"Frank! Cover me, I'm reloading!"

"Get down!"

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK!"

"Sir, I can't get HQ on the horn! Our comms are fucked!"

"Broadsword Two Actual, this is Broadsword Two-Three, we're running low on ammo, and we're still pinned down over here, where are you guys, over?"

"God damnit, I'm hit!"

"Rhino Actual, this is Broadsword Two-One, multiple tangos on our three! Requesting fire support, over!"

"Peters, no!"

"Shit, shit, shit, the fuckers are closing in! Get ready!"

"Rick, watch out!"

"Fire in the hole, motherfuckers!"

"RPG! GET DOWN! GET DOWN! GET THE FUCK DOWN!"

"AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!"

"Hey, you fucking goatfuckers! Get some! Get some! Oh, you want some more? Here you go, you fucking imbeciles! Get some! GET SOME! HAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHA!"

"FUCK, I'M HIT!"

"Broadsword Two, this is Archangel Lead, what's your status, over?"

"Jack, what is it?"

"I'm sorry, bro. I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what? C'mon, man, tell me! TELL ME!"

"It's...It's Fred. Your twin brother's dead, man. I'm sorry. We couldn't save him."

"Shit, shit, shit, shitshitshitshitshit SHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIT!"

"Fuck this place, man, FUCK THIS FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT PLACE!"

"FUCK! FUCK FUCK FUCK!"

"If it's any fucking comfort for you, Frank, just know that he took a good bunch of those fuckers with him."

"He covered our retreat, holmes..."

"I should've stayed with him, man, I should've stayed with him! We'd all be back alive if I stayed with him, Frank! This is my fault!..."

"No, Danny, you retreating with the guys was the best choice. I should be the one saying that. I should've fucking went in with him..."

"Fred wanted you to live, Frank. He wanted you to fight on for him..."

And when I thought it couldn't get any worse, it did.

Two years to the day after my twin brother died, I got the worst possible call from home ever.

My wife, my best friend, the love of my life, the girl I loved as I grew up, died in a car accident.

My mother-in-law told me that she was ran over by a bunch of drunk kids on spring break while being chased by the cops.

She never made it to the hospital.

I've cried so much for all the brothers I lost - my twin brother among them - that I couldn't shed a tear for her that day.

It was very fucking difficult for me to express my feelings about what happened to her.

I only cried for her when I visited her grave immediately upon coming home from Afghanistan.

All the violence, death, destruction and salvation I caused was all rendered meaningless when she died.

"Thank you for playing Doki Doki Literature Club."

"We... we all love you."

The ink flows down into a dark puddle

How can I write love into reality?

If I can't hear the sound of your heartbeat

What do you call love in your reality?

And in your reality

If I don't know how to love you...

I'll leave you be.

The note that followed was now from Dan Salvato, instead of the usual one from Monika. Her character file was also back where it belonged, with the other girls'.

Satisfied that I finally got the best possible ending, I closed the game, deleted the firstrun file, laid myself back, took a deep breath and sighed. I then turned to my wall clock.

It was already 11pm. I looked around the house. The kids were asleep. I had to wake up at 5am, ready the kids' breakfast, drop them off to school at 7, and get back home afterwards.

Sensing that I have to sleep soon, I rushed to the bathroom, took a shower, slipped into my PJs and went to sleep.

Thanks to my mind deciding to show me the worst moments of my time in Iraq and Afghanistan, however, I only had four good hours of sleep that night.

"Fuck, we're taking fire!"

"Ready, bro?"

"Yeah."

"Alright, Devil Dogs, show those fedayeen bastards what Marines are made of! Let's fucking go!"

"Deke, cover me!"

"Frank, look out! Tango, one o'clock!"

"Aah, shit!"

"Good job on your first kill, Private."

"Did I... really just kill that guy, Sergeant?"

"Blackbird Two-Two, where the hell are you?! We're pinned down at the intersection of *static* and *static* streets, and are in deep shit, over!"

"Two-One, be advised, we're taking heavy fire from the rooftops, and we can't get Marine air on the horn, over!"

"Jesus Christ, where's armor when you need 'em?"

"I heard that they're also pinned the fuck down somewhere else! They've already had an Abrams or two sent back to base for repairs!"

"What the fuck do we do now?"

