In the shredded countryside of France and the shifting sands of the fading Ottoman Empire, the glory of the old wars died. Outmoded tactics and the inhuman steel and oil of modern machinery have given the era a moribund reputation. The braggadocio and bombast of the modern shooter is antithetical to the creeping, indiscriminate death of the Great War. World War I is no place for a blockbuster game. Through the muck and the mud of the trenches, midst the ceaseless ersatz thunder of artillery, he dragged what was left of his failing body until a stray shell claimed him. Packs of rats circled him, eager for his last breath, but he kept moving. Broken and bleeding, he crawled towards me.
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