Perspective

Part 1: Terrorists

Another terrorist attack had struck near his home town. Multiple soldiers killed, not just thedude’s, but also Morcian. Weapons had been stolen, as had armor, and the town had been caught on fire by the constant gunfire. Thomas was not worried as much as he was sorry for the other towns that had been struck. The size of the group was unknown, but as far as the string of attacks indicated, his town was next in the pattern.

So, the soldiers in his town had been preparing. Their hopes were that they would not be hit, even if they were ready for an attack. Many had families to go back to, children to look after. If their wives were widowed, then their families could starve.  They were, in many cases, the only source of familial income, and few of their sons were grown.

Thomas himself had just joined the guard, and had no family. Nevertheless, he was nervous. He and his fellow men had swords and bows, while the terrorists had strange weapons that fired plumes of fire and killed from a distance. These weapons were not unlike those of the rogues, but seemed far more utilitarian, and did not fire visible energy bolts. In addition, they seemed to be far more mechanical in nature, and less electronic, although still powerful.

All in all, he wanted the attacks to stop. Not just the spirit of the attacks, but also the endless, senseless violence. He didn’t even understand why they were attacking thedude, who, as far as he knew, had done much good on the planet of Morcia. 

Thomas was brought out of his thoughts by a distant cracking sound, then alarm bells ringing in the city. He drew his bowstring to his cheek, and suddenly saw two cloaked figures with large black weapons out in the field. They were here. 

Part 2: The Raid

As Thomas let an arrow loose, he saw one raise their weapon at him. He ducked as there was a loud cracking sound again, and an object bounced off the battlements. Some of his fellow men fell under the hail of enemy fire, while the others ducked. But they were not out of danger. With a loud explosion from a wormholer, the gate was blown open. The men who had been stationed near the gate readied their swords uncertainly. Suddenly they charged at an enemy who was not visible from the walls. They fell one by one, with bullets in their legs or chests. The two figures now entered through the gate, dropping odd box-shaped items from their weapons, and replacing them simultaneously.

The men on the walls began to draw their bows, and the two enemies ducked into cover to avoid the hail of arrows. When the arrows clattered against walls and fell to the ground, the enemies ducked out of their consecutive alleyways, and returned fire. Men on either side of Thomas fell, and he dropped his bow, panicking. He ran to the ladder off of the wall, and climbed down, running from the walls and the violence. His ears rang from the noise, his hands were scoffed from his quick descent from the walls. There was some shouting from near the gate, and more bangs, but he ignored them, and ran into an alleyway, not looking where he went, merely hoping to evade the hostiles. Suddenly, the noise stopped, and a figure rounded the alley corner. Swearing as he saw the black metal device in its hands, Thomas turned and ran, but he fell.

The man in the cloak approached him, and he cowered on the ground, whimpering and crying. Suddenly remembering he was a soldier, Thomas drew his knife, and stabbed, causing the man to recoil. Dropping the long weapon, the man in the cloak drew a shorter one, and pointed it aggressively. "Drop the knife."

"And let you kill me? Fat chance!" Thomas exclaimed, his voice cracking in fear. The cloaked man shrugged, then lowered his small weapon. As he did so, he fired it, and something hit Thomas in the leg. He began to bleed, and whimpered. "Please...please...please don't kill me..." The man in the cloak approached, seeming aggressive. "Please....stop..." 

The man merely took Thomas' knife from his shivering hands, and threw it away from him. "WE'VE GOT A MAN DOWN!" He cried in a voice similar to that of the shouting guardsmen. Immediately, boots began to clatter on the ground. "Sorry about your leg...I...you didn't give me much choice." The man in the cloak ran back down the alleyway, and Thomas stared in confusion, not understanding why he was still alive. 

As the man disappeared, some guardsmen entered the alley, and approached Thomas. "Tom, are you ok? Where's the terrorist?" 

"I'm...I'm fine Nick, just need some help. He...left...?" 

"What are you talking about?" Nick seemed confused, then shrugged. "Terrorists. Weird folks. C'mon, let's get you to a doctor." 

"He...didn't seem like he wanted to hurt me." Thomas insisted. "He called for your help."

"Thomas, how much blood you lost?" 

Thomas gave up, and sighed. 

Part 3: Reflection

As Thomas laid in a hospital bed, he sighed, still confused. His leg was bound up, and had stopped bleeding. In addition, the metal object had been removed, after much painful surgery. However, he still didn't understand why the man had spared him, and even more, called for help.