"SHIT! RPG, SECOND FLOOR WINDOW! FIND COVER!"

"FRAG OUT! OPEN FIRE!"

"DAMN IT, I'M HIT!"

"Dude, this place gives me the creeps."

"Amen, brother. It almost feels as if the next room has a bunch of hadjis waiting to bust some caps in our asses."

"Or a booby trap that's gonna make the damn ceiling collapse on us."

"Cut the chatter and focus on the mission, Marines."

"Aye, Sir."

"Castillo, Nelson, on me. Rest of you cover the hallway."

"Got it."

"On three. One, two, thr-"

"ALLAHU AKBAR!"

"SHIT! CUT 'EM DOWN!"

"FUCK, THERE'S A LOT OF 'EM!"

"WE GOT THIS, MAN, WE GOT THIS!"

Oh gather 'round me
And listen while I speak
Of a war
Where Hell is six feet deep

And all along the shore
Where cannons still roar
They're haunting my dreams
They're still there when I sleep

My dreams, or rather, nightmares, have always been like that since I came home and left the Corps.

"Uh, Frank, is there something wrong?"

"N-no, everything's fine. Why'd you ask?"

"Because it looks to me as if there's something you want to tell me."

"Maybe..."

"So, tell me, my love, what is it?"

"Well, this has been something I've always wanted to ask you for a good while now."

"C'mon, tell me! What do you want to ask?"

"Forgive me if this one's a bit too sudden, but..."

But these past few months had me reminiscing the best and worst days I had with my late wife. Every time I wake up I wonder why she keeps on appearing in my dreams.

"Frank..."

"Monica, will you... marry me?"

It might have something to do with the fact that I've been playing Doki Doki Literature Club for a good while now.

And it turns out that for some reason, the girls remind me of my wife.

Way too much.

"Yes!"

"REVEILLE! REVEILLE! GET THE HELL UP, MAGGOTS!"

I immediately got off my bed, fixed it, and stood to attention, waiting for some hardass DI to get in my face and smoke me. Turns out I was just dreaming the screaming DI part, and I forgot to change my phone's alarm tune. Man, I keep on forgetting that I'm no longer in the Corps.

Once I regained my senses, I relaxed myself, turned off my phone's alarm, and got breakfast ready.

I made bacon, eggs, hot chocolate, and last night's dinner rice I fried with garlic, salt, pepper and some leftover luncheon meat.

As I went back upstairs to wake the kids up, I remembered that I haven't washed my face and brushed my teeth yet.

I ignored that thought, deciding that I should do it after I finish breakfast.

"Rise and shine, boys, it's time to eat!"

It didn't take long for my sons and nephews - my brother's kids - to groggily awake from their slumber.

"Uncle Frank, David ruined-"

"No, Dad, it was Jake's fault!"

"I saw you tear it, David!"

"It was Patrick's fault!"

Soon enough, it devolved into pointless finger-pointing and blame games. I had to take action.

"All of you, quit talking and get downstairs! Breakfast's ready. Let's talk about that on the way to school."

"Yes, Daddy./Yes, Uncle Frank."

As the kids went downstairs to get breakfast, I saw the PC's lights were still on. I remembered then that I was in such a rush to get to sleep that I only managed to close the game and the monitor before I got to the bathroom to take a shower. I went back into my room and turned the PC off, then went back down the stairs and ate breakfast with the boys.

As soon as we finished saying grace, the kids began digging into their food. I followed without hesitation.

Aside from the noises of utensils banging against ceramic and plastic plates and bowls, and the sounds of people chewing, it was somewhat quiet. I taught the kids to not talk when their mouths were full.

As I was about to put some more food into my mouth, I received a text from an unknown number.

Turns out it belongs to somebody I didn't quite expect.

Is this working? It is? Oh...

Hi Frank! It's me. I don't really need to introduce myself, do I?

Anyway, how are you doing? I can't wait to finally see you.

Take care, okay? Tell the kids I said hi!

-Monika

P.S. Come to your room once you get home! I have a surprise waiting for you!

"Uh, Dad, are you okay?"

"Y-yeah, David, I'm alright. I just, uh, got a text from an old friend, that's all."

My eldest son then went back to his breakfast, seemingly satisfied with my answer.

