“Holy shit! Contact, contact! Get to cover now!” Sergeant Marco threw himself against the nearest slab of jagged rubble. His remaining squad mates nearly collided with him in a mad scramble to escape the firing line of a yet unseen enemy.

“What the fuck happened?” asked Private Porter. “I didn’t see anybody! Did you see anybody? I didn’t see anybody!”

The five surviving members of the fireteam gaped at the dead bodies of their comrades. All of them had fallen in the same a quick burst of automatic rifle fire.

“Private Jorge, did you see what happened?” asked Marco.

“Yeah, I got shot in the head and died. I don’t know how they got all of us at once. GG, guys,” said Private Jorge over the team voice chat. The other five deceased members of Fireteam VX voiced similar complaints before logging off. Sgt. Marco and his four teammates were all that remained.

“This is bullshit man, this is total bullshit!” yelled Porter.

“Porter, I swear to god if you get PTSD from a VR game, I’m going to have the mods blacklist you,” said Private Chuck, ever the blunt instrument.

“Relax Chuck, Porter’s just roleplaying… You are roleplaying, aren’t you, champ?” asked Private Rachel. She crawled over to him and pat him on the knee.

“Yeah,” said Porter, “but it’s still bullshit. Those were all headshots, every single one of them. And I only heard one gun.”

“Kevin, use your Recon skill and peek over the rubble,” ordered Marco. “See if you can’t at least paint the target.”

Private Kevin, their reconnaissance expert, held his sniper rifle at the ready. If there was anyone on the other side of their cover, Kevin could no-scope them and leave no time for retaliation. Fireteam VX watched with bated breath as Kevin popped up from his cover. There was a rapid sequence of shots far in the distance, and Kevin’s head exploded.

“Well Kevin? Is he still there?” asked Rachel dryly.

“Indeed. We might be dealing with some grade A bullshit,” said Marco.

Kevin came through on their headphones. “That guy’s absolutely hacking. I still managed to paint him though, can you see him?”

The distant silhouette of a soldier glowed through floors of dilapidated buildings, flaming tanks, and black smoke. The figure was crouching and uncrouching rapidly, seemingly aware they were watching him.

“Yeah, we see him,” said Chuck. “Bastard’s tea-bagging.”

“Alright, good luck guys. This offensive has gone to shit, and I think we just found out why,” said Kevin.

The continent of Valistan was almost completely under the control of Monolith, Inc. Fireteam VX were part of an offensive that had been launched by the Grand Alliance to recapture some of their massive territory losses. They had spent the last few hours competing in a series of control point games with hundreds of thousands of simultaneous players. Every offensive was the result of days of planning and coordination.

“The offensive hasn’t gone to shit,” said Marco. “The other three control point cities have already been taken. Command is just waiting on us to capture this one and we’ll own everything west of Delta River.”

“With all due respect, Sarge, this was supposed to be the easy capture,” said Chuck. “As far as I can tell, we’re literally the only Alliance players still alive in this bombed out mess of a city.”

Marco used his Logistics skill and was afforded a screen detailing the latest intel on their battle zone. Sure enough, the number of Alliance members was listed at 4. The number of enemies was listed at 1-10.

“Chuck’s right, it’s just us. But I think it’s just him too.”

Porter gaped. “Jesus, out of the 10,000 we started with? Didn’t intel have this place at 1500 enemies, max?”

“Woof, we got our asses kicked,” said Rachel.

“I say we retreat,” said Chuck. “I’ve almost got enough XP for a promotion, and I don’t want to go back to boot.”

It was tempting. Dying in Valistan meant going back to the capital city starting zone as a freshly enlisted soldier. All the skills, perks, and equipment you collected were lost forever. It was both the most popular and most reviled aspect of the game. The world’s first roguelike MMO, it made death meaningful and meant the careless expenditure of lives would cost valuable skilled-up soldiers.

“We still have the advantage of numbers on him,” said Marco. “We don’t know for certain he’s hacking. Might have just been a lucky shot.”

