I moved slowly at first, head ducked low, half-expecting a bullet to tear through me at any moment, or to see the flash of a muzzle in the shadows nearby, signaling my imminent death.

It was overcast, but I could make out the shape of two vans a short ways down the winding road.

It seemed like there were two groups shooting at each other. The one taking cover behind one of the vans—who I assumed to be the Feds—and the ones taking cover in the trees.

I hunched and stepped carefully, only taking any potentially noisy movement under the cover of the gunshots echoing in the trees. I looped around, heading toward the group in the trees. I felt a need to get a handle on what this unknown element was. Who these people were. I needed to—

I froze, staring.

I was nearing the first van, and I could see it semi-clearly, or at least a detailed silhouette of it.

It looked as if someone had taken a giant can opener to it. The roof appeared to have been shredded off completely, leaving jagged sawtooth patterns in the frame. The windshield was completely shattered.

What the hell.

It was obvious, for more reasons than one, that I was walking in on something I didn’t entirely understand.

The second van was where most of the gunfire was originating from, as well as centered on.

The van itself had crashed into some kind of structure. Seemingly the same thing that the first van had hit.

I had to squint for a couple seconds before making out that it was some kind of cable, suspended in the treeline. Likely anchored by a couple structures hiding in the trees, on either side of the road. I suspected there was a lot of concrete involved, and who knew what else. This was planned at least somewhat ahead of time.

Speculate later. Act now.

I moved in toward the group taking cover in the woods, coming up on their flank. Suddenly, I saw a shadow advancing toward them, weaving between trees.

I hit the ground, pressing my face into the dirt, just in time to hear the barrage of gunfire. It sounded like a fully automatic weapon, and it was cutting through everything. Bits of grass and dirt and tree bark went flying. Even with my face pressed down I could see the way the flashes lit up the surrounding area, almost like it was daytime.

Eventually, the gunfire died. This pause was followed by a final perfunctory burst of shots as if to make sure.

The area went dead quiet. I could hear the officer’s footsteps—I had to assume that that’s who it was, one of the SWAT team who’d managed to flank around—as he checked the area, making sure the threats were taken care of. His boots made loud crunch sounds as he stepped over pine needles and brambles. There was an eminent click as he turned on the flashlight attachment on his rifle. A massive cone of light extended, flooding the area, sweeping.

The light cast a long shadow of a man weaving between the trees. Kit could just make out the loose leather vest that seemed to flop and dangle as he ran.

Shots rang out again, spitting up dirt and aggressively pruning bits of underbrush. Chips of splitting bark shot out from the trunks of trees.

Finally, the shooting stopped, followed by a “Shit,” from the officer.

The figure seemed to have escaped. For now.

The officer continued to stand there for a while, scanning with his light, searching for any other survivors.

I was still and quiet, but I could hear my heart pounding in my head, throbbing.

The light passed over where I was. If it had hit me just right, he should have been able to see me. But the searchlight passed over me and kept moving.

After what was probably a couple seconds—though, laying in the dark with my face pressed against the dirt, it felt like hours—the footsteps started up again, moving back toward the road.

“CLEAR!” The officer yelled.

One Mississippi, I thought, still laying there. Two Mississippi…

At some point, I needed to move.

The next step for the SWAT team would be to find Tanya, Sater and I, kill us, and take the Dart. I needed to head them off before then. But there was also something I needed to do first.

I needed to find Oscar.

I pushed myself up onto my knees, peeking into the semi-clearing by the roadway. I started to follow the officer back. Not directly behind him, but off to the side. I moved on all fours, creeping through the underbrush.

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Turns out that was a good call, as the other members of the team shone lights on the officer as he drew close. The officer came to a stop a few steps away. They all just looked at each other, as if they were lost and unsure what to do now.

“What the hell was all of that?” One of the officers said. His voice was somewhat muted by the mask he wore, and to be honest it seemed like an extremely understated reaction, considering the circumstances. “What do we do now?”

There was a moment of awkward silence. They weren’t moving as fast as I thought they would be. With most of them gone, maybe there was no clear chain of command. No clear idea of what was supposed to happen next.

A phone rang. A loud, generic ringtone.

The officers gave each other startled looks. Then they moved toward the van, opening doors, moving aside crushed glass with the butts of their rifles to clear the windows as they reached inside.

One of them pulled out a little flip phone, with a little screen on it that was glowing blue.

The one with the phone looked around at everyone else. He let his rifle hang by the strap so that he could use his other gloved hand to flip the phone open. He held it up to his ear.

“Hello?”

His demeanor went stiff, at attention. “Yes, sir.” He went on to describe the situation, but he mostly used codewords and phrases I didn’t understand.