I wasn't sure if this was real, a prank or a veiled threat by somebody who I crossed earlier in my life.

I thought of putting on a stupid Liam Neeson "Taken" impression and call the damn number right away, but instead, I texted my response while I was chewing the food in my mouth.

Okay, who the fuck are you and how did you get my fucking number, you stupid clown?

And then I went back to eating breakfast.

Once breakfast was done, I immediately went outside and called the number, but the automated response told me that the phone is either out of coverage area or turned off.

Fuck this.

I sighed, went back inside, and cleaned myself up.

Once I was done brushing my teeth. I went back to my room and grabbed my everyday carry bag, before putting on my holster which was carrying the brand new Glock I bought a short while back. I put my low visibility plate carrier/soft armor on, making sure that the ceramic plates were snugly fit in their pockets, and got out of the room with all my stuff, but not before locking the door.

I put my jacket on, and went out to meet the kids, who were already waiting by my car. They were all ready to go.

"Alright boys, get in the car. I'll just secure the house."

As soon as the car doors were unlocked, the kids got inside the car, and waited for me as I locked the house's front door. Before that, I made sure that all the other entry and exit points were closed and locked, and that the security cameras and alarms were all running. I also made sure that all unnecessary appliances were turned off.

I also had to make sure that the locker in my room was secured.

"Okay, strap yourselves in. We're going to school, kids."

As I maneuvered the car onto the road, I thought I saw the curtain from my room move as if somebody hurriedly covered themselves with it so as to not have me see them peek.

I brushed it off and drove the kids to school.

"So, what was it that you were trying to tell me, Jim?"

"David ruined Aunt Monica's old teddy bear, Uncle Frank."

"I'm sorry, Dad."

"It's fine, it's fine, kids ruin toys all the time. I'll have it fixed one of these days."

"Does that teddy bear mean so much, Uncle Frank?"

"Let's just say that it pretty much does."

That teddy bear was the first gift I ever gave my wife when we were still little kids.

And she would always take care of it as if it were actually her - no - our child. I didn't really pay attention to it back then, but as we grew up, I realized that she had always planned for me and her to be a family, and that she had been in love with me for quite a while.

"Dad, why are you driving like that?"

"Driving like what?"

"You keep on switching lanes left and right when you drive under overpasses, Dad."

Damn it. I still haven't gotten over that habit yet. In Iraq, we were taught to swerve whenever we would go under overpasses or bridges so as to make it harder for hostiles positioned on them to drop grenades into our vehicles.

As far as I remember, though, I never heard of grenades being dropped into Humvees from above by Taliban fighters on bridges. In my time in Iraq, however, I've heard stories of, and in some cases actually saw, what happens when drivers don't swerve sharply to a different lane while passing under bridges or overpasses.

They weren't fucking pretty.

"Okay, guys, we're here!"

I got out of the car, opened the trunk and took the kids' bags while leaving my everyday carry bag inside.

My holstered pistol will do for now.

Fucking right-wing Trump-supporting school-shooting antisocial assholes.

"Alright, guys. Don't give the teachers more problems and stay out of trouble, okay? I'll see y'all later!"

"Bye, Dad!/Bye, Uncle Frank!"

As soon as the boys turned around and made their way to the school building, I went back to the trunk, grabbed my bag and close the trunk before I went back to the driver's seat.

I then placed the bag on the passenger seat.

Once I was sure that the coast was clear, I grabbed my phone and called the number that texted me earlier.

Fuck. There's still no answer.

I put my phone back in my pocket, looked around once more, and then started driving back home.

As I approached the overpass, I resisted the urge to swerve to a different lane. It's not like I could swerve, either, as traffic was heavy at this time of day.

I hooked my phone up to the car's audio system and opened up my playlist. I pressed shuffle and just let the music play.

What's left inside him?
Don't he remember us?
Can't he believe me?
We seemed like brothers
Talked for hours last month
About what we wanna be
I sit now with his hand in mine
But I know he can't feel

While the song played, I was taken back to the good times I spent with Fred and the guys we lost. All the laughter, the tears, the bullshit, the jokes, everything - they all came back to my head.

No one knows
What's done is done
It's as if he were dead

I couldn't even last halfway through the song without tearing up. The emotions were all too much.