Rachel stuck her hand out of cover. There was the same staccato burst of an assault rifle and her health dropped to nearly zero. “Maybe he’ll log off to buy lotto tickets.”

“Okay, fine. He’s cheating,” said Marco. “But we can still win if we find his HQ flag and capture it.”

“Why don’t we just report him?” asked Chuck.

“Because we’re running out of time. We only have thirty minutes left to get this control point. If we don’t, the whole offensive goes to stalemate and the defenders win. The mods get so many cheating reports after every major offensive, it’ll be days before they get to ours. By then the offensive will have failed and everyone will have moved on.”

“Fix me,” said Rachel, waving her wounded arm at Porter. “It looks like he’s got an aimbot. If we can be shot, we will be shot, regardless of distance.” Porter used First Aid on Rachel, and she returned to full health.

“So, we keep low. He’s painted so long as he stays in that one spot. I can’t imagine he has any reason to think he should leave,” said Marco.

“He’s like some kind of machine gun sniper. The slightest mistake means death. I don’t want to go home in a box, Sarge!” cried Porter.

Rachel melee attacked him. “Snap out of it, soldier! Your country needs your awkward sense of drama!”

“Sarge, I’m betting their flag is somewhere in that apartment building. Bombers levelled everything around it, but the flag building is usually indestructible,” said Chuck. The building was blackened and damaged, but still standing. They were just a few blocks away, but with time running out and an omnipotent enemy, it might as well have been on the far side of hell.

“That’s our target,” said Marco. “Chuck, you’ve got the most health, so you’re on point. Everyone, follow Chuck’s every step.”

Chuck began crawling through blasted rubble, every jigsaw piece affording them an iota of safety. More than once they were forced to backtrack by a gap in the rubble. Two feet of no-man’s land. The landscape was a labyrinth of debris.

“Sarge, what if he moves?” asked Porter, glancing up at the still glowing figure. The figure was now continuously jumping in place and spinning.

“If he can see us, we die. Nothing we can do about that. Keep crawling, Private Porter.” Chuck and Rachel snickered at Marco’s indulgence of Porter’s roleplaying.

They finally reached the building adjacent to their target. Fifteen minutes until stalemate.

“Uh-oh…” said Chuck.

All eyes instantly snapped up and caught the last glimpse of the glowing silhouette charging in their direction, the paint status fading away.

“Get inside! Move!” shouted Marco. They jumped up and sprinted inside the bombed-out office building. Singed papers twisted and danced along the ground at their passing, their footsteps crunching pulverized concrete into an even finer dust. Marco led them up a flight of stairs to the second, third, fourth floor.

They exited under a blue sky. Half the building had calved off and now formed a small mountain of debris far beneath them. They took shelter around the few remaining concrete pillars, their ears straining to find the medusa that was their enemy.

A barrage of gunfire, the sound of breaking glass, running footsteps. Chuck, who was closest to the blown apart edge of the building, froze. “He’s on the floor beneath us,” he whispered. He started to lean toward the edge.

“Stop!” hissed Marco. Chuck froze.

“What do we do? We’re trapped up here,” said Rachel.

Marco resisted panic and tried to think. Their enemy knew they were in this building. It was only a matter of time before he found them.

“What do we have for grenades?” he asked.

“I’ve got the only ones,” said Rachel, “one frag and one smoke. You want I should try to frag him?”

“You think you can?”

“From up here? It’d be a blind shot. I’d just heave it over the edge and hope for the best.”

Bad odds. They had no idea where he was on the floor below and finding out would get them killed.

“Why don’t we set a decoy?” said Porter.

“Good idea. Rachel, lob your smoke over the edge. When it goes off at ground level, he’ll think we’re using it for concealment. Then we’ll try to slip out while he searches for us.”

Rachel nodded and pulled the pin on the smoke grenade, holding down the safety lever. They all exchanged nods, and Rachel heaved the cannister underhanded out a hole in the wall.

