By Bella Basura
I passively follow Qwerta to the beach, golden sand tumbles onward in rolling dunes, down to the sea. Momentarily I glimpse a vista of the deep oceanic horizon, blue with distance, then we dip down into a hollow, a machete is thrust into the sand.
Qwerta grasps the machete, but it stays fast, Excalibur in stone. She tugs, tugs, her maximised stealth leeching into the landscape. Sudden Manga wingedsnakebat creatures attack her kneecaps. She soaks the sand, beating out her life in numerical units. FAIL in red. Disappeared.
I pick up the machete and mouse-click back to the encampment.