"Yeah, that's Colonel Taylor!"
The others looked at him with a little less suspicion and were starting to come around, realising a TV personality was among them.
Nothing like a bit of star power.
He didn't want their praise, their gratitude, or even to be recognised.
"Just here for a drink."
"Well, you sure can come in...but...err not with your friend there," said the barkeep.
Taylor shook his head. He wasn't surprised; it had happened enough times it was becoming boring.
"All right, now you listen up. I bet there's more than a few of you here who fought in the war, but I can guarantee you that my friend here killed more of those bastards than all of you put together, and then some!"
There was no response.
"We both gave everything to protect this country and this planet, so I don't want to hear any bitchin’ about where we can and can't buy a beer. We're staying, and anyone who has something to say about it, they better do so now!"
Several looked away, and it was clear that despite many not being happy about it, they were not going to speak up.
"That's what I thought," he said loudly.
He strolled to the bar confidently and defiantly with Jafar by his side. Half of the patrons watched their every move, while the others turned away and tried to ignore their presence. It made Taylor wonder what on Earth they were fighting for if they were going to be seen as such outcasts.
"Two beers," he said to the barkeep.
The man now had little choice. He passed over two bottles and sighed as he took Taylor's money. A few seconds later, he was squirreling off, pretending to be busy with other customers when it was clear he only intended to gossip. Taylor rested back against the bar edge and swilled his beer.
In just a few seconds, they had gone from the centre of attention to being almost invisible. Conversations continued all around them. He felt as if they had vanished beyond sight or sound.
"Nice to feel wanted," he muttered.
"You always seem to want appreciation for your efforts, why?" Jafar asked.
"Maybe because we fucking deserve it. Look at what we achieved in the wars, and now half the World or more treats us like shit. Easy to forget our efforts when there isn't an occupation force around the corner."
Jafar seemed to have nothing more to say on the subject.
"Oh, come on, you want to say something, so say it."
"We are for war. It is our purpose."
"And?"
"We need another."
Taylor sighed as he thought about the prospect. One of his biggest fears of another war was that it would take him away from Parker, and yet he seemed to see her less and less since they had won the war.
"All the people you hold dear coming together to do what they were born and bred to do."
"And die as well?"
"We all die eventually."
He was starting to understand how the aliens could fight so fearlessly in combat. He hated to admit it, but he was beginning to miss the war. Not the death or loss of friends, but the companionship, the sense of purpose.
Now where am I? Surrounded by a group of assholes who'd rather have me thrown out the door than make conversation.
In the background something caught his eye, and he turned to see his name along the top of a video game machine at the side of the room. The board above it read 'Battle Ops 2: Taylor's Triumph'. There was a picture of a soldier loosely resembling him on a poster at the side holding an American flag up in the air.
"What the hell is that?" he whispered.
Jafar had overheard and turned to see the same. He could see the image of Taylor and noticed a dead Mech under one of the character's boot. He chuckled a little, but Taylor did not seem amused. He pushed off from the bar where he had been leaning and strolled over to the machine. A preview video ran on it, showing the first person action shooter it was.
As he approached, a young man took up position at the controls. He pulled on a virtual reality headset and took up a gun-like object from the machine. The man must have been no more than nineteen, and Taylor would more aptly call him a boy. He started moving all of a sudden, walking on the spot. He was standing on a three hundred and sixty degree treadmill. Clearly, the screen Taylor was watching was merely to draw people in and audiences to watch, as the boy was completely immersed in the game.
Taylor could do nothing for a few minutes as he stood in astonishment at what he was seeing. The lad playing was running through corridors, gunning down Mechs left right and centre. His Assegai flashed out occasionally, as the in game character rolled across the floor and thrust it into an enemy soldier or leapt up athletically onto the back of another in an effortless manner of which he could only dream of.
"You see, you like war. Everyone does," stated Jafar.
He was surprised at the voice, for he had not even noticed his friend approach his side. They continued to watch for a few minutes in amazement. Taylor seemed a one-man army in the game, supported by only a few comrades who did little but seemingly elevate his epic abilities. As a level came to a close, the lad came up against a huge Mech villain, the likes of which Taylor had never seen. It was five times the size of any enemy soldier, like some giant war machine.
"Not seen anything like that before."
"No, but something similar on some worlds," replied Jafar.
Another terror we are yet to face, he thought.
"How the hell do they know about them, then?"
He already knew the answer before he had finished asking it, artistic licence.
The lad playing was frantically lashing out at the huge in game creature but was struck and grasped by its huge mechanical claws. The body of Taylor on screen was lifted and snapped at the spine before being tossed to the floor, and the letters 'game over' appearing in large letters.
"Goddamn it!" yelled the boy.
The scene took Taylor aback. It was a visceral and eye-opening reminder of what could, or might still be his fate. He often wondered how he had survived through so many deadly situations. As the boy took off the mask, he recoiled in shock at Taylor and his huge friend looming over and staring at the console.
"What the fuck?" he screamed.
Several in the room went silent as they looked over to the two strangers and sought reason to cause trouble.
"It's okay, kid, just watching," Taylor said, snapping out of it.
The teenager was still in shock and had clearly not been in the room or noticed when they had arrived. He first looked in absolute fear at Jafar, and then to Taylor. His expression changed to a smile when he realised who they were.
"No fucking way."
Taylor didn't respond. He was still shocked at the game that seemed to trivialise everything they had worked to achieve, and even the deaths of those around him.
“No fucking way, it’s really you, and with your alien turncoat!”
Taylor’s face turned to a grimace, taking offence at the word. He wanted to strike the teenager for it but restrained himself, realising where he was and who stood before him. He felt his skin boil in anger, but thinking of what Chandra would have done in such circumstances made him rise above it.
“So fucking cool to meet you!” yelled the teenager. "You're one sick motherfucker."
He didn't know how to respond, but the boy gave him little opportunity.
"You must have killed hundreds of Krys, man?"
He'd not heard the abbreviation before, but it didn't take a whole lot of imagination to work it out. The lad tapped him on the chest as he continued on in a manner he did not appreciate.
"So come on, my man, how many you kill?"