As soon as the grenade entered open air, there was a burst of gunfire and it exploded in a firework of purple smoke. Then the sound of boots sprinting on the floor below them, headed for the stairwell.

“He’s onto us! Fucker’s bot shoots at any viable target!” said Chuck. They leveled guns at the entrance to the stairway, ready to make a last stand.

Marco knew it was a foolish hill to die on. They’d be dead faster than they could pull the trigger. “Drop to the level below as soon as you hear him on the stairs,” he ordered.

Fireteam VX followed dutifully and ran to the blown-out area of the building. Marco peered over the edge and saw the barest section of the lower floor sticking out beneath them. It would be a tough jump.

Boots beating on concrete heralded doom from below. Fireteam VX perched at the edge, the sliver of crumbling concrete of the lower floor the only thing standing between life and a grisly end on the jagged pile of rubble below.

The boots began to echo up the winding staircase.

“Move!” shouted Marco.

Chuck dropped first, combat rolling forward out of the way as soon as he landed on the lower floor. Through his fog of fear and anxiety, Marco still felt a ghost light of pride in his team for how efficiently they dropped and made room for one another. Marco dropped last, never setting eyes on their stalker.

“Now what? This doesn’t buy us much time,” said Chuck when they are all assembled on the floor below.

“He can smell our fear,” said Porter.

“Alliance army training doesn’t leave room for fear, soldier,” said Rachel, stepping up in Porter’s face, “so he must be smelling someone that’s not a soldier. You a soldier, Porter? Or have we made a mistake and picked up a civ?”

They ignored Chuck’s snicker.

“I’m a soldier through and through, ma’am,” said Porter, returning Rachel’s hard look.

“He’ll search for us up there, but not for long,” said Marco. “I say we make a run for it. We take the stairs down to the second floor, then jump to the rubble pile outside. We might take some fall damage, but we should survive it. We’ll ingress the target building through the broken windows and hope he keeps looking for us here.”

“Good plan, Sarge,” said Porter. “Chuck, guard our rear.”

“Hey! Sarge has to say that,” said Chuck.

“Ooh, someone’s pulling out his big boy voice,” said Rachel.

“Chuck, do as Porter says,” said Marco. “Let’s move.”

They ran to the stairwell and descended as quickly as possible. Before they had even reached the next floor, they heard boots clopping down the stairs from high above them.

“Ambush him at the door! Set a claymore!” Chuck yelled back up the stairwell.

The speed of the boots above them slowed. They kept running.

They beelined for the blown-out side of the building, Marco in the lead. Without pausing to give himself time to reconsider, he leaped over the edge. He bit his lip to keep from screaming as the small mountain of craggy concrete rushed toward him. His vision flashed red on impact with the rubble pile and his health dropped by nearly half, but he didn’t stop. He dove into the target building, window fragments raking through his uniform for a few extra points of damage.

Porter, Rachel, and Chuck followed right behind him, jumping to cover as quick as they could.

“Awesome bluff, Chuck,” said Porter.

“Thanks, hopefully he’ll take his sweet time,” said Chuck.

“Don’t bother healing up,” said Marco. “Sweep the building. We need to find his flag before he figures out what happened. Defense wins in ten minutes.

They scattered throughout the building. Hallways invulnerable to bombs turned them into rats searching a maze for cheese.

“North side clear.”

“West side clear.”

“South side clear.”

“I’ve got nothing,” said Marco. “Regroup at the central stairway.”

They met up, commiserating on the precious minutes wasted.

“What are the odds it’s on the top floor?” asked Rachel.

Marco said, “Pretty good. But sometimes it’s not. I’d rather sweep floor by floor, just so we don’t—"

“Shh!” They all went silent when Chuck held up a hand. They listened. Nothing.

“Chuck, I don’t—”

“SHH!” Chuck insisted. They waited again. Nothing.

Marco was about to speak when a tiny pebble bounced and rolled down the hallway beside them. They stared at it. It might as well have been an avalanche.

Marco pointed up the stairs and slowly, painfully slowly, they followed him. If their pursuer turned to look up the stairs, they were done for. But he was sneaking. He was wary. They had tricked him once before, it would be twice as hard to trick him again.

