You will die.

It doesn't matter what game you play. It won't after you die. Nothing will matter after you die. Your body, if not already destroyed by a hellfire of bullets or torn apart by hungry wildlife, will be slipped into a coffin. Your family and friends, assuming any exist or care, will stand over you blessing your departure with contempt that "you just HAD to die today, huh?" and "God, I wish I was back home with my girlfriend..." You will be buried far beneath what others walk on. Over the years, your flesh will decay, rotting away and letting maggots tear at you viciously. Any hopes and dreams that you had will be swept away. Your memories that shaped you into the man, the woman we needed you to be will vanish into nothingness. Your grudges will dissolve. Your crushes will cancel. If a loved one loved you, they will love you no more.

But before all of that, you will be in your hospital chair, presumedly. You will be anxious for your family to get there, but will know in the back of your head that their arrival only ensures your departure. You will lay back and realize your regret. You will regret what you did to her. You will regret what you said to him. You will regret your actions. Then you will be overcome in tears, in stricken agony. You will feel pain, followed by a numbing of the pain.

And then you will die.