You pull the trigger and watch the white clouds flare with mute curiosity.

You’ve done this before. Over pastoral fields in Western Russia, the urban maze of Steelport. But you were someone else then.

Red reticules flash and quiver and you jolt from one target to another. You pull the trigger again.

People – targets – glow, quiver with anticipation on the monitor in front of you. Futility. A red haze at the peripheral of your vision. It doesn’t matter.

A cluster of targets illuminate the screen for a second before they, too, are engulfed in the white clouds, as you pull the trigger.

You see your face – Walker’s face – reflected gently on the monitor. It’s all white now, interspersed with malignant grey tufts of smoke. Your expression remains unchanged. The two reflections intermingle.

You pull back from the monitor

You look around your living room, from the X-Box controller in your hands to the dull sheen of the television in front of you, a screen within a screen.

Walker did this … you did this.

But this isn’t real, so why should you care?

You shouldn’t. But… you do. You pulled the trigger. You made the choice. There is always a choice.