You can’t help it; you’re fascinated by the sunlight glinting off armor and spikes and bloodied metal rising and falling violently. Time/consciousness dissolves and weaves into a parallel pattern, and the scream of a wounded horse bridges the gap and you step across…

Weird, it’s like being in a field of killer robots clanging and banging … except for the blood and the cries of pain and rage. Weird, your arm is strong from years of practice, and the worn mace is deadly in your hands. You could forget what a robot is and continue splitting skulls, but do you really want to continue this life of killing infidels? You barely duck under a wooshing battle axe and realize you’re not burly enough in the mind for this sport. It’s so … medieval. A mighty blow inches away makes sparks fly, and using the near death as a focal point, reality once again divides…

You can:

Visit a prior option
Be transformed into a buxomly lass in an 1840’s Scottish bar
Witness the last words uttered by the last living human