They reached the next landing and only moved far enough to get out of line of sight of the stairwell.

“Top floor,” whispered Marco. “Quietly.”

Their hopes rest on a typical building layout, where the enemies most prized asset could be easily defended. They were practically on top of each other as they crouched and climbed. Chuck took up the rear guard without being asked.

“Sarge, you think this guy’s the reason we lost so bad?” Porter whispered, his head swiveling in all directions. “We had this place outnumbered ten to one. But if he auto headshots anything that he can see…”

“I wouldn’t doubt it. Park him with an ammo crate on good sight lines and he could wipe out a whole company on his own. Can’t even grenade the fucker out, it’d blow up as soon as it left your hand.”

The entire top floor was open, more like a warehouse than an office building. Regular columns stood like trunks of a concrete forest. The floor was thick with dust that had fallen from the ceiling during the bombings and artillery strikes.

“By the grace of God, there it is,” said Porter.

They stood shoulder to shoulder, gazing at the enemy’s flag. It flew on the other side of the building, surrounded by sandbags, a blood red scrap of fabric that symbolized countless sacrifices and the promise of victory. All they needed to do was stand in its presence long enough and they’d be able to raise their own flag, officially capturing the point.

Rachel draped her arms around Porter and Chuck. “Boys, it’s moments like this that make me glad to—”

“Get to cover!” Marco hissed.

They ran to the closest pillar, putting it between themselves and the stairwell. Not even a moment later, the thudding of boots ran past where they had just been standing and went straight for the flag. They could faintly hear him running in circles and jumping around the flagpole.

“Well, we’re fucked. That was fun,” said Chuck.

“GG, guys. There’s always next time,” said Rachel.

Porter frowned at them. “Hey, come on. That’s no way for an Alliance soldier to talk. He doesn’t know where we are. We can still try something.”

“Fuck the roleplay, Porter!” Chuck snapped, “We lost. It doesn’t matter if he doesn’t know we’re here, he only needs to hang around that flag for five more minutes and he wins. If we stick out so much as a foot, we’re dead. Might as well just hide and save our XP.”

Rachel looked hurt on Porter’s behalf. “Hey Chuck, chill out. He’s trying to have fun, same as all of us.”

“Why bother? You can’t beat a hacker. He won the minute we thought, for even a moment, that we could beat him. It’s pointless to even try.” Chuck stared at the ground.

Marco stepped away from his team, keeping the pillar between himself and the enemy. “Atten-hut!”

They regarded him with confusion. Porter slowly stood at attention. Rachel and Chuck followed.

“It’s pointless to even try,” Marco began. “Pointless to even fight against an enemy that cheats. Pointless to resist. Pointless to hope. Hell, even pointless to struggle against the inevitable. Is that right, Chuck?”

Chuck couldn’t meet Marco’s gaze.

“Maybe you are right,” said Marco. “Maybe there is no point. But that’s not what I believe. I believe the world is full of cheaters. Full of conmen and cowards and dishonest snakes, who are only concerned with fair play if they can bottle it and sell it. Every day we struggle against the fiends that rig the game against us. And every day they kick us back down, back into our holes and under their boots where they think we belong. And what do we do? We rise up, every day, to fight again. So long as we have the strength to rise, we have the strength to fight. The hackers and cheaters of the world, people just like that man over there, want you to feel powerless. They want you to believe it’s pointless to resist them, because if you believe it’s pointless, why, they don’t have to worry about kicking you back down. You do their work for them.”

Marco pointed towards the flag. “That man over there? He wants you to cower before him. He wants you to lay face down and die, believing he’s greater than you. That he can’t be beaten. Chuck, do you think he can be beaten?”

Chuck didn’t answer.

“Rachel, do you think he can be beaten?”

“I-I don’t know, sir.”

