Asynchronous Compulsion Loop

The two houses sat equidistant from each other.

On the left, Gregor Federov sat on his porch in a creaky rocking chair.

On the right, Henry Dobbins. Swinging on his porch swing, and polishing a mean looking rifle.

Neither man spoke, the tired looks on their faces enough to speak volumes.

Rocking.

Polishing.

Looking.

Waiting for… what, exactly?

It was never really clear.

A single tree marked their territories between them.

The air was crisp and bold, teasing at the breeze that would come from the swiftly approaching autumn. The kind of weather that made nostrils feel like they were going to burn slightly, but only in the most pleasant of ways. The kind of weather that just got on the edge of producing condensation from the breath.

The two men didn’t even look at eachother. Both sets of eyes forward, hardened by age and world weariness.

The stirring on the edge of the flat plain made both men raise their heads, and Gregor’s mouth turned into a small smile. There was a flick of heads turning to one another. A frown, from the distance, as Henry placed his rifle to lean precariously against the railing of his house.

Both men stood, and held up both hands.

A fist made, smacking into open palms.

Two fingers held out by Henry. Gregor’s hand still in a fist as the man’s eyes crinkled in amusement with his smile.

Henry, mouthing a silent swear as he sat back down forcefully, grabbing for his rifle to polish.

Gregor rose, and started to go to the edge of the porch, as the figure finally came into view. A faded silhouette of a humanoid figure. Knuckles cracked as the figure did not even turn its head to acknowledge either one of them, their focus entirely on that single tree.

They always drew a sword when either man got too close. They always thought they could fight when they saw the unarmed Gregor approaching.

He always called out. Greeted them pleasantly enough. Offered them a chance. It was never Henry’s approach. No, Henry’s approach was shoot first, ask questions later. Both always thought they were correct.

“I know what you’ve been told, child,” his heavily accented voice came out, as he started to circle. “There is nothing here for you.”

It wasn’t clear by the worn helm if they understood or not, but they continued to move as well.

Well.

They never listened. Sometimes they said things in response, a strange dialect and pattern of speech, but they never responded to his offers.

Sometimes he had no idea why he tried.

The one who fought him was unprepared, and overconfident. Brash as always.

It wasn’t long before the invader collapsed on the ground, just a pile of armor, sword clattering.

Gregor walked slowly back to his porch with a sigh. “I don’t know why we keep doing this, my friend. Why not just let them have it?”

Henry finally stood, looking over the mess. “You know we can’t do it. Got to determine who’s worthy, or that bullshit.”

He grunted, as he lumbered back to the porch. “You’re right about one thing,” he called across.

Henry, having gone back to cleaning his rifle, looked up swiftly. “Hnnnh?”

“It’s bullshit, is what it is.”

The snorted sound of amusement in response. “Yeah, but… kinda fun bullshit, innit?”

Gregor sighed, as he sat in the rocking chair. Slowly, with a grunt. “I guess. Still. Think we might be getting too old for it. Sometimes we…. We die. And sometimes they die. It’s a neverending cycle. It’s exhausting. Maybe… next week we just… give them one of the pears? It does not matter, my frie…”

“Shh.” Henry sat up, looking at the horizon, raising up. “This one’s mine.”

The gentleman rose to his feet, using his gun as a crutch as if it were more difficult to get up.

The voice that came from the adventurer was a strange one. "Oh come the fuck on! I keep trying to trigger the other guy - I've been trying for this achievement for ages."

The adventurers were always saying strange things like that. Henry was more powerful than he in many ways. The swiftness of his friend, combined with his distance of attack. He knew that when Henry was downed, for that time that his friend recovered in his little house, he felt more driven, more angry. How cruel for them to keep coming. To keep attacking them.

All for a single pear?

Henry was fast, but the adventurer was fast. His cruel words mocking Henry's plight echoing through the land. Why couldn't he get up to help his friend? Why couldn't he rise?

No.

He had to.

He had to help.

Henry was hurt. He was losing, slowly but surely.

He couldn't move.

He could only watch as his friend fell, and turned to ash underneath that tree. The pear being yanked off and vanishing into some unknown space on the adventurer.

"Fuck, I've got five of these now," the voice came from underneath that covered helm. "Guess I'll have to try again."

Gregor's eyes narrowed, as he growled. Shoving himself up.

No.

This was not how this would end.

The bear of a man felt a breaking. A crackle, against his invisible bonds, as he ran at the adventurer. His roar of fury clearly caught the adventurer across the...

He was on the porch.

What happened?

"Awh man, a glitch? So fucking unfair. Thought he was coming out to fight." There was a sigh that echoed. "Anyway, like and subscribe to see more content like this."

Gregor roared, tugging at his chair, trying to free himself from those invisible bonds, but it was all for naught.

Henry would recover, walk out of his house in a few days' time, like nothing happened. But Gregor...

Gregor would never recover from the shame.