They finally came for me. Last night. They came into my house and took me away. I was expecting them, and, to be honest, I’m not sure why they didn’t come earlier. But, either way, I still ended up in jail. It’s a lame jail, as I look around, I can’t really see the parts of the jail, but it’s a prison all right. I’m an inmate, and they shaved my hair. Fortunately, they left my fur. Anyway, so I’m walking around the prison, and I’m outside. I see the gate with the barbed wire at the top, but I notice a hole in the side. I look around to make sure nobody’s watching, and then I sneak under the hole. I’m actually outside of the prison now, and I’m surprised that this was so easy. I make it about fifteen feet from the fence when all of a sudden, the prison’s alarm goes off. It’s a really annoying alarm, designed to make sure everyone knows someone is escaping. I start to run, but the guards are all around me. One holds up his ak-47 and points it right at me. He looks, oddly enough, like some kind of terrorist. Before I can wonder, he shoots me, right through the head. I know that’s where I was hit, because I hear the man’s deep voice announce, “Head shot!” I feel myself falling to the ground, almost in slow motion. And then, I hit…
The impact inserted reality back into Jonathan’s head with brutal force. As he lay there on the ground, he blinked, and looked around. He recognized the ceiling of his office above him, and next to him his tipped over chair and the legs to his desk. Jon groggily pulled himself up, and looked at his computer, which he had left on. The screen was one familiar to him. It was the deathcam for the game he had been playing, Counterhit: Source. He must have been just recently killed by a counter-insurgent, because the screen still displayed the message, “J-Mike’s head is now red Jell-O.”
At that moment, Jon realized that his alarm was still ringing, and he shuffled over to it, rubbing his eyes carefully with his paws. He fumbled with the blasted thing for a bit, before relying on simply smashing the thing into his nightstand. It must have either hit the ‘off’ button, the ‘snooze’ button, or simply rattled something loose on the inside, because it stopped its infernal beeping. Jon unplugged it, just to be safe. He then sat down on his bed (his office also served as his bedroom) and continued rubbing his eyes. It seemed he had fallen asleep without first removing his contacts, and now they were rolling around his eyeballs somewhere, causing him no slight discomfort.
Jon sighed, and it turned into a yawn. “This,” he addressed the empty room, “is going to be a long day.”
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