And it would make little difference. His team was far in the lead, the honor of a battle won would be etched next to his name... who would know that this one slipped away from him, like mercury through his fingers? With an angry roar he blasted into the air, jetting far into the sky, and tossing his rocket launcher to the ground; for THEY would know... the Original ones; and what he wanted them to know was not the win or the loss... but the determination.
As the landscape heaved below him, he grabbed his spinfusor and targeted his enemy. The warning came too late; he would play the part of the target this time. With a crack of light and the stink of sulfur he tossed a flare grenade into the air; too late. The rocket hissed near his helmet and he nearly moved his head, but did not attempt evasion... the enemy was nearly lined up in his sights. Bathed in flames, his damage indicator far into the red, he jerked the trigger, and watched the blue disk cut through the air and lodge itself right between the target's shoulder blades.
With a satisfying "pling" the flag bounced several meters... right next to the enemy flag. Landing with a thud he returned his flag and without hesitation stole the flag of the enemy before turning back and heading for home. He knew he'd never make it, his HUD indicated numerous enemies closing in fast, his damage indicator down to a crimson sliver, and the glow of enemy fire streaking past him; all indicators of this futility... but then his comm crackled to life.
"What, you tryin' to win this war by yourself?" It was the Original ones... the members of OLD. "You pass, OLD.Drailer, welcome aboard. We have your six, proceed to home base... oh and, uh, by the way, a real man wouldn't have to limp."
"Yes, sir!" OLD.Drailer cracked a bloody smile, and limped on.