POV: This cowboy falls out of the sky with a double-barreled shotgun pointed at you. What do you do?

VIDEO ABOVE: The incident.

Please humor me on an indulgent Friday™ tale of western combat, dear reader. Last night I was putting another few rounds into my most-played game of the year, Hunt: Showdown, a stealthy, often slow shooter where sitting still in tall grass is usually a preferred strategy over bum-rushing.

We were skirting the perimeter of Fort Bolden, the lincoln log fortress in the SW corner of DeSalle. My teammate had just been blown to smithereens by a fireworks trap that was deviously placed beside a red explosive barrel. Morale was low, and enemies had the high ground.

In a few seconds, we'd have a chance to even the odds. I was trying to flush out the enemies who we knew were occupying the area above us, on the battlement. I shot one. I hurled a (19th century) flash grenade into their nest. Another throwable has barely left my hand when the heavens part. The silhouette of an avenging angel breaks the sky, and he's wearing suspenders.

(Image credit: Me)

Is this the new Hunt meta, headstomping your enemies like a goomba? The leap at me is an action-hero move, and the last thing I expect in a shooter where movement is mostly limited to little, strafey side-steps. I absorb a bucketful of buckshot, smacked within an inch of my lifebar. (Upon forensic inspection of the footage, it looks like he's carrying a Caldwell Rival 78 Handcannon, excellent taste in shotguns, my friend.)

I belatedly reflex-fire my Winfield as he hits the ground. No hit marker, shit. But he's… dead? He killed himself? He killed himself. I've dodged a bullet despite very much not dodging the aforementioned bullet.