by Geoff Brown
“I don't know how much your teachers may have talked about this at school, but I think you should know there's a chance your father might be recruited into the military.”
“Dad? Why would they want Dad? He's ancient.”
“Spencer!”
“Sorry.”
“There are some new, very strict laws. Anyone under the age of 40 is eligible and your dad is only 39. With his skills, there's a good chance he'll be recruited. Fortunately, he'll most likely be far from the front lines, but he'll have to go very far away.”
“I hope they don't send him to South America. He'd be better off in the Middle East where it isn't so bad,” offered Spencer.
“I don't want them to send him anywhere. But it's something we should prepare for.”
Spencer nodded though he didn't really know what she meant. When dinner was over, Spencer returned to the game while his parents consoled his aunt.
When he logged on, he was delighted to see a message from Deathdirge.
“Hey, man, how ya been? Sorry I ain't been on in ages, but I started a new job. They've got me working like crazy. I'm almost never home. But I should get like a week or two off next month. I'll see you then, mate. Cheers!”
The message only lasted a few seconds, but it was great to hear his friend's voice. He played it again before jumping into the game.
The next morning, his dad drove Spencer to school. “It could be any day now, Spence. The war's getting worse. They're recruiting anyone. One day you might come home and… I might not be there. If that happens, you'll be the man of the house, Spence. You'll need to take care of your mother and especially your brother. You'll need to stop playing those games and focus on your responsibilities. You hear me, Spence?”
Spencer couldn't imagine anyone wanting to draft his father. He nodded, went to school and forgot all about it.
* * *
It was late at night and Spencer couldn't sleep. He climbed out of bed and powered up the GS. He hoped a game or two would help clear his head. He guessed Deathdirge wouldn't be on, but he hoped he was wrong. He checked the player log. It had been 38 days since Deathdirge had last logged in.
He scrolled through his options and decided on a simple game of Team Annihilation. Normally, the game servers tried to place a player into a game that was just beginning, but occasionally players were thrown right into the middle of everything. It could be chaotic, confusing, and disorienting. Spencer spawned into the thick of it. The game was half over and, to make matters seemingly worse, he spawned on the enemy's side. Spencer was surrounded.
“Shit.”
His first life would be short, but he could wreak some havoc before they killed him. He dropped the nearest three with his knife before any of them realized he had spawned in their midst. Because the enemy wasn't expecting him in their lines, they reacted slowly. He watched as his fourth target, receiving word from his dead comrades, looked around confused. He was turning in Spencer's direction when Spencer shot him dead.
The shot gave away his position, so he threw a grenade in one direction and jumped in the other. The grenade took out two more adversaries. Now the kill streaks were kicking in, giving him advantages. Already he had extra ammo (when he'd only fired a single shot) and extra speed. The latter saved him from a knife attack. Spencer fired before the enemy could swing a second time. He had seven kills and miraculously, the other opponents, thinking they'd been flanked by half their foes, were fleeing.
Spencer aimed and dropped three more opponents. His ongoing kill streaks rewarded him with larger clips, an extra grenade, and a faster reload speed. More amazingly, he had cleared out the enemy team. They would respawn elsewhere on the map and he had survived what should have been certain death.
Of course, he felt that some of the players might return to the same area for revenge. He dropped his C-4 pack (his tenth kill had given him one to spare) into the area and ran for cover.
Spencer watched as two foes sprinted back, zigzagging between cover. It was hard not to just aim and shoot, but he didn't want to give away his position. When the two soldiers arrived, he clicked the detonator. Boom!
Unfortunately, after the tenth kill streak, additional rewards only came after every five kills. He needed three more to get to fifteen and increased accuracy. Spencer watched the open area. Since no one else was approaching, he decided to leave. As he turned, however, he saw an enemy soldier crawling past his hiding place. Spencer waited until he passed and made sure no one else was with him. Then he stabbed him in the back and moved on.
He dodged and weaved through the shacks that littered the open plain. The map represented the outskirts of an African slum, presumably Mogadishu. It combined a semi-rural outskirt of shacks and outhouses amidst a landscape of scattered brush, dried earth, and a few trees. Along the way, he killed five more men. By now he was certain to be pissing off at least a few of the players on the other team. When that happened, their quest for revenge would often make them careless. Indeed, Spencer killed five more foes that tried to rush where they thought he was hiding. Spencer managed to stay one step ahead.
At this point, his teammates were now respawning around him after they died elsewhere on the battlefield. He had additional fire support as six more soldiers tried to surround Spencer. If he'd been alone, he probably would have died, but now his teammates absorbed the bullets and grenades meant for him. Every time a teammate dropped, Spencer would return fire and take down the foe as he was changing clips or looking in the wrong direction. Spencer had twenty-four kills.
At twenty, he picked up a faster melee swing so that he would beat any opponent in a knife fight. His twenty-fifth kill would give him increased explosive power and he still had an extra grenade and a C-4 pack. It was nearly time to put them to use.
By now, most of his team had spawned around him. Several of them were ‘campers’, which meant they liked to hide in one place and ambush anyone who entered their field of fire. Spencer hated campers; he preferred running and gunning. It was time to hunt.
