The screen flickered, showing a huge map of his empire, all lit up with the flags of lands he had conquered.
His heart beat a little faster as he looked over the results of the latest battle. He checked through the options, thinking of his next move.
Taking the city meant more resources and a stronghold, but it'd stretch his supply lines thin.
Managing it on the other hand would be a pain and pull him away from the big picture.
Destroying it would be cleaner—less headache—but there'd be no gains down the line. Especially, if he wanted to rebuild it later.
He tapped his fingers on the desk, considering his choices.
'Yeah, pillaging's the best move,'
It would give him a quick resource boost, and he wouldn't have to worry about the logistic of running a city.
In addition, there was something satisfying about raiding and watching his clever plans pay off.
He leaned into his mic, slipping into character.
"Soldiers! Victory is at hand! The treasures of this city belong to us! Pillage, and take what's yours! Leave no mercy!"
He grinned, imagining their cheers. His heart raced with the excitement of leading his army to glory.
"Now go forth and claim our destiny!" he shouted, feeling every bit of a charismatic and intellectual commander.
Few hours later...
[Victory!!!]
"That was sick!" He threw his hands in the air, then leaned back with a satisfied grin.
After hours of battling, he had finally wiped out the enemy empire.
'Time for a break.' He got up, heading for the fridge.
'Maybe I need to finish that pizza before it mutates,' he joked, pulling open the door.
Inside, the slice waited—sad and moldy.
He stared at it. "Eh, food's food."
Tossing it into the microwave, he shrugged and waited.
'Sixty degrees Celsius kills bacteria, right?'
DING!
He pulled the door open and took a bite without even waiting for it too cool down.
The moldy taste was… interesting, like he was eating an old sock. He pushed through anyway, because he didn't have another choice.
'Not bad... not bad at all,' he lied to himself.
Then he slumped onto the dirty couch with a can of beer on his hand.
CLICK!
He flipped through channels, settling on a nature documentary. 'Let's watch something that makes me feel better about being lazy.'
The narrator's voice droned on about sloths, and Luck's eyelids grew heavier. 'Just gonna close my eyes for a minute. '
But with the beer and the boring show, that minute turned into a full nap.
.
.
.
"Luck… you have to survive."
His mother's voice echoed, soft but urgent.
Luck jolted awake, but he wasn't on the couch anymore. He was standing by a wrecked car, smoke filling the air.
His mother was trapped inside, blood soaking her hair.
To her left his father's body was pinned between the seats, unrecognizable, crushed beyond help.
"Mom!" His voice cracked as he rushed toward her. He tried to pull her free, but the seatbelt and twisted metal held her in place.
"I'm gonna get you out. Just hold on!" He pulled harder, his hands shaking.
Nothing budged, and the the smell of gasoline stung his nose.
"Get out of here, Luck... save yourself ..." Her cough was weak, blood speckling her lips. Her hand reached for his, but it was getting colder.
"Please, stay with me," he begged, clutching her hand. Tears blurred his vision.
His mom's grip tightened for a moment. "Promise… survive," she whispered.
"I will! I promise!" His voice cracked as her final breath left her
"MOM!" Luck jolted awake on the couch, his heart pounding rapidly. His shirt was soaked with sweat, and he felt cold.
The animal documentary still played, the peaceful narration a cruel contrast to the nightmare he had just endured.
Hands still trembling, he stared at the empty beer can.
"Survive."
His mother's final words echoed in his mind.