“Had to… keep you… unblocked, sir,” he whispered. “The game… doesn’t let you get scratched.” Three months later, President Cole visited Walter Reed Medical Center. Marcus Thorne was learning to walk again, his leg brace squeaking on the polished floor.
He looked at the tablet one last time. The pixelated President on the screen was waddling toward an exit. But a final, red enemy had spawned right behind him. In the game, the only way to win was to take the bullet. mr president unblocked game
Thorne’s lips moved. A faint, bloody smile crossed his face. “Had to… keep you… unblocked, sir,” he whispered