I sat down in front of my TV, watching the disc retreat into the PlayStation 3.
Suddenly, I was in New Marais, running down the streets. Dodging bullets, cars, even the water itself as I attempted to ascend the nearest power line. Hopping onto the wiring, the pure electrical power suddenly pushing me forward, like a car right on my ankles. Watching the city around me pass by, seeing the chaos occurring around me. Three familiar faces going through in the blur. This town was mine to aid or annihilate. I leapt from the line, launching myself straight into a group of people, slamming into the ground.
When I looked up, I was surrounded by a metal chassis, the sound of gunfire and explosions all around me. A long black car suddenly whipped past me, the muzzle flash from the machine guns apparent. Jamming the breaks and yanking the wheel to fishtail around, now getting my assailant into my sights, watching his feeble attempts to do the same. A moment was lost in the glare from my own guns, rattling against the side of the opposing car. His tires kicked up dust, attempting to avoid my fire. I quickly gave chase, weaving through pillars and construction equipment, my fingers white with the pressure on the triggers. Another tight turn suddenly brought an interesting light up on the dashboard. Homing missiles. An evil smile crossed my lips, a new straightaway suddenly appearing. A flick of a switch sent the red projectile streaking from the roof of my car, the contrail closing the distance, until all that remained of my hapless target was a red and orange glow that lit up the scenery.
The explosion became much louder, then I looked up, seeing a clearing that opened up around me, combat fatigues on my body, a machine gun in hand. A figure stood on a hillside, rocket launcher in hand. He raised the weapon, and my feet suddenly launched me forward, the trigger depressed hard, metal flying, the guns own twitches making it harder to aim. I quickly moved over as the rocket shot past me, its contact with a nearby wall being all too apparent. The assailant was back-pedaling, now a machine gun of his own coming into view. The all too familiar clicking sound came from my own weapon. The magazine dropped from its hold, a new one quickly following it. The impacts of the bullets from the target made holding onto the gun more trying, but hold on I did. The bullets flying between us, until one jerk of the weapon brought the sight in line with his head. The visceral splash of the impact caused him to jerk backward, collapsing into a lifeless heap on the ground. Just as I looked at the kill with a level of relief, a small bit of movement caused me to look up in time to see a muzzle flash, the bullet screaming its way to my face.
I jolted back in my chair. Breathing laboriously, heart racing, I reached for the disc, now slithering its way out of the PlayStation. It was quickly replaced with another.