Fletcher came home to nearly nothing. A studio apartment and an old friend from the early years of War. He tried the daily grind - various hourly jobs - a very brief stint at Party City that turned weird after a co-worker killed himself after the company Christmas Party, a gas station attendant, and so on, but it just wasn’t cutting it. You see, Fletcher hid big plans. He called his old friend, and laid it out for him,
“We’ll come through the East Entrance, there’s no gate there and it’s unguarded. It’s about 80 yards, three flights of stairs, and we reach the Watchtower. Inside there is all the iron and food we can take.”
“What if someone sees us?”
“Don’t worry about it, just tap 'em on the shoulder, they’ll give you a friendly wave and move on. We raid at night, there’s always more in stock then.”
It went just as they had planned, the town’s people couldn’t have been more clueless. They took all the iron and meat they could carry, and made a break for it.
“Halt!” A burly man in yellow armor came running after them.
He lifted his sword above his head - anything to protect his Kingdom - and swung at Fletcher’s partner in crime. Before he could execute, Fletcher took a knife to his back.
They made it all the way back to the entrance, and duck in the corridor shadows. His friends gives him a sly smile, “I think we got away with it!” Breathing heavily.
“I told you, old friend. Now let’s get out of here.” Fletcher says.
“Wait! Shhhhh… I heard something…”
Fletcher, turns towards the town and suddenly, “Agghhhhhh…” He feels a sharp pain shivering through his spine. He falls to his knees… then slumps to the ground… “Tudan… you worthless… backstabber… why?”
“Sorry, mate. You’d have done the same. That’s what makes us special.”
Fletcher’s eyes grew heavier, breath slowing, and a blurry vision of his killer sneaking away with their loot became his last, lonely, sight.