Very vague memories, but still kind of disturbing:
I was in a war, fighting for Spain against the French. I was at the top of a dirt hill inside a building. I was running down, when I saw an old man standing at the bottom with a gun pointed at me. I held something in front of me so he couldn't shoot me. When I got down there, he had fallen, and I took his sword. I held it at his face, about to shove it in through his nose. He wanted to kill himself, though, so he died as I let go. I climbed some stairs to go back up the hill.
Later, we were celebrating our victory in a muddy field, that seemed to be in a deserted Randolph Mall. Everyone was wearing only rags.
