SNAFU: Future Warfare

Kill Streak Samson Stormcrow Hayes

Spencer dropped into the hole, cautious of any mines or tripwires. Two teammates dropped in behind him, but they recklessly took off through the tunnel. He followed behind, but lost them around the bend. A flash of light indicated an explosion followed by a burst of gunfire. They’d fallen into an ambush.

He tossed a grenade into the darkness and heard the enemy shout in fear before they died. Cautiously, he peered around the corner. He never saw the sniper who killed him.

Spencer punched his mattress, shouting, “Fuckin' pussy-ass snipers.”

Three seconds later he spawned elsewhere on the map. He tried to hunt down the sniper, but the jackass kept moving. Spencer died twice more before the game ended.

“Damn it,” he muttered. “I can't get anything going.”

He finished the game with a miserable 24–20 kill/death ratio. It didn't look like Deathdirge would be online so he played a few more games before getting ready for school.

He finished his homework and double-checked his math. His grades were slipping and he couldn't let them fall below a B or his parents would restrict his game time. They expected him to go to college.

His parents were still discussing the election when he sat down to breakfast an hour later. It was the first Tuesday of November and it was all anyone talked about, even online. It was driving Spencer crazy.

“I think it's going to be close,” his father told his mother. “You sure you don't want to come with me to the polls before work?”

“No,” his mom replied. “I'll vote online when the polls open in ten minutes. I don't know why you don't do the same.”

“Call me old fashioned.” His dad forced a smile, but Spencer could tell he was worried.

“You think Hanley's going to win?” asked Spencer.

“It's possible.”

“Hanley's awesome,” shouted his younger brother Toby.

His parents exchanged a worried look. His mom placed her hand on his father's shoulders and said, “He's too young to understand.”

“Am not! Hanley wants us to kick ass.”

“Toby!” his father rebuked. “Language!”

“Sorry,” Toby whined, his head bowed.

“So you're voting for Barker?” Spencer asked, and his dad nodded. “Does it even matter?”

“It sure does,” his father explained. “I know right now it might not seem like it, but if Hanley's elected, this country will undergo some big changes.”

“Change! Change! Change!” Toby chanted, echoing Hanley's slogan.

Spencer was tired of the whole thing. Even the players in other countries were talking about it.

“Don't you think it matters?” Spencer's mom asked him.

Spencer shrugged. He just hoped that when it was over, people would stop arguing online and focus on the game. Politicians came and went, but the game went on forever.

“With only two choices, is there really much of a choice?” he asked. His parents didn't answer.

It was the same at school. Students and teachers alike drew battle lines over who should be the next president and there was even a fistfight between Tim Roonie, one of the seniors, and Mr Cooper, the science teacher, that ended with Mr Cooper being arrested.

Spencer felt relieved when the day was over. He came home and quickly did his homework while his father, looking dejected, watched the election results. Hanley was winning. After dinner, Spencer dropped his dishes in the dishwasher and headed upstairs.

He wasn't surprised to see Toby playing his GameStation 3000. The GS was the latest in 3-D gaming technology. His parents bought it for him for his birthday as a reward for getting all A's in school. He lifted the headphones from his brother's ear and shouted, “Get out, assface!”

“But I'm in the middle of a game,” Toby whined.

“Don't care.” Spencer tore off the headset so Toby couldn't play.

“But it's not fair. You're not even going to play.”

“It's my room. Get out.” Spencer punched his brother in the shoulder.

“Oww!” he cried.

“Second one's harder,” Spencer warned. Toby ran out the door.

Spencer shut down the game console and went to bed. It was only 7 pm.

The alarm rang at 2 am. Spencer jumped out of bed and quickly shut it off before the noise disturbed anyone else in the house. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Spencer realized he had overslept. He set two alarms, but didn't remember the first one going off. He must have woken up just enough to kill it.