“Well, I don’t know either! But what I do know is that I’ll never stop trying. I’ll never do a cheater’s job for him. I’ll never legitimize his cowardice by fearing it. And I’ll never, ever, give him something when I can force him to take it. Private Porter! What do you want to give to that hacker?”

“Sir, nothing sir!”

“Private Rachel! Do you think that cheat is better than you?”

“He’s not even worthy to smell my athlete’s foot, sir!”

“Fucking gross! And Private Chuck…”

Chuck finally met Marco’s gaze.

“Private Chuck, are you ready to do that honorless dog’s job for him?”

“Sir. If it’s his job to kick me down, I aim to make sure he works overtime.”

“Damn right, soldiers. Now, if you…” Marco trailed off.

“Sir? You okay?” asked Porter.

“I think I’ve got a way we can beat him. But we don’t have much time.”

Marco explained his plan. It was simple, strange, and had almost no chance of working. They agreed. Nobody wanted to let time run out while cowering behind cover.

They stood behind their pillar, tightly packed back to front, guns aimed over each other’s shoulders. Chuck took point, then Rachel, then Marco, then Porter.

“On my count, we jump out left and rush him. Stay together, and start shooting before you even clear the pillar.”

“Hey, Porter?” said Chuck.

“Yeah, Chuck?”

“If I don’t make it home, tell momma I went down fighting the good fight.”

“I can’t remember all that, Chuck. You’ll need to tell her yourself.”

They shared a laugh at the trope.

“Alright, get ready,” Marco said. There was less than a minute remaining in the offensive. “Three…two…one…MOVE!”

All four of them began firing as they stepped out from the pillar as a single unit, sending a compact wave of bullets ahead of them. They finally laid eyes on their medusa, a man in an officer’s parade uniform, covered in shimmering medals that bounced and jostled as he jumped, crouched, and juked. He had apparently bought every cosmetic pack in the game and wore them all at once.

The decorated man began firing the instant they entered his line of sight. Chuck, as their bulwark, only lasted for half a second. A stream of unerring bullets drove into his head. Chuck died on his feet, his body staying erect for a fraction of a second before dropping into a dramatic death animation. But that fraction of a second absorbed a few bullets meant for Rachel.

Rachel died in the middle of a full-throated battle cry. Her sacrifice absorbed a few more bullets. Marco died with a satisfying image of their adversary taking a few shots to the chest. Marco’s vision turned black and white. From this death world, he saw the enemy duck behind a pile of sandbags, wounded, his magazine dry.

“Get him, Porter!” they shouted.

Porter’s rifle clicked dry. He pulled out his ka-bar knife and made to run towards the sandbags, but skidded to a stop beside Rachel’s body. He yanked the frag grenade off her belt, stripped the pin, and rolled it like a bowling ball. Marco winced and waited for the explosion the moment Porter let go, but it never came.

He’s hiding. He can’t see the frag, thought Marco. The frag grenade rolled along the ground, past the wall of sandbags the enemy was hiding behind.

And the aimbot did its job. It shot the only available target.

The grenade exploded right next to the recovering soldier, ripping into him with a blast of shrapnel. The force of the blast threw his body upward clearing the sandbags, bouncing just once on the concrete floor before lying limp.

The last enemy combatant had been slain. The offensive was over. A victory jingle played. But Porter ignored the cheers in his headset and went to the flagpole anyways, capturing it in the final moments of the match and raising the blue flag of the Grand Alliance. He stood at attention and saluted it as it flapped in the nonexistent breeze.

“Permission to tea-bag the body, Sarge?” he asked.

“Permission denied. That scumbag gets to see how real soldiers take a win.”

“Fucking fantastic, Porter,” said Rachel.

“I submitted the cheating report. It’ll take a while, but I’ve been screen recording him. He’ll get banned for sure,” said Chuck.

Their view began to derez. They were exiting the battle zone. Porter would appear at the nearest Grand Alliance HQ, while the rest of them would go back to boot.

“Hey Sarge,” said Porter. “I got an angry private message from the guy we just killed. Permission to take satisfaction in having ruined a cheater’s day?”

“Permission granted.”