So we bicycle to the library, where we look at the old DVDs in the dwindling media section and find a comedy to watch. Later that night we make nachos and watch the movie, and it’s cozy not to be fighting terrorists for a change. When I say good night to Eli, I ask him if anything’s wrong.

“It just kinda sucks not to get to play Combat Mode,” he says. “Besides, now that I have a Medal of Honor, there’s like no point anymore.”

“So you’re done with the game?”

“I don’t know. That guy made me feel bad about wanting to play Combat.”

“Well, it’s like he said, right? It’s probably a good thing not to kill people.”

“I guess,” Eli says.

After he’s asleep, I spend the next three hours gaming with Brogan. My ex would be appalled if she could see me, a forty-three-year-old man drinking beer and playing video games like an adolescent, but it’s fun. My gaming skills have improved, and over the last month my avatar’s gained higher ranks as we bomb and destroy villages. I’m on my third IPA and playing with a buzz when we liberate a whole compound of American journalists.

My screen turns golden. Congrats, you’re one of our top players! Ready for Combat Mode?

“Shit,” I say to Brogan. “I just unlocked Combat Mode.”

“That’s fucking awesome. Accept it!”

“I’m not sure I’m ready for that.”

“Why not? I’m already combat approved. We’ll try our first real mission together. We’re a great team. We haven’t killed a single civilian—shit, we’re saving people. Let’s fucking do this.”

Blasting through my headphones, the US Army Band plays the celebratory strains of “Architect of Victory,” my heart pounding to its beat. I click Yes and the screen fills with scrolling boilerplate language that concludes with the question Accept Military Enlistment? I click Yes again, and then we’re back in a carrier, the screen no longer animated but a live feed streaming from a GoPro camera attached to a droid’s head.

“Jesus,” I say.

“Yep, this is for real,” Brogan says. “Don’t worry, I’ve got your back. You ready?”

“Sure,” I manage to say before the carrier comes to a halt. Then Brogan and I are out in the actual streets of Ankara. We follow coordinates, dodge snipers, kick down the doors of a local mosque, and vaporize a terrorist. Just as we’re finishing him off, an American soldier emerges in the mosque’s doorway and aims at us.

“Why’s he aiming at—” My droid’s body jerks from the sudden impact of bullets, and my camera lens shatters into a spiderwebbed feed of the mosque’s domed ceiling. I turn back toward the American droid, lower my gun and try to pull the trigger. Invalid Target.