Swipe Here for Heroes

Leaning his rifle up against the wooden door, he turned to the task at hand.

What was that quote again?

If you stare too long into the abyss, the abyss stares back at you?

What if the abyss was without electricity though? No matter – the smell alone was enough to clear up any doubts as to what was lurking down there.

Still, after six months without rotation, each low was relative: it could always be worse. In fact, he’d learned to cherish this particular one as a celebration of sorts. Universally understood and experienced by all mortals – the minimum standard of human dignity: to shit in peace, contemplating the world one wipe at a time.

He lit a cigarette, the final touch to claim his moment. When he was at school, every smoker had their own style, and he would go through phases of imitation to see which suited him best.

Today, twenty years later, he’d developed his own – basically a blend of all of them.

The smoke curled on the drag, drifting through the forest of his beard, before succumbing to his lungs.

He should probably go back to thinking about the war, he thought – a rather more pressing issue than his schoolboy smoking days.

It was another First World War out there: men killed by new machines, the battlefield a virtual slaughterhouse. Last week, frozen in his sleeping bag, he thought one had found him, but that awful whine had simply been a mosquito.

In reality, by the time you heard that, it was already too late. You could be built like Rambo, shave with a bayonet – it didn’t matter: it was all the same to the drones.

His phone pinged with a message: a thermal image of a man doing his business in an outhouse while looking at his phone, as one did. He continued staring, before the realisation struck him cold…

‘CONGRATULATIONS!’ said an AI voice ‘YOU HAVE BEEN TRIANGULATED BY DRONE DREAM™: THE MOST DANGEROUS NERDS ON THE PLANET! WE’VE REALLY CAUGHT YOU WITH YOUR PANTS DOWN THIS TIME!’

Well, it seemed modernity had no time for minimum standards.

‘You’re probably wondering why we haven’t just flown through the window and eliminated you already…’ it continued. ‘Here at Drone Dream™, we understand the importance of saving face, even if you can’t save your life. Far too many have already lost theirs in humiliating circumstances, just like your own…’

Trousers round his ankles, phone in hand, cigarette dangling impotently – he was in no real position to argue.

‘…That’s why we give our clients the option to select their very own epic death! Whether it’s storming a trench – sacrificing yourself for your guys – or single-handedly shooting down a fighter jet – we have something for everyone! Drone-Dream™ will turn your toilet shame into a hero’s journey! Amaze friends! Make your family proud! Shame the haters! An image of courage that will last forever – all for just $59.99!’

Of course, he thought, scrolling through the scenarios, everything came with a price tag these days.

The tank option – taking out one with a rocket launcher, climbing onto another to drop a grenade down its hatch, then dying with a patriotic cry – did look quite cool though.

‘Great choice! Challenging a tank is never easy, but only a true alpha takes on two at a time!’

He uploaded a selfie so they could recreate him, then waited while his scene rendered.

For an added ten dollars they could give him a more muscular physique. Well, why not? In death, he’d finally achieve what he couldn’t quite manage in life.

He watched the video, giving a faint whistle of appreciation. Yep – that was exactly how he’d envisaged it, to be honest.

He swiped to confirm payment – agreeing to the terms and conditions – as the whine grew louder.

‘For an extra painless death, please recommend us to someone who could also benefit from our service!’

That would have to be Kiril. That man could sleep through a damn blitzkrieg.