Nekros Nobody

A hooded figure in dark red stands watch. The scythe on his back shines red and gold. He is Nekros. He commands over death: A grenade launcher in his hands, he lets doom rain upon his foes. He commands over life: Reviving his allies and stealing the life force of dead victims, he rules supreme. He has chosen a high position for his watch, the cliff he stands on offers a good overview of the area. If necessary, he can join the fray at any time.
A rocket comes flying and detonates in front of him. He is knocked down, but quickly jumps up again, scanning the area for the culprit. The sound of metal scratching betrays its location: Down below, a bulky enemy is preparing to fire the next missile. Nekros jumps against a tree and with superhuman strength propels himself away. He lands behind the heavily armored enemy who is slowly turning around - the steel armor is slowing him down. With a single flowing movement Nekros detaches his scythe from his back and hacks at the poorly protected face region. The hardened blade hits the weak spot, it cuts through the nose and jaw of the armored clone, down to his throat. Blood gushes out and the enemy falls over. Nekros receives a message: More enemies are inbound. Swiftly he climbs a tree to regain control. Several armoured clones with rocket launchers and machine guns are marching in his direction, many grunts between them. These are not as well protected. Nekros focuses his mind for a second, becomes invisible and circles around the approaching squad. They are genetically engineered, mass-produced clones, incapable of tactical thought. They don't notice that the hindmost grunt already has a throwing knife in his windpipe and is laying in the dirt. One by one, the fighting unit is decimated until there are only the Heavies left. Still invisible, Nekros channels his energy. Red flames flow from his hands into the dead bodies. Despite their lethal wounds, the assassinated clones stand up again. He watches chaos unfold as the grunts turn against their former comrades and mindlessly spray bullets at them - not more and not less tactical than before their unexpected demise.
A red light blinks: One of his allies is wounded. Nekros does not stay to enjoy the chaos he created, instead he rushes to the aid of his fellow. He runs on both horizontal and vertical surfaces, using them to gain speed. Quickly he reaches the site. Multiple grunts are standing between the trees, blocking his way. He shoots one of the specially modified grenades and detonates it at the apex of the trajecory, right over the enemies' heads. Those who are not blown away by the blast and the shrapnel now have a corrosive chemical on them, dissolving what is left. The way is free, Nekros reaches for the life force of the dead clones and directs it to his ally, who stands up after a few seconds. It is a female, Nova. She had been unluckily hit and would have bled out, had it not been for him, they both know it. Her view betrays her gratitude for his help. Nekros receives another message. "We are done here, go to extraction." Together with Nova, he rushes off to the extraction point where an aircraft awaits them. One of his allies is already waiting, and before long, the fourth arrives. The mission is completed - and with the experience gained, he is now a Golden Dragon, mastery rank 15, the highest achievable. He closes his eyes and slowly exhales. The steel wall vibrates from the ship's engines. So long has he worked for it, steadily coming closer. Now it is done. There is nothing more to do.
He clicks the button in the top right corner. Do you really wish to log off? Yes. Do you really wish to quit the game? Yes.

A hunched figure in an oversized shirt sits in front of a screen and watches it turn black. His skin shines of grease. He is Nobody. His stomach growls - he has lost track of the time again. A glance at the digital clock betrays that it is far past midnight. With a sigh, he gets up and walks to the refrigerator which he searches for a quick meal. Sitting down to eat, he opens a window to let the thick air out. People are talking outside. No, not talking - laughing and yelling, roaring. They are obviously drunk. He has only contempt for them, indulging in their addiction at this time of the day. Do they not know alcohol is bad for them? Some of his classmates might be with the group outside. They really do not know a lot. The only thing they care about is themselves. Why is it that they are happily grouping while he is lonely? They're lowlives, happy with their own tiny world, not looking past the next party. Switching on the Television would immediately prove right his opinion of most people, of the dull masses - football stars are revered like gods while scientists and people who would actually deserve the respect are ignored. Is it possible to cure ignorance? For a few minutes, he dreams of a world where knowledge and wisdom determine ones place in society, yet nobody must suffer. But it seems as the world is not yet ready for that. He has no purpose in this world. The only purposes he created for himself were temporary. The people outside are unaware of him overhearing their loud laughter. He wonders if many people actually know him. Nobody knows of his thoughts. He perceives the world, but is insignificant himself. He is Nobody, and his life is meaningless. He opens a drawer and takes out a long knife. He is Nobody. A knife? What? He is Nobody. It does not matter - whatever he does, it will go unperceived. He is Nobody. But right now, in this moment, he can make a decision - he is Nekros.