It hit me harder when I remembered that our old high school friend Joe shot himself in the head with an old revolver a few months ago, when I was out of the Corps for only a few weeks. Fred and I were in the same platoon as him from boot camp to Iraq and then to Afghanistan, where we experienced the worst moments of our lives.

The nightmares that his experiences in Iraq and Afghanistan brought were too much for him. Also, since he left the Corps after coming home from his third deployment to Afghanistan, he had been battling depression, alcoholism and abuse from his wife, who was actually a childhood friend of his. Some of our talk before his suicide suggested that the abuse wasn't only physical or mental. He couldn't exactly tell me what happened, but he told me that often woke up with his hands and feet tied to their bed, and with his wife on top of him, both of them being naked from the waist down.

His kids were now in the custody of his elder sister and her husband, and his wife had been sent to an asylum, crying all the way.

After taking a good long drive down memory lane while imagining how things would be if the guys were still here, I stopped the car in front of the house.

I was home.

I shook off the thoughts about my fallen brothers, unplugged my phone from the car audio, shifted the gear to park, and turned the engine off. I was about to just unlock the door when I noticed that the door was unlocked already. I clearly remember locking the door before I got into the car. Then I remembered what I saw in the window earlier and immediately assumed that they were both connected.

I looked around first to see if anyone could see me. The people I see were just minding their own business, and I don't see the cops around.

Once the coast was clear, I didn't hesitate to grab my everyday carry bag from the trunk and pull out what I thought I needed.

A fucking full-auto M16.

With seven fully loaded thirty-round mags.

All of which are somehow legal.

Getting these in fucking California should be fucking impossible. Good thing the dealer I got this bad boy from not only knew the ins and outs of federal, state, county and city firearms regulations enough to get me these, but also had all the required paperwork. I got my Glock from the same dealer, though I only got 10-rounders for them, mainly because those were the only ones they had.

They also helped with the paperwork that allowed me to carry my Glock concealed.

I inserted the mags into the plate carrier's pouches, inserted one into the rifle, chambered a round and went to the door. My bag was already on my back.

I positioned myself so as to hide the rifle from sight, looked around once more to see if the coast was still clear, and went in once it was, making sure to close the door behind me.

With rifle in hand, I slowly and surely searched the ground floor for intruders.

"Hello? Is anybody home? Hello? Is anybody here?"

As I searched the kitchen, I thought I heard something move upstairs. I held that thought until I was finished with clearing the ground floor.

Once I was finished with the ground floor, I slowly went up the stairs, making sure that made my feet made as little noise as possible.

"Can anyone hear me? Hello? Is anyone home?"

No response.

I then proceeded to search all the rooms for hidden intruders, beginning with the second floor guest room, where visiting family or friends went to sleep whenever they decided to stay. I found nobody, not even the bathroom in there.

Once the guest room was clear, I then searched the kids' room. As I scanned every space in the room that could possibly hide an intruder, my heart pounded like hell.

Last time this shit happened, I was searching caves, mud houses and huts in Afghanistan with my Marines for Taliban fighters, arsenals, stashes, and IEDs. Now I was in my own home searching for someone or something that may not even be there.

I approached the kids' closet and opened it, but I found nothing out of place. The kids' room was likewise devoid of things that weren't supposed to be there.

I then went out and peeked inside the bathroom to make sure that nobody was hiding inside. Sure enough, nobody was inside.

That only left two rooms left to search: my room and my parents' room, which had been empty ever since Dad decided that he'd retire in the Old Country, and that Mom was coming with him. My remaining brother Jesse, who was also a Marine who did his time in Afghanistan and Iraq, now lives in San Diego proper, not too far from the Marine Corps Recruit Depot.

I unlocked the door to my parents' room and slowly checked every single nook and cranny that somebody could hide in. As I searched the room, I was sure that I heard almost intelligible whispering and murmuring in my room, which was directly beside it.

The room, once again, turned out to be empty. Nobody was inside. Same went for my parents' bathroom.

Which meant that the last room to search was my room.

As I got to the door, I noticed that the house had gone silent. Either the whispering had stopped, or I was only imagining things.

I went up to the door and tried to unlock it with the master key, but it was already unlocked.

I set the fire selector on my rifle to auto, took a deep breath and sighed.

"Here goes nothing."

I gently open the door.