[ WP ] During a game of football , you are hit in the head , and you receive a massive concussion . When you wake up , you are hailed internationally as a hero .

Run. Run faster you dumb mother fucker or that quick ass cornerback from MSU is going to kill you! Just like dad taught me to do on the farm to lead the cattle. `` Run as quick as you can and do n't you let shit catch you son.'' His warm voice had an edge of gravel to it, twitching my ears forward with his voice. 
 
 That's all I remember though. Everything else is still a smudge. I woke up late in the Second Century C.E. My best friend in the world, now, strange as it is anyways. He grabbed my hand, pulling me to feet in celebration. We just won the latest Roman campaign, and I am hailed by the great Caesar himself with a formal medal in addition to lamentations of my success to the Senate in properly Campaigning a war but my heart yearns to till the land. One day that could be real again. 
 
 `` Get up, fool, you've slept so long the enemy has already gathered and is mounting an attack!'' Sephicles shouted, his voice cut off by a thousand feet charging me. 
 
 Heh, Only five hundred strong? I can easily match that with a single legion. Stepping out of my tent, I throw on suit mail and garments for war, calling my men-at-arms to their feet, the ground literally wobbling with force now. A delicate movement later an entire legion had a wall between the roar which faded to dull and myself, and I'll see them keep it. 
 
 `` Archers!'' I scream, blood both literally and lustfully spouting from my mouth, Trepidation discords tension on the hinge of my next word. 
 `` Fire!'' 
 
 As their bowstrings slackened, the wall tucked upon itself in seeming singularity. A wall off men, fifty wide eat dirt as arrows tear through their flesh. 
 50-0, me. I smile, a confident grin stretching across my face. 
 `` Over the top!'' 
 
 In unison my men turned and sliced into the closest barbarian about to run solidly into the shield wall. I really enjoy this part, the pure looks of terror and fright when the realize their mistake a dreaded moment too late and lose a limb/head/half a torso in a single chop of a well-timed sword. 
 `` Formback, Archers; Fire!'' 
 
 This time a sea of flesh hits the wall with thuds and groans, and again, arrows fly cutting down their numbers. I think I could do this for a little longer I suppose, transfixed by the full blown carnage of war at my disposal, with the words that I posses I can slay three hundred men in ten seconds, talk about efficiency? 
 `` I can get used to this.'' I say under my breath as my wall again explodes. 
 
 Edit *Formatting