Two of his teammates were already heading down a dried-out riverbed that twisted its way through the map. It was an excellent way to get around unseen, though it was also an excellent way to get ambushed. Spencer followed, allowing the other two to be his guinea pigs. The first died in a landmine explosion, which gave away their position. Two foes popped over the riverbed and fired down, catching the second teammate unaware. But while they focused their fire on the player, Spencer took them both down with a short burst from his XM-8.
Even with the extra ammo from his kill streaks, Spencer's was running low. He rushed forward, grabbed his teammate's gun, an FN F2000 and tossed a C-4 pack as he retreated down the gully. He lay flat in the weeds. Sure enough, the same two players returned, only this time they ran through the riverbed. Boom! Spencer's screen indicated four kills! His increased explosive damage caught two other soldiers following behind that he hadn't even seen.
He had 30 kills and was rewarded with silent movement.
His stereo headset allowed Spencer to hear which direction gunfire, footsteps, or even the character voices were coming from. Spencer could move silently across any surface. More importantly, he was rapidly reaching his personal best, a kill streak of 35. He’d reached it twice, but each time he was killed before he could enjoy the kill streak perk of ‘sixth sense’ that allowed him to detect any mines and tripwires the enemy had planted.
Spencer continued a short distance down the riverbed before climbing up to the plain. A series of buildings were located just ahead. He could crawl to them and remain unseen, but the game was nearing its end. He wanted to try and tie his record of 35.
He knew it was this kind of recklessness that often got players killed, but this time it worked. Luck was on his side since the majority of his other teammates were attacking from a different direction. Consequently, the enemy was focused in that direction. They didn't see or hear Spencer coming. He looked through the window of the building and saw a con
centration of soldiers. Seven in all. If he opened fire, he wouldn't even have enough ammunition in his clip to take them all out. He had to use his grenade. He tossed it in and dropped to the ground. Boom!
His screen lit up! He received bonus points, more ammo and one extra grenade for seven instant kills.
Spencer couldn't believe it. He'd passed his own record and had nearly tied Deathdirge's streak of 42. Was there a chance he could actually make 50 before the end of the round? There wasn't much time. If he wanted 13 more kills, he'd have to continue playing on the run.
He ran to the neighboring building where four more soldiers including one sniper, were hiding. They had heard the explosion and were facing Spencer when he looked through the window. Spencer was fucked. His screen was already turning red from the incoming fire. Then all four players were dead. His teammates had sprayed the building with gunfire. Spencer couldn't deny that he'd been lucky numerous times. He hoped it would hold up.
He left the building and circled around the riverbed. Using the scope on the F2000, he picked off three more players from a distance. He had 40 kills. His kill streak bonus gave him explosive ammunition. Each round was an instant kill.
He heard one of his teammates warn that the enemy had gathered on a rocky hillside and were sniping. Spencer wasn't far from the hill. He jumped back in the riverbed and worked his way toward them. He looked up just long enough to see movement along the ridge. He stared through the rifle scope and released short steady bursts of explosive rounds along the ridge. Any snipers would have to run for cover or face death. By chance, his random bursts killed two players and wounded another.
He emptied his clip, dropped down, and reloaded. He checked the timer. There was only 90 seconds left in the game. He had no choice. He had to rush the enemy.
He climbed out of the gully and charged, spraying the rocks with short bursts to keep their heads down. Between bursts, someone fired on him from his left flank. Spencer shifted his fire and charged straight toward the soldier. He made it across the open space and then used the rocks to weave his way upward. His ‘sixth sense’ allowed him to bypass the hidden mines and trip flares that had been set up. Swinging around, he caught the soldier who had so carefully booby-trapped the perimeter completely unawares.
Forty-one.
He came around the corner of another rock and found a soldier heading down the path.
Forty-two.
He climbed up near the top of the ridge and picked off two snipers.
Forty-three and forty-four.
With the game about to end, he decided to throw his last remaining grenade into a rocky gully. To his surprise, he killed two soldiers lying in ambush.
Forty-six.
The clock started ticking down the last thirty seconds. He loaded in a fresh clip and charged.
Spencer realized that even if he achieved invulnerability, he wouldn't have any game time to enjoy it. But that wasn't the point. It was all about the achievement.
He fired at anything that moved. The explosive rounds were devastating. He didn't even need a direct hit to score a kill. Forty-seven and forty-eight came quickly, but now there were only ten seconds left.
Against all logic, he jumped to the top of the ridge, exposing himself to any snipers. Staring down the hill, he could see a handful of soldiers and snipers hiding in the rocks, picking off his teammates in the village below.
Eight seconds.
He fired a burst.
Forty-nine kills.
Only one more.
He fired again, but the gun didn't shoot. In his furor, he lost track of his ammo. He was empty.
Five seconds.
He switched to his pistol. Three seconds. Then his screen went red. His vision was blurred. He could hardly see. He'd been hit by a sniper round. Another hit would finish him completely. Spencer fired rapidly and blindly into the rocks. He still had explosive ammo no matter which gun he used.
Blam!