He quietly slipped down the hall to the bathroom to relieve himself then hurried downstairs to grab an energy drink before returning to his room. Once the door was shut and the earphones secured, he activated the GS 3000. Spencer's preferences instantly loaded his favorite game, Elite Soldiers. It was the closest video games came to reality. Within seconds he was online.

He took a swig of the energy drink while he scrolled through the game options until he found Slaughterhouse. He put the drink down, scratched his nose before indicating he was ready. The game launched. A list appeared with the following options: Sniper, Scout, Recon, Assault, Warrior, Mercenary, Heavy Weapons, Demolition, Medic, and Spec Ops. Spencer selected the last one and a weapons menu appeared. His preferences were ready: main weapon: UMP45; sidearm, an M93 Raffica; and his special equipment — a C-4 explosive pack. He clicked ‘Accept’. There was a three second shift as the screen changed; then he was in the game.

Spencer was in a forest of fir trees that gently swayed to an imaginary breeze. Through the stereophonic headset, Spencer could hear chirping birds, the rustle of a chipmunk, and sporadic gunfire. Whenever he moved, he could hear the crunch of dirt and twigs beneath his feet. Spencer looked around to determine where he was located. Some game modes included a map in the upper left corner of his view, but one of the rules of Slaughterhouse was no map. Judging from an outcropping of rock that snipers liked to inhabit, he knew he was somewhere near the center of the action. Good. Now he had to decide: stay low or go for the high ground. He opted to stay low.

He ran down a dirt pathway to his left and immediately encountered his first foe. A short burst from the UMP dropped him. Spencer smiled. He continued forward more cautiously and ran into two more enemies waiting for him. Spencer was ready. He anticipated the first player would alert anyone behind him. The UMP barked out two more bursts and he took them both down. He rushed forward, wrapped around a bend in the path and hid in the narrow corner of a rocky outcropping to change magazines. A moment later, two more players rushed forward looking for him. Spencer's ambush dropped them both.

He left his rocky hiding place. Time for high ground, he decided, and climbed a rope ladder leading to the treetops.

As soon as he reached the top, bullets ricocheted around him. He rushed for cover, then tossed his C-4 pack over the ledge. He waited a second then clicked the remote. BOOM! His screen indicated two more kills. He received a seven kill-streak bonus and another bonus for getting so many kills during his first spawn. The more kills he achieved in a single lifetime, the more rewards he received. Spencer was racking them in. Twelve seconds in and he had already doubled the top player's score.

When the game ended, Spencer had 32 kills and only three deaths. Now for his favorite part. The lobby taunts. Whenever someone spoke, their name lit up on Spencer's screen.

“You fuckin' faggot,” shouted MyGunsRBettr. “There's no way you could've shot me that fast unless you're glitching.”

“He's gotta be glitching,” agreed IWannaKillPuppies.

Spencer smiled. People often thought he was using cheats, auto-aims that gave instant head shots, but he never did. It was pure skill.

“If I had you on a real battlefield, it would be a different story,” MyGunsRBettr continued.

Spencer laughed. He loved hearing the frustration in the older player's voices, many of whom were ex-military.

“There's no fuckin' kill streaks in real life!” MyGunsRBettr shouted.

“No shit, Sherlock,” Spencer taunted.

Kill streaks enhanced his speed, increased his weapon damage, or gave him better ammunition, such as explosive rounds. Basically, the more kills he racked up, the deadlier he became.

“You faggot,” MyGunsRBettr repeated before signing off. Spencer laughed as the name disappeared from the player list.

“I'm gonna rape you next round, you glitchin' asshole,” taunted IWannaKillPuppies.

“Bring it,” Spencer replied.

When the following round ended, Spencer had 26 kills and 5 deaths. IWannaKillPuppies disappeared halfway through the match when he was only 3 and 11.

“Time to find new meat,” mused Spencer. He quit Slaughterhouse and scanned through the menu until he decided on Bloodlust.

