As John steps in the door after his 14-hour long shift at “McCuckers”, he lets out a long sigh. Time for the usual. His son comes barreling towards his arms, and for a second, John thinks to himself that his son has finally come to give his old man a great big hug. What comes next is a sense of searing pain in his nether region as his son kicks him right in the nuts. He falls to the ground, yet his face retains the same dull and lifeless look it’s had for the past decade.
While crawling to his bedroom door, John is greeted by a burly man nearly 20 years younger than he, with his wife’s bedroom door wide open behind him. John ignores him, as he hasn’t the patience to learn how many men his wife laid today. He had bigger, better ambitions. Once he finally limps his way to his room, he forces his limb corpse of a body up onto his $1000 gamer chair. His eyes widen as they meet his computer screen.
“Welcome,
John Marston
XX-645”
“Join the USCM!”
“Military Police (0) (Active: 0)”
“Finally,” he says to himself, “It’s good to be King.”