Lines of Goldskins stood in a blockade around the road down to Riverton. Their armor shimmered orange and red before falling back to faded gold as the artillery slowed. They seemed to stand there impassively; backs turned to the destruction that pummeled the small town. All because of him. He knew that it wasn’t all his fault. He had no control over what was happening, and couldn’t be expected to have any. Maybe that was what really drove him to try the impossible. Because failure was expected, it was easier to accept it if it came.

He was hidden by the shadows and vegetation alike as he observed them. They didn’t seem all that focused on their front, many checking over their shoulders to glance at Riverton. How could he use that to his advantage? This was like a stealth mission in a game. There had to be a gap in their sight he could exploit, perhaps a patrol route or incompetent guard would give him a chance to slip by unseen. Sitting there, however, it was clear that would not be the case as they stood unflinching in the night. He was going to need to manufacture a gap. What were his options?

He could charge in and simply clear the lot of them in combat. That was the highest chance of failure, with him being exhausted and newly trained, as well as woefully underequipped. That was out of the question. He could try to skirt the outside, but it was incredibly close, and even with the explosions roaring in the night, he doubted he would go unheard. There had to be something he didn’t understand, something he wasn’t seeing. He looked at them standing in a line—straining his brain to identify the weakness that would let him pass.

He crept closer through the shadows, crouching and timing his movements to the tune of the artillery and night wind. He froze as he neared, holding his breath when one man seemed to notice him, staring out intently, then turning and sweeping his vision the other way. He neared closer and closer, just towards the outer edge of the blockade. It was a relatively simple idea. A line was good at catching threats and giving them little room to operate. It also dissuaded head-on assault, but where its weakness lay was at the very edge. The right side of the line sat just above the riverbank, and that might have served as a safeguard against normal attacks, but not against what he planned. The river itself was strong and led out away from Riverton towards the lakes that sat behind the town, so it wouldn’t be a concern to them. The other thing of note was that the men didn’t seem to have any ranged weapons.

Just like with Kriese, he needed to be quick in his execution. If he hesitated even for a moment he would fail. He should have been nervous, for if he failed, he was certainly going to be captured or killed, but his blood hummed in his ears and the butterflies vanished, replaced by that intense focus he experienced when in the clutch in a competitive match or near the end of a difficult boss. All he had to do was do the mechanics. It was that easy.

Close enough that he could see the man’s eyes under his helmet, he reached out his hands and yanked the man’s legs as hard as he could towards the river, then went flat to the ground hard in the brush, the man’s surprised yell covering him. He heard the soldier tumble down the small ledge that stood above the riverbank as he plunged into the water, then the rest of the men predictably yelling out to save him. The shuffling of armor and feet passed him by as he willed his body to remain as still and calm as possible. Bugs and other creatures crawled over his body and tickled his face, but still, he remained.

“Your armor! Take it off!” they yelled at the man, their voices moving further and further away as they followed the man along with the current. He raised his head slowly, checking to see how the line looked. Most of the men had left their formation to point and chuckle at the misfortune of their comrade, others taking the opportunity to huddle together and speak about other things, he assumed. Most importantly, he noted as he slowly retreated through the brush, was that the other edge of the line had folded into the middle. There was little attention being paid to that end now. He didn’t know how long that would last, but he couldn’t wait forever. He moved faster and faster, backing up away from where he had broken the line.

In games where stealth is a prominent point of gameplay, most people tend to freeze and wait for the AI to predictably expose itself so they can sneak by, but on harder difficulties and for speed runs it’s simply not feasible to do so. Sometimes you have to take risks. Sometimes it means doing something no one would ever expect, like running straight across a fairly lit road. He took a deep breath, then stood and sprinted for all he was worth across the way and dove into cover, then laid flat for a moment, waiting for the yells of alarm. Every second that went by he counted, and with a sigh of relief he realized no one had seen him. He continued to crawl further, slipping past the blockade.

The trek down to Riverton was relatively unguarded, his only companion in the dark the chill night breeze and, as he neared the city, ever-louder screaming. What was he doing? What was his plan? He didn’t really have much of one. He had the gear, true, but little experience besides one afternoon's training, even if it was promising.

What he needed was some old-fashioned Deus Ex Machina. The screams were now frequent and unnerving as he approached. He didn’t frighten easily. Few things actually scared him, but the pain in the shrieks he heard, the terror and horror he could feel were not just palpable, it slithered and crept along his body. He was listening to their final moments. Hopes and dreams came to an end. Even if he found victory, that wouldn’t change.

Flames danced and cavorted about the streets, the buildings and houses creaking as they threatened to collapse. It was almost deafening, the death rattle of the town around him, but he pressed forward while nervously scanning his surroundings. Motion above caught his eye, and he saw a faint red star in the sky glimmer, then expand, and glimmer again. He stared at it for a moment, then rushed forward as he traced its path in his mind. A blockade of fire stood ahead, but a 3rd-degree burn would pale in comparison to what that star would do to him. He sped up as he neared, crossing his arms and closing his eyes as he jumped through the fire and flames.

He was unprepared for how badly it burned, the entirety of his face enveloped in searing pain, let alone his extremities. Dimly he remembered hearing a voice in his mind telling him not to panic as he swatted and failed about. He dropped to the ground, reason slipping through and reminding him to roll just as the star finally hit.

Even from as far as he had run, the heat it radiated scorched and seared him worse than before. He wanted death in that instant, if only as a release from the agony that consumed him. Of course, things would end like this. He was no hero. He wasn’t even the failure he always saw himself as. Somehow he had managed to transcend that thresh-hold. In the end, he was nothing.

Though he could no longer feel the flames, that final realization in his last moments burned worst of all.

*******************

RISE.

What? He was sleeping. He ignored the voice.

THIS IS NOT YOUR END.

The voice was so loud. He was dead, right? Why was this thing bothering him?

ONLY ONCE MAY FATE’S HAND BE STAYED. RISE.

The fuck? He was comfortable here. Things finally were peaceful. No more doubt, no more anxiety, no more disappointment. Just the nice gentle ride that was eternity. Why would he want to go back? Why...

Why should I fight anymore?

THIS FIGHT IS NOT YOURS ALONE. HAVE YOU FORGOTTEN THE DEBTS YOU OWE?

Memories floated through the void, flashing in his mind. Friends and family, a rainy day with no umbrella, and a grinning mother pushing the car door open. Advice given freely by people who cared about him for reasons he just couldn’t fathom. Why was he worth any of it? His mother’s tired face after coming home from a double shift while he...what? Raided for affirmation that he was worth something? Sat home jerking off for the fifth time that day? He didn’t care much for himself. He didn’t think he was worth it. If he disappeared, who would care? That was a cop-out. They did care, but he wanted to just give up. Giving up was easy. He could keep giving up, keep feeling sorry for himself. He had every right to.

But not until he paid those debts.

Energy suffused throughout the shapeless form that he was, crackling and jumping between each synapse, each blood cell as he returned to his body with a roar like thunder. It—no, he yearned to be free. He opened his eyes.

It was about fucking time.