Bloodlust was a single player free-for-all that only allowed close range and melee weapons. Spencer chose a .44 Automag for short range, and ‘The Punisher’, a large machete for some serious hack and slash.

The maps in Bloodlust were small and the key was to keep moving or die. He launched into a game and found himself in dense jungle. He checked the board and found seven other players along for the action. To his left, he heard the sound of a stream. He knew it would be the main avenue of action.

Spencer had only moved a few feet when he heard someone thrashing through the jungle. A moment later, someone was randomly firing just ahead of him. Spencer sprinted forward. He was making too much noise to hear Spencer who swung ‘The Punisher’ and severed his head.

A few seconds later, he arrived at the stream and peered through the foliage. Already he could see the water turning red. A moment later, a body floated past. Then just across the stream — movement. He aimed his .44 and waited for a clear shot, but it didn't happen. Spencer couldn't wait too long or someone might sneak up behind him. He decided to chance it. He fired three rounds where he thought he'd seen the movement. His screen indicated a kill and a second later, a body fell into the water.

He reloaded and quickly crossed the stream. He ran into another soldier looking for the source of the shot. Boom! The Automag took him down.

Spencer decided to risk climbing a tree. He holstered his weapons and shimmied up as fast as he could. From his new vantage point, he could see movement all around him in the jungle. He killed five more people before they discovered his hiding place and killed him.

Spencer respawned in a new location and began the hunt again. This time, he stayed upriver and whenever two other foes engaged, he would pick off the winner. Sometimes he got lucky and killed them both before they could kill each other. Amateurs.

Spencer ended the game with a 19-9 kill/death ratio. Not bad.

He usually didn't get as many taunts in the free-for-all matches, but sometimes someone took offense. The guy's name was Shogun-Jay and he was not happy. Spencer received a nemesis medal for killing Shogun-Jay more than eight times in a single match. The medal had his opponent's name scratched onto a bloody dog tag.

“Hey, motherfucker. How'd you kill me so many times?” demanded Shogun-Jay. “I'm talking to you, Killerprime.” Killerprime was Spencer's online handle.

“I guess I'm just that good,” replied Spencer.

“That good at sucking cock.”

“No, I'm that good at making you suck mine, bitch.” Spencer knew how to piss off his opponents.

“You probably don't even have hair on your crotch, you little faggot.”

“That's because all my pubes are stuck in your teeth,” Spencer laughed.

“You little motherfucker. You're lucky I'm in Venezuela defending your ass.”

“I hope you're better at killing in real life than you are in the game.”

“Listen, you little asshole. You better hope that you never have to face what I've had to face, cuz your bullshit bunny-hopping techniques won't mean shit in real life. It isn't like the game. There are no respawns. When you die, you…” suddenly Spencer could tell the guy was choked up, “…you stay dead.”

For a moment Spencer wondered if Shogun-Jay was serious. Then he realized he was just being played. This guy was probably faking it, trying to garner sympathy. Spencer had no sympathy; he only had death and humiliation to dispense.

“Whatever,” Spencer replied.

Still, Spencer decided to quit the game. Something about the guy's voice got to him. He played another round in a different match and did a little better. Finally, his friend Deathdirge came online.

“About time,” said Spencer. “You ready for some Carnage?”

“You better believe it,” replied Deathdirge with his thick New Zealand accent.

Carnage involved ten two-man teams working against each other to grab the ‘package’ and extract it via the highest point on the map. It was one of the most challenging modes of the game since you had to work against the other teams, but also work together to stop whichever team was closest to winning. Enemies became allies until those same allies turned traitorous. There was only one person you could trust, your partner, and Deathdirge was an exceptional player. Together, they were almost unstoppable.

“How ya been, mate?” asked Deathdirge halfway through their first game. Their opponents in the first match were fairly new to the game and the duo was dominating. They could afford some casual conversation.

“Pretty good. Someone just took the package into the office building. Had a couple good games before you came on.”

