[ WP ] In the future a super realistic and advanced virtual reality based war game is released . Shortly afterwards the players start to show signs of PTSD from time spent in the virtual world .

Always reminds me of learning how to swim, a nosebleed does. The warm liquid feels like a runny nose, you sniffle to draw it back up, and it stings in your nostril. 
 
 It took a nosebleed to pull me out today. 
 
 I can fight the night pull after 14 hours of play. That dizzy-drunk spin at 16 hours. Even the blurred second sight of 16 hours continuous. But when there's more blood outside of my game than inside, I had to stop. 
 
 `` Recon 11 to Hive Command, I've got to withdraw.'' I put down the lefthand controls to pinch my nose. 
 
 `` Negative, Recon 11.'' I could feel the blood pooling up like a full syringe behind my fingers. `` Godkiller Gate is still open. We're sending you back in.'' 
 
 `` Dammit, I'm burning a respawn then. Gim me 3.'' 
 
 `` You have one. Bust your ass back here or we'll kick.'' 
 
 I slammed down the controls and visuals with my right hand and reached into the desktop drawer for some tissues. Pushing aside the lubriderm I pulled two out. I wadded the first under my lip to slow the bleeding -- an old soccer trick from when I was a kid. The second I held under my nose as I detached my sticky finger and thumb. Blood gushed and I wiped it up sniffling as I reached for a third tissue and rammed it in place. 
 
 `` Back, Hive Command.'' 
 
 `` Good. Rush center control with the other recon units. We have tanks and snipers flanking you.'' 
 
 Pressing keys down harder never made you go faster, but we all do it anyways. I rushed the control center and made my strike. I heard a cheer in my headset. 17 hours of play. New control center, new credits, new cheers. 18 hours. 
 
 I only dream of the game. It dances in front of my eyes in negative purples and greens before I sleep. 1 hour 26 minutes is a REM cycle and I'm awake again. I could unlock another level if I return. 
 
 I fall asleep again. The tanks have become ostriches and they turn to me with big eyes and seek my approval. I tap them softly on the head and nod my approval. The snipers lift me up and carry me on their shoulders. The cheers fade as they hoist me up and into Godkiller Gate. 
 
 I emerge through the portal doors, weaponless. Instead of the real level, the command center is twisted and organic. Vines and unblinking eyes run up the sides of a stone tower. The air is metallic and hot. There is no entrance. 
 
 I awake. I pull my shorts on and grab a soda from under the bed. The mirror shows the bloody fight club face I forgot to clean off. Black rings crust my nostrils. I rub at them as I log back in. 

