Logan stood on the edge of the stage, knowing that there was a small group in the building, slaughtering their way towards him. The other rebels either didn’t notice that he had moved, or didn’t think it was anything to be worried about, as they just stayed in their groups around the room. A few people had logged off, but they were quickly replaced by people logging on.

Logan was sad to see that his friends weren’t there, but didn’t dwell on it too much. He understood that his friends had lives to live outside of the game, which was something he couldn’t imagine anymore. The constant fighting and anxiety had put him on alert, but it helped that he had dozens of eyes to keep track of what was happening around him.

It also helped that he had a special surprise for anyone who was strong enough to give an actual fight to him and his allies. He hadn’t told anyone about it yet, wanting to keep things to himself in case one of the others was taking pictures or streaming, accidentally giving away his plans to the players who were coming to attack him.

He didn’t have a clear picture on who they were, the armor obscuring their identities pretty well, or how many there were. Grenades and plenty of heavy weapons fire made figuring out what was happening outside of his own vision very difficult to say the least. Logan and the gang didn’t have to wait long, thankfully, as six pairs of footsteps approached the double-doors to the room and quietly took position. The doors already had plenty of holes in them, so it wasn’t hard to figure out that there were three on one side, two on the other, and one standing in front of the doors.

Logan’s group had already come to the agreement that they wouldn’t start firing until either the doors opened, or the enemy was firing, just to make things more interesting, but they weren’t expecting to hear a whirring sound. It started slow, but quickly ramped up to a pitch that Logan quickly recognized. He barely had a chance to jump to the side before the minigun destroyed the doors, sending splinters all over the room.

Weapons began to drown out any other sound, punctuated by the occasional grenade that landed somewhere in the room exploding. Logan drew his pistol and fired every shot he had left into the doorway, watching one of the attackers drop to the ground with a few large holes in him. Stomping was barely heard over the minigun that advanced through the doorway, sweeping across the room, decimating everyone and everything, except Logan.

Mandible blade in hand, Logan jumped to the heavily armored attacker, his minigun pointed down with smoking rings of red at the ends of the barrels. One of the other attackers sprinted in, catching Logan’s arm before he could strike with his blade. Logan dropped it, going in to catch it with his other hand, but the man clutching his arm headbutted him. Disoriented, the blade fell to the ground, and Logan saw that he had five people surrounding him.

Four of the people wore similar outfits, and he saw the Dust Haven Free States emblem emblazoned on different parts of the suits. The last one, the man with the minigun, was equipped with heavy, but mismatched, armor. Logan didn’t know why they weren’t just finishing the fight here and now, but he allowed his helmet to retract into the torso piece, allowing him a breath of air.

It wasn’t what anyone would describe as fresh; the heated energy blasts had burnt the air molecules they passed by, giving the entire room a charged and smokey scent.

“Well, here we are. Five big, strong, men, dressed in black, and here’s little ol’ me, but I guess I ruined the picture, since I’m not blonde. Or on a couch. Ooh, maybe one of you guys could set up a camera and we can take a picture together, and one of you can add the logo to the bottom right of the frame!” Logan felt that if he was screwed, he might as well enjoy a joke about it. He wasn’t sure if they would get the reference, though, and it might be better if they didn’t.

The man with the minigun took his left hand off of the weapon and used it to take his helmet off, revealing the face of Mason, confusion being the only emotion on his face. He looked to the others, and a few of them shrugged, but the man clutching Logan’s arm was laughing, hard enough to be heard outside of his helmet, even with the speaker turned off.

Jackson let go of Logan’s arm, taking his helmet off. He continued to laugh for a few minutes before calming down. He slapped his leg more than once, pointing at Logan and laughing a bit more. Jackson walked over to the stage, the others forcing Logan to move to stand in front of him.

“That was funny, and no, we’re not doing that. We need to make sure that people see you go down first, and then we’ll stay here, to make sure that if you have any friends still in the building, that they won’t be here for very long.” Jackson motioned for Logan to be dropped to his knees, and one of the others took position behind him, likely to start recording his execution. Logan sent a quick mental order through the hivemind, hoping that his surprise would get here before anything happened to him.

Jackson sat on the ruined stage, where Logan had been just minutes before. His eyes looked to cloud over and he poked at the air, manipulating his menu, before his outfit changed to resemble a fighter pilot’s outfit with a dark brown leather jacket with white fur trim around the collar. Logan saw a few thumbs up going from one guy to another, like they were coordinating a show. That’s exactly what they were doing, he supposed.

—

A new broadcast was being shared by Prestige Entertainment, and the view counts were off the charts. Three people were visible in the shot, one closer to the camera and kneeling on the ground. The second stood off to the right, both hands placed on his minigun, ready to spool up the motor if anything happened. Last was the fighter pilot that had become popular with viewers for showing off some impressive tricks in his ship, Jackson, leader of the Conscription Squad for the Free States militia. He sat on the edge of a stage, the same one that Logan had streamed from the day before, but this time, the scene was very different.

Jackson spread his arms wide, his leather jacket creaking as he did so. His helmet wasn’t on, so everyone was able to see the large grin on his face.

“Did you even doubt me? When this newbie challenged us, I knew it would be me to take him down a few pegs.” He dropped his arms and pulled a pistol from his lower back. “I know everyone has been having a few problems with the event, afraid that we wouldn’t be able to take back the city before the bugs took it over completely, but I had to put together my squad, get them all back here to help me take down this punk we have here.”

Jackson looked around the room, surveying the damage that had been done throughout the time that Logan had occupied it. A scoff escaped him, and he reached forward, grabbing a handful of Logan’s hair, turning him to face the camera.

“This little pissant is who threatened us, and look; he’s just as human as we are! Now that his helmet is off, he’s not nearly as intimidating, and I can’t wait to break that smug face.” Jackson let go and shoved Logan back into the position he was in before, two pairs of hands steadying him on either side. Jackson took a deep breath and closed his eyes, steadying himself.

“I’m going to end this now, and we’ll have the Free States back to where it was in no time!” Jackson hops off of the stage to stand in front of Logan, gun pressed against his forehead. Their eyes are locked, and Logan has a smug grin on his face, as if he knows that this isn’t where it ends. Jackson leans in to whisper, “You think you’re going to win, but when you’re dead, I’m taking all of your stuff, including that badass pistol you have.”

Jackson stands back to full height, and fires. The corpse of Logan falls to the ground and Jackson spreads his arms wide again, smiling for the camera.