“Oh yeah? Look out, there's a sniper on the scaffolding. What matches did ya play?”

Spencer filled him in on his latest scores and glories.

“Oh, you're not gonna believe this, but I played a game the other night after you left that was one of my best games yet,” bragged Deathdirge. “I had a kill streak of 42.”

“No way!” exclaimed Spencer.

“Yeah, it was awesome.”

“There's the package,” Spencer shouted, suddenly back in the game.

“Got it.”

“Get it out of here. I'll cover you.”

Ten seconds later, they won the match. Most of the other players quit so they wouldn't have to play another round against them.

“Fuckin' cunts,” decried Deathdirge. Spencer noticed he always called people cunts. Especially anyone who confused him for Australian. He hated that more than anything.

Spencer met Deathdirge late one weekend night during a game of Global War. Their skill levels were comparable and Spencer ended up playing until dawn. A week later, Spencer began Spring break and he was able to stay up late every night. The two bonded in fake blood and kill streaks.

Once school resumed, however, Spencer rarely saw Deathdirge. Because he lived on the other side of the world, they were rarely online at the same time. Spencer tried staying up late on weekends, but often fell asleep before Deathdirge came online. When they did play, Spencer suffered the following Monday mornings. That's when he decided to change his schedule. His parents didn't seem to mind as long as he finished his homework and kept his grades up.

They switched lobbies and found some more formidable opponents.

“Now this should be a challenge,” said Deathdirge, noting the rankings on the screen.

The game was intense, and Spencer barely managed to get the package across the border before the time limit ran out. Spencer's hands were sweaty. There was nothing better.

“Hey, good round,” offered Megawatt. Compliments were rare, but Spencer always appreciated when someone was graceful in defeat. However, it was followed by the more traditional fare.

“You kill-streak whores. I would've had you if you didn't have all those armor and ammo upgrades,” Vampiresuck moaned.

“I guess you'll just have to try harder, mate,” taunted Deathdirge.

“Or die less,” joked Spencer.

“I don't have time to play all day and night like you little fuckers. I actually have to work for a living.”

Deathdirge laughed then added, “Ahhh, what a whiny cunt.”

“Fuckers!” Vampiresuck added before quitting.

“Let's go to private chat,” suggested Deathdirge who sent the invite before he finished speaking. “I'm sick of these maggots.”

Deathdirge preferred private chat to the game lobbies, and Spencer never confessed his joy of listening to the old men whine. But he didn't mind when he was gaming with Deathdirge. It was the most fun he had playing.

“Man, that was a good game,” said Spencer.

“Yeah, it was pretty tight, wasn't it?”

They played two more games, winning one and losing the other, before Deathdirge suggested a bathroom break. They each took five minutes to stretch, relieve themselves, and grab another drink. When Deathdirge returned, Spencer asked, “Hey, tell me about your 42 kill streak.”

“Oh, it was so awesome. I was so close to 50, I couldn't believe it. Another few minutes and I woulda had it!”

“What happened? They finally kill you?”

“No, the stupid game ended. I was 58 and 8. Funny thing is, I started the game horribly. Died three times without a single kill. Then it just turned around and I hit my stride.”

“Damn. That's good.”

“Yeah, but I still haven't made it to the fabled fifty.”

“We'll get there.”

“Oh, I don't doubt it.”

Spencer's highest kill streak was 35. But every game he played, he played in the hopes of making it to 50, which was the ultimate enhancement — invulnerability! Usually a game was over by the time someone reached that high, but the accomplishment was getting there at all. Few had ever done it.

“By the way, did you vote today?” Deathdirge suddenly asked.

Spencer sighed wondering why Deathdirge even cared.

“Uh… no,” Spencer replied. Then he reluctantly added, “I'm only sixteen, remember.”

“Oh yeah, I completely forgot.” Deathdirge had commented in the past that Spencer always sounded mature for his age.

“Who do you think's gonna win?”