As he reflected on this, a man in Paradox armor, specifically rank three Space Maurauder entered. "Hello Thomas, I'm Sancho." The man said, sitting next to the hospital bed. He held a pen and paper. "Now, can you tell me about the man who attacked you?"

Thomas paused and stared at Sancho, a soldier of thedude. While thedude had done good, they were all suspicious of his soldiers. After a moment, he shook these thoughts out of his head. After all, they were working to help Morcia. Then again, why had a terrorist intent on the downfall of Morcia spared and helped him, as well as firing a majority of non-lethal shots into his fellow soldiers. Shrugging, he spoke. "He was wearing a ranger clo-"

"We kow that from the other soldiers. You saw him up close. What did he LOOK like?" 

"Well..." Thomas had to think. "He was a bit older than you...um...his hair was black..."

"Can you get more specific?" Sancho interrupted.

"No. I was hurt, I didn't have much time to look at him clearly." 

"Of course, apologies. Now, you said he called for help after shooting you, and didn't fire till you had drawn a knife, correct?" 

"Yes."

"Why did he wait so long?"

"I don't know...I mean...I was about to jump when he shot me. It's like he knew..."

"Only a proffesional could have known that. And do you know why he called for help?"

"I don't know." Thomas shook his head, and eyed the officer oddly. Somethig about him seemed wrong. "He seemed sorry for shooting me." 

"Many people like him feel guilt for what they do, attacking those in the right for no reason." Thomas nodded, but seemed uncertain. The officer noted this, but continued. "Thank you for your time." The officer smiled, but seemed inscinsere. "I hope you recover quickly."

"Thank you...sir..." Thomas trailed off yet again, as he began to realize much of what didn't add up. As the officer began to exit, he turned to a nurse. "Could I please have a history book?" 

"Of course." The nurse hurried off to the library of the hospital. Thomas was playing a game off odds, but was rewarded, when she returned with two books. "Here's an older and a modern one." She handed him both, without thought, going to treat other patients. Thomas knew that in a small town like his, 'older' meant pre-thedude. Thus, he opened both books, and began to compare them.

Part 4: Discrepancies

As Thomas began to read both books, he immediately noticed...differences. Not just in modern history, where of course Matthias's historians would have had bias. In older history too, which thedude would have not been there for. The changes were not small, not simply highlighting flaws in the royal family. Results of battles were changed, periods were different lengths, nothing added up once he reached around four centuries into each book's section on Morcia. Now, he laid both books down, confused. Wondering why he had never done this before, why thedude would lie to his subjects. As much as he tried to avoid the truth in his head, he kept coming to the same conclusion.

Thedude was not the savior of Morcia. Rather, quite the opposite. As he thought about this, he remembered several cold-blooded killings perpetrated by Paradox rogues. He had, at the time, excused them, assuming they knew something he did not. But, all evidence pointed towards one conclusion: All threats to thedude were those loyal to the true Morcia. The people he had been sent to arrest in his career, these 'terrorists', they weren't trying to establish a dictatorship, rather, they were trying to...overthrow one. As he thought through all he had seen of thedude in his head, he realized that the methods of his men were those of a military dictatorship.

And that meant that for the past month of his life, he had been helping a murderer. An invader. A monster. It meant that he had been fighting against that which he believed. It meant that there was no longer freedom, no longer hope. If almost all the people in Morcia could have been turned against the true king in only a decade, then...how could thedude be defeated? He wasn't simply in control, he was without true contest.

The terrorists didn't want to kill him, or his friends, because they had been trying to commit murder while they thought they were doing the right thing. In truth, the terrorist who shot him did not want to hurt him. If he had dropped the knife, perhaps his leg would not have a hole in it. Nevertheless, he could do nothing now. 

In a few weeks, his leg healed. However, Thomas had an accident. While he had been chopping down wood in the forest for his fireplace at home, a hunter had accidentally shot him with an arrow. Of course, this 'accident' was merely the result of his realization, and his reaction. When he had so non-subtly turned away from thedude, he had been trailed. When his realization was found, written by him, in his home, he had to be eliminated, and his house was burnt down by accident, being as he never returned home to tend the fire properly. It was a tragedy, but not the first the village had faced. So, after a few weeks, he was forgotten. All that remained was a stone in a graveyard, with a rough inscription of his name.