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 Militiregnum.

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.