I never thought this day would come.
That damn smiling Warren Clyde. He’d met me at Mike’s Bar, and saved my ass, expecting nothing in return. We were on a mission like any other. I took out the sniper post and set the convoys Warren’s way.
It was too much. He was overrun and I desperately ran through a guard post. I crashed my jeep, fended of theirs and sprinted my way to his location on the map. I heard shooting, but saw no one.
Then I took a closer look at my map and saw he was on the other side. I sprinted around the cliffside, pulling out my explosive crossbow in desperation and emptying my arrows into the gunners. The purple smoke came up. I pulled up my secondary gun and fired trying not to get killed in the process. I heard him choke out a half-joking “You…suck”. My stomach sank.
I finally got to him, sticking a syringe in him. It wasn’t enough. Another. Another.
I watched him go limp, and closed his eyes. I became anger. I tossed my grenades into the empty jeeps, fired into the air to get the attention of local patrols and burned them to death. I emptied my clip into them, and when they were dead and I was empty I took their guns and fired some more.
It was here that I contemplated reloading my save. It didn’t seem right. It was my incompetence that got him killed, and it seemed that it would only be “true” if I let him rest in peace. It was only earlier that day however, that I killed him myself, mistaking him for an enemy sneaking around my safehouse and shooting both his kneecaps out. I reloaded immediately.
This time it was real though. The hazy dream of that near comedic act of stupid violence was gone. I didn’t want it to be real, but it had to be. I knew better than that though.
I reloaded my save, knowing full well I was doing wrong. It didn’t redeem me for letting him die. It didn’t redeem me for letting Flora die on my second attempt to save him, when I stupidly backed myself into a corner and had her save my ass.
Their death’s were on my consciousness. And the deaths of theirs to come.