Ugh, this was not what Spencer wanted to talk about.

“I don't really care.”

“Really? It seems like a really big deal in your country.”

“I guess, but it just seems stupid to me.”

“What about your parents? You know who they voted for?”

“Barker.”

“Really? He seems like such a drongo, especially after he screwed up and caused the Caracas Catastrophe.”

“Who cares, let's just play.”

“Yeah, sorry, mate. Just curious. Seems like you can't turn on a computer without reading something about it, even over here.”

They played for an hour before taking another break. When they resumed, Deathdirge announced, “Hey, I just checked the news. Looks like this Hanley guy won it.”

“Oh,” was all Spencer had to say.

“Yeah, I was just reading some of his proposals. They sound quite radical. I hadn't really read much on that.”

“Yeah, that's what people were saying here.”

“Did you read about the new draft?”

“Yeah, I heard about it.”

“Are you worried?”

“Dude, it won't affect me. My parents make sure I have good grades so I'm guaranteed college acceptance.”

“I hope so. I read if elected, Hanley and his party plan on pushing through a lot of aggressive new legislation. They might even reduce the number of exemptions.”

“Well,” Spencer said, hoping to end the conversation, “I don't have to worry about it for another two years.”

“Good point,” Deathdirge agreed. “I certainly hope it's nothing you ever have to worry about though, because being drafted would suck!”

“I guess,” Spencer sighed, he tapped his foot impatiently. “You ready to launch?”

“I might have one more game in me, but I'll have to go after this one. I'm feeling a bit knackered.”

They ended up losing the next round and Deathdirge apologized for playing so poorly because he was tired. Spencer played two more games, then powered down the GS and jumped in the shower. He finished his homework and made breakfast all before anyone else was awake. When his father finally came downstairs, he seemed grumpy so Spencer stayed out of his way.

Much to Spencer's chagrin, the election talk continued at school. It was all anyone seemed to care about, all except his friends, who were more obsessed with masturbation.

“Hey Spence, did you yank it last night?” asked Kyley-B.

“No,” Spencer said defensively.

“Then how come you weren't online after school?”

“Yeah, you're never online anymore,” accused Jackson.

“That's because he doesn't like gaming with us,” said Royce. “He only goes on late at night so he can avoid us.”

Spencer knew Royce must have checked his log-in times.

“Why the hell do you get up so early to play?” Royce asked.

“I don't know. It's just more fun. My parents aren't nagging me and I can focus.”

“Dude, at three in the morning I'd rather focus on sleeping,” said Jackson.

“You mean you're focused on yanking it,” laughed Kyley-B.

“Shut up!”

This was why Spencer hated gaming with his friends — they never took anything seriously.

For the next few months, Spencer's life followed the same routine. Occasionally, he would try gaming with his friends, but compared to Deathdirge, they were horrible. But then Deathdirge stopped playing; disappeared completely.

One evening in March, Spencer was taunting his victims in the post-game lobby.

“Gawdammed kids! You think you're such hot shit! Wait'll you see real combat! You'll shit your pants the first time someone shoots at you!”

“If you could shoot half as good as me, then maybe you'd win a few battles,” Spencer taunted.

“You don't know how lucky you are that I'm here protecting the reserves that let you play your little fucking game.”

“When I'm old enough I'll come over there and show you how to kick ass.”

The voice laughed. “You wouldn't last five minutes in the military.”

“That's five minutes longer than you lasted in the game, dumb—”

Spencer jumped as his door opened. It was his dad.

Spencer thumbed ‘mute’ and asked, “What is it, Dad?”

“Still playing the game?”

Spencer nodded.

“Doesn't it ever get boring?”

Spencer shook his head no and wrinkled his eyebrows at the ridiculousness of the question. As if the game could ever get boring.

“I want you to come downstairs. Your mom and I thought it might be nice to have a real family dinner tonight.”

Nice and gay, Spencer thought.