His screen lit up. JUGGERNAUT flashed at the top in blood red letters and underneath it read: 50 kill streak! His vision instantly cleared. He was invulnerable.
With two seconds left, he picked off two more enemy soldiers before the game ended. He was 52-0. A nearly perfect game and he entered the round late.
He jumped out of his seat and threw his headset onto the bed. He pumped his fist in the air. “Yes, yes, yes!” he yelled with as much enthusiasm as he dared considering the late hour.
Spencer was so pumped he didn't even listen to the game lobby taunts. He paced his room with untamed energy. He had to tell someone, but who? He could brag to his friends in the morning, but they wouldn't believe him and he didn't care if they did. The only person who would understand was Deathdirge.
Spencer put the headset back on and quit the game. He pulled up Deathdirge's name and clicked ‘send message’.
“You're not going to believe this, Dirgey,” he said excitedly into the mic, “but I just did it! I hit a fifty-kill streak in one game. I did it with just two seconds to spare and a sniper shooting at me. I even got in two more kills before it ended. I can't believe I did it! Where you been anyway? It's no fun killing without you.”
He sent the message and felt some satisfaction knowing that Deathdirge would know about his accomplishment the next time he came online.
Spencer slipped out to use the bathroom and was surprised to hear his parents talking in their bedroom. He was about to walk past until he heard his name mentioned. Naturally, he stopped and listened.
“I don't think Spencer understands what's going on.” His mom's voice was anxious and tense. “He's old enough; you should explain it to him.”
His dad, always the rock of the family, remained calm. “I had a talk with him last week. He knows what's going on.”
“Are you sure? He seems so distant. I'm telling you, it's those games. They're desensitizing him. Not just to violence, but to life. We should make him quit.”
Spencer cringed. They wouldn't!
“I think that's a bit extreme.”
Good old dad.
“He doesn't seem the least bit concerned that…” his mom choked up, “that we could lose you.”
“It's okay, sweetie. I'm not going anywhere.” His dad assured her. “Even on the off chance that I am drafted, I'll be sent to one of the safe zones, maybe even right here in the states.”
“Oh, I hope so. I just don't want to lose you.”
“You're not going to lose me, honey. I'm right here.”
“I heard on the news today that the mortality rate is up to nearly fifteen percent.”
“That's just in the war zones. If I'm recruited, they'll have me drafting designs or fixing engines; something I know how to do. They're not going to put a gun in my hand.”
“They also said that they need more soldiers – of any age.”
“Look at me.” Spencer heard his father slapping his paunchy belly. “No one's sending this into combat.”
She laughed softly. “They better not.”
Spencer slipped back to his room, crawled into bed and thought about their conversation. Uncle Paul had been drafted, but Paul was five years younger than Dad and worked as a firefighter. Spencer could see why the military recruited him. Was it possible they could take his dad? His dad didn't seem to think so, but maybe he's just saying those things to console his mom.
Spencer realized all of this anxiety stemmed from his mother. She was always worried about something. As kids, she worried he and Toby would break something whenever they rough housed. If they went outside and skinned an elbow or knee, she freaked out even worse, telling them to play inside where there was carpeting.
Knowing how his mom made things out to be worse than they were, he decided not to worry. In the months that followed, Spencer realized it was the right decision. Dad wasn't drafted, but his mom continuously worried that the military would show up at any minute to take him away.
* * *
Spencer was playing online with his friends wh
en an icon popped up on his screen. Deathdirge was online. Spencer was elated, but surprised he was on so early. Wouldn't it be mid-day in New Zealand? Not that it mattered. He was happy just to see his friend online.
Spencer sent out a chat invite, but after a few minutes he noticed it had been refused. He sent another, and again it was rejected. Finally, he sent a voice message, “Hey, what's going on? You haven't been on in ages? I'm surprised you're on so early.”
He waited and wondered if he'd done something to piss Deathdirge off. This wasn't like him. It was another ten minutes before he received a reply. Spencer clicked the icon to playback the recording. The accent was the same, but the voice was different.
“Sorry, mate, I'm not who you think I am. Deathdirge was my cousin. I'm only playing his account until it expires. I feel weird telling you this, but I guess you should know. A few months ago, my cousin took a job on a fishing vessel. About three weeks ago, they were having engine problems when they hit rough waters. They sent out an SOS, but then radio contact was lost. None of them made it back. Sorry to break it to you, but Deathdirge is gone.”
Spencer listened to the message again just to be sure he heard it right. It didn't seem possible.
The friends he'd been gaming with sent him invites to rejoin the game, but Spencer ignored them. He listened to the message one more time before powering off.
* * *
The next few weeks, Spencer hardly gamed at all. He studied harder and finished his papers days before they were even due. The school year was winding down, and finals were fast approaching. He used his free time to help tutor his friends, almost all of whom needed help if they wanted to pass. When they finished studying, they would invite him to play, but Spencer always made up an excuse.
He didn't tell his parents, but they noticed the change in his habits and demeanor. One night, while working on a term paper, his mom surprised him with some freshly-baked cookies.
“I thought you needed a break.” She held out the plate. “Are you almost finished with the paper?”
“Not really,” he replied, grabbing a cookie. “I still have five pages to go.”
