The first thing I noticed after the adrenaline wore off was not the bodies. It was that I was still bleeding.
Not the light, cosmetic bleeding that most games used for visual effect, a red tint on the screen edge, a small particle effect, something to communicate damage without actually inconveniencing anyone. Real blood, warm and sticky, soaking through the torn fabric of my starter shirt and making dark shapes on the forest floor that I could not stop looking at.
I pressed my hand against the worst of it, a long gash across my ribs where the bandit leader's sword had connected on his second pass, and pulled my fingers away painted crimson. My stomach turned over. Not at the blood exactly, but at what came immediately after it, the slow and horrible recognition that was becoming a recur