For a good several seconds, he was quiet. Then, “Of course, Sir.”

He closed the phone, put it in his pocket.

“Well?” Said one of the others.

The one with the phone shrugged. “Our orders are to terminate Peacelock, as well as the three Banneret members. Then, we apprehend the Dart.”

My heart jumped, slamming against my ribcage. Was I already too late?

I continued to creep forward, not sure when exactly to make my move. Or what exactly that move would even be.

The four remaining SWAT team members moved out, heading toward the first van. Was that where they expected Oscar to be?

I followed along the side of the road, just inside the treeline.

As I did, contemplating what to do next, I couldn’t help but wonder; are firearms in Rithium at all like in real life? Was my experience with guns in the simworld even remotely useful in this situation? How accurate was this pistol, even, at this range?

I had no frame of reference. I’d never fired a real gun in my life.

The officers, who had been jogging, came to a stop at the back of the van. One of them peeked inside. “He’s in there.”

He put his hand on the door to open it.

Before I even realized what I was doing, I shot him in the neck.

Blood splatted against the tinted back window of the van. The force of the shot shoved him forward. He slumped, and his body slid down onto the ground, smearing a ribbon of blood in its wake.

The other three officers spun, immediately crouching into position. I had already shot the second officer in the chest, moving down the officers in a row from left to right, like playing keys on a piano. By the time I was on the fourth officer he managed to let off a burst of shots in my direction. I dove, letting off a shot before I hit the ground that landed in the officer’s chest, downing him.

Adrenaline fueled me as I jumped back up on my feet, feeling more than a little like Max Payne.

I ran up to the downed officers, taking turns aiming and shooting at each of them interchangeably. I was high on adrenaline, my actions propelled by quick, shallow breaths. I was aiming at no parts of the body in particular, though this was in an attempt to incapacitate them as much as I could, if not kill.

Eventually the slide smacked back, gun clicking impotently as I continued to squeeze the trigger. I looked at it for a second, then threw it. It bounced, sliding on the asphalt.

I was slowly starting to come back down, breathe normally. At the same time, there was something fixating about the array of bodies in front of me.

I had survived this encounter either out of luck, or surprise, or my skills with virtual guns somehow translating to real life. Honestly, I didn’t really care which. What mattered, at this point, was that I was alive.

I stepped over the bodies, grabbed the van’s back door, and pulled it open.

The door squeaked loudly as it swung wide.

I squinted, peering into the dark interior of the van. “Oz? Oz, are you there? Oz—”

It took a few seconds for my eyes to adjust to the sheer darkness inside the van. Eventually, I was able to make out the shadowy silhouette lying sideways on the floor, strapped against a bulky wheelchair.

I froze, soaking it in, slowly picking up on the finer details, the nuances of what I was seeing. The patchy, matted hair. The cold, grey eye. Realizing.

Nothing could have prepared me for it.

I crept up into the van. My hands fumbled, running along his torso, looking for the strap that held him against the chair. My fingers brushed the skin of his hands. He felt...cold.

Eventually, my fingers found the thick, plastic strap, just over his sternum. I clicked it open, pulled—only to find that it was stuck on something, wouldn’t come free.

I crawled in closer on my hands and knees, trying to get a better look, only to touch something warm, sticky and wet that was soaking into the floor. And then I saw it. The shard of metal trapped in Oscar’s chest, holding the strap in place.

I fell against him, pressing my face against his, listening to see if he was still breathing. I squeezed his wrist, feeling for a pulse. I squeezed the side of his neck, feeling for a pulse. Feeling nothing.

Time got weird after that. The next thing I knew I was carrying Oscar as I walked back up the road, stepping on—nearly slipping on—and over cubes of broken glass, around bodies strewn on the asphalt. A steady stream of blood dripped from my hand, the one I’d used to pull the metal out of my friend. My oldest friend.

There was an electric thunk sound, from off in the woods. Light blasted me, making me squint as I tried to look at the source. In my peripheral I could see the long, stretched shadows of trees, like tentacled limbs.

“Good work, Winter.”

I halted midstep, recognizing the voice immediately.

Footsteps, as someone moved off to the side, into the road, out of the glare of the floodlights.

It was Samuel. The man from the arcade. The man from my recently rediscovered memories. Memories I almost wished I could blot out forever.

He was wearing a suit. And sunglasses, which I suppose made sense. I myself was still squinting, trying to watch him closely.

Oscar was limp and heavy in my arms. I held him close. It didn’t seem right to put him down just yet, like a piece of luggage.

Samuel kept walking, closing the distance. He used his high-heeled boots to kick aside bits of broken glass and metal.

“I see you have what we need.” Samuel said.