“You can finish this game, but then I want you to wash up and join us.”

“Okay.”

Since a new game was about to begin, he simply jumped out of the lobby and powered down. He followed his dad downstairs and was surprised to see his Aunt Lynne sitting in the living room.

“There's my little man,” she said.

Spencer cringed. She'd been calling him her ‘little man’ since he was seven. He hated it, but he forced a smile and gave her a hug. When he pulled back, he noticed she'd been crying.

“Is something wrong?” he asked. Immediately, tears resumed streaming from her eyes. Spencer turned and looked at his parents who in turn looked at Lynne. She nodded and stammered, “It's okay. You can tell him.”

“Your Uncle Paul was drafted today. He left for military service in the Philippines. We didn't want your aunt to be alone tonight, so we invited her over.”

She gave Spencer another big hug; her tears warm against his neck.

Dinner was quiet and awkward. Toby kept asking questions that prompted their mom to say, “Not now!” or “Stop talking and finish chewing”, whether he was chewing or not. When the meal was over, Spencer's mom asked him to help her clean up the dishes. Together, they carried them into the kitchen. She started the dishwasher and made sure they were alone.

Then, despite being taller than her, she leaned over and placed her hand on Spencer's shoulder.

“Spencer, honey, we need to talk.”

This sounded serious. For a moment, Spencer worried it might have something to do with his late night adventures.

“What is it?” he asked.

“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 concentration 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 when 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.”

“They're still warm, just the way you like them.”

She stayed in the room while he ate another two cookies. Finally, she said, “I noticed you haven't been gaming much lately. Is there some reason you quit?”

Spencer shrugged. “I guess I just haven't felt like playing.”

“Oh,” another awkward silence followed. Then, “Is everything okay?”

Spencer nodded. “Yeah, Mom. I'm fine. Thanks for the cookies.”

“You're welcome.”

Spencer wanted to turn around and continue working on his paper, but he didn't want to turn his back on his mom. Then she added, “Well, if you need a break, maybe you should play a game or two.”

Spencer smiled, knowing how she felt about it. “Okay,” he agreed.

An hour later, he punched in. The game came up and he viewed his options. Carnage was out of the question and he didn't feel like Slaughterhouse. He opted for a nice simple game of Global War. Five minutes into the game, he realized tears were pouring down his cheeks and he could hardly breathe. It was the first time he truly mourned. He quit the game and powered down, uncertain if he would ever play again.

Spencer sat in the back seat of Royce's mom's car as she drove them to school. The sun's bright-orange rays beamed blindingly through the windshield. Although it wasn't yet hot, Mrs Delgado had turned on the air conditioning in preparation for the sizzling heat to come.

Spencer had spent the night at Royce's house cramming for the morning's chemistry final. When they awoke, Mrs Delgado had pancakes, toast, and juice ready for them before she drove them to school. Now she asked the inane questions Spencer noticed all parents asked.

“You boys ready for the exam?” said Mrs Delgado.

“I hope so,” replied Spencer.

“Mom, we'll be fine.”

“Is it multiple choice?”

“No, we had to memorize all the formulas so we can solve the problems,” Spencer explained.

“I think there're a couple fill-in-the-blanks,” Royce added.

“I really appreciate all the help you've given my son this past week, Spencer.”

“It's okay, Mrs Delgado. Glad to help.”

“This weekend I'll take you boys to see whatever movie you want.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

“Thanks, Mrs Delgado.”

The car turned the corner into the school parking lot. Mrs Delgado suddenly leaned forward. “Uh-oh, what's this?”

Spencer craned his neck over the seat to see what she was referring to. Sitting in the parking lot was a military van. Three men stood next to it. As their car approached, one of the men stepped forward and directed Mrs Delgado to park next to them.

Mrs Delgado rolled down her window.

“What's going on? Did I do something wrong?”

Spencer looked across the parking lot where all of his classmates watched and wondered.

