurgles.

I don’t get it?! Why are we loosing? We’re running in to rooms in a single file, just like the terrorist training manual said. We’re hiding behind highly sensitive explosives, just like the manual said. And, I just took cover behind another explosive barrel that Ted was hiding behind just before he was shot in the head, because the American Hero badass guy had a clean shot at him. I mean, all that stuff makes sense, right? It’s only logical to assume the precise position of a person that got killed assuming that precise position, right?

Damn it, whatever. Screw this. I’m gonna go for broke. I’m going to take this guy out, even if it’s the last thing I do. Now, I have to remember my training. What is it that the terrorist manual said in the chapter about ‘Last Stands’?” Ah, yes. “Run directly at the ‘Hero’ with your gun pointed at him, but only fire until he has fired upon you about 7 times.”
The manuel has kept me alive this long, and it may just keep me alive a little bit longer. Here I go.

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Nope. I’m dead. Who knew that that highly sensitive explosive barrel was so highly sensitive and explosive?

I think my sternum and some bits of my pelvis are being tea bagged right now.