You fucked up. A guard saw you choking out his buddy. HE KNOWS, and boy, are you in for a heap of shit. Thankful for that rocket launcher now Mr. High and Mighty Stealth Man? Forced to admit the jig is well and truly up, grudgingly you mount your trusty steed. The rapidly growing mob of soldiers recedes as you dig in your heels and gallop away. Mortars thump all around; flares light up the sky. Managing to squeeze off a few rockets over your shoulder, you jump into a gold-plated helicopter and fly off into the dawn. A mounted gun swivels into your hands and bullet fire rains down, the party now well and truly going. Finally gaining altitude, you collapse back into your flight seat, heart still thumping, a grin on your face. YOU SURVIVED. No fade to black, no ‘Game Over’ screen when you were discovered. The situation evolved and you evolved with it.
The Work Site of Edward Bals 