“Are you Mrs Lisa Delgado?” asked the soldier.

“Yes?”

“I need you to turn off your vehicle.”

“Is this about my husband? Is this about Mike?”

“No, ma'am.”

Spencer noticed one of the other soldiers — a sergeant — staring into his palm where he most likely held some kind of device. He looked up from his palm and directly at Spencer. Then he pointed to the third soldier and the two approached the car, both standing on either side of the back doors. The Sergeant stepped forward to take over.

“There's nothing wrong, ma'am, we're simply looking for this young man.” The Sergeant turned to Spencer. “Spencer Orlando. You need to come with us.”

The door opened and Spencer felt himself being pulled out and urged toward the van. Spencer looked over his shoulder and saw Royce staring dumbly at Spencer as he silently mouthed, “What the fuck?” Next to Royce, his mother was trying to exit the car, but she was prevented from doing so by the first soldier who stood firmly in the way.

“What's going on?” asked Spencer.

“Please follow me,” replied the sergeant. He made it sound like a request, but Spencer had no choice as the man tightened the grip on his arm.

“But I have to take my chemistry exam,” Spencer protested.

The soldier shook his head. “Not today.”

By now, Spencer could hear Mrs Delgado's frantic voice rising in pitch as she argued with the first soldier.

“You can't do this?” she pleaded.

“We have our orders, ma'am. Don't interfere or you'll be arrested.”

“Do his parents know? Where are his parents?” she asked.

“They've been informed and they're cooperating. I suggest you do the same.”

“He's only a boy. This is illegal!” she screamed.

“Please, stay in your car.”

She called out to Spencer, “I'm going to get your parents. Don't let them take you anywhere.”

Mrs Delgado slammed shut the door she'd been trying so hard to open and nearly ran over the soldier's foot as she peeled away, roaring past the sign that read, ‘Slow, School Zone.’

The sergeant stopped when they arrived at the van. He released Spencer's arm and looked into his palm where Spencer could now see the electronic device. The sergeant read from the screen:

“Spencer Orlando. According to Article 9, subsection C, paragraphs one through nine of the 31st Amendment, because of your exceptional skills and outstanding ability, you have hereby been called to active duty in the service of your country. Effective immediately.”

“But I'm only sixteen!” pleaded Spencer. “I'm supposed to have two more years.”

“Your country needs you,” the second soldier replied stoically.

“But I'm just a kid,” Spencer whined.

“It's time to man up,” ordered the Sergeant. “Get in.”

Spencer climbed into the van where he was directed to take the seat furthest back. “Can I go home and pack my stuff?”

“The military will supply you with everything you need.”

“What about my parents?”

“They've been informed of your status.”

“Can I at least say goodbye?”

“I'm afraid there isn't time.”

The sergeant turned to the second soldier and asked, “Anyone else on the roster?”

“Just him. Our next recruit is in the next county, about twenty minutes away.”

“Okay, let's get rolling.” The sergeant climbed into the back of the van and sat next to Spencer who was staring out the window.

Spencer pointed to his classmates and asked, “What about them? How come they aren't going?”

“Underage exceptions are only made for the very best online players such as yourself.” He then added, “I've seen your stats. They're impressive.”

“But…” Spencer couldn't believe he was saying this, “the game is just for fun.”

“Not anymore. It's now a recruiting tool testing for reflexes and reaction time. I'm sorry, son. I'm just doing my duty.”

The van started. Spencer heard the bell ring and watched as his friends slowly wandered inside with the other students.

“I don't agree with the new law, but I have to enforce it.” Spencer felt the hesitation in the soldier's voice before he continued. “I hate to say this, but personally speaking… I don't think you'll last five minutes.”

Spencer took one last look at his school. In a few minutes, his friends would be taking their exams; their worst fear — flunking and going to summer school. Spencer turned away. Sinking down into his seat, he remembered the words of one of his online opponents: There are no kill streaks on the battlefield.