Jake hated being a video game character. Jake hated being so two dimensional; he hated being so violent; but, most of all, he hated having no control over his body. Jake was constantly in the hands of anyone from, a psychopathic seven year old, or, some stoned fifty year old playing video games in his mother’s basement.
Jake wished it was the other way around and he had those lives at his command. The first thing he would do would be to have them all put down their guns and missle launchers. He’d keep flying the jets, but, without the bombs. Instead, he’d take them all on scenic tours of the country side. The animators had done an excellent job with the landscape, detailing the desert, and oasis on level five, in more graphic detail than Google Mapquest.
When no one was causing him to shoot up a band of bedouins, Jake would find solace in that oasis, reading books on history. Jake loved reading about peace treaties getting signed. It gave Jake hope, as someone else’s fingers triggered him to shoot his best friend in the back.
“Ah! What’d you do that for, you dick!”
“Gotcha!” the killer squealed.
Jake’s thoughts scrolled across the bottom of the screen, ‘Kills our best friend for a joke? It’s not a joke to me! You just made me kill my best friend, Gunner!’
“Shit, man, did you type that?”
“No. Did you?” The killer was curious.
“No. How did that get there?”
“It must be a stock answer any time you shoot your best friend in the back,” the killer guessed.
“But, how do they know we’re best friends?”
“It didn’t say we‘re best friends.”
“And we’re not best friends. Jose’s my best friend, you’re second. Come on, reload, I wanna kill you again,” the killer giggled.
“You’re getting it this time, man!” The victim hit replay only to get shot again by his friend. “Let me get set up, man!”
Jake couldn’t take it. ‘Stop making me kill him! You asshole! I’m not over killing him the first time, and already I’m killing him again! Stop making me kill my best friend! Just because you’re a sadistic psycho, doesn’t mean I don’t have feelings! Fuck!’
“Woa! Man! Did you set it up to swear?” The victim pointed at the screen that had scrolled Jake’s thoughts at the bottom, below the image of the victim dead on the ground with a gaping shotgun hole where his chest used to be, making him look like a bloody doughnut.
“Holy shit, it said, ‘fuck!’ No, I didn’t do that. I’ve never seen it do that. Did you set that up?”
“No, wasn’t me. I wouldn’t know how. It’s funny, though.”
“K, come on, get back on line.”
“You’ll just shoot me again.”
“I won’t, not this time, let’s go.”
“Don’t shoot me. Seriously. Joke’s over.” The victim pleaded for his life.
“Ok, let’s play,” the killer grinned. And as soon his friend, the victim, was logged back on, the killer shot him through the head with a bazooka.
“You broke it,” the victim told his killer.
“I didn’t do anything.”
“You killed me too many times. It’s on to you.”
“Log on, let’s play.”
“I can’t play, you keep shooting me in the head with a bazooka.”
“Please, stop. I wanna play. This is getting stupid.”
“Ok, ok,” the killer said, though, true to his character, he clicked to kill his friend. This time his character, Jake, lay his gun on the ground and walked off screen, straight for the oasis on level five.