by Eric Smith
Fuck the trolls.
I open the public channel and put a call out to the Armada, and a handful of ships warp in almost instantly, cheers echoing in my headset.
Ah, my people.
With about two dozen or so ships floating next to me and Aaron, I punch in the coordinates for a greenish-looking speck in the distance, the planet popping up on my long-range scanners.
CLASS THREE PLANET [CONFIRMED]
Status: Uncharted, Undiscovered
Life Support Capability: Positive
Population: Small creatures, plant life, no sentient evidence available.
Detectable Resources: Timber, Water, Minerals
Would you like to claim and name this planet?
[YES] [NO]
Thanks to the upgrades, numerous other details about the planet appear on the screen, making the choice all the easier to go forth and discover. Tons of resources and some small creatures to photograph and catalog for extra experience and points? Yes, please, sign me up. And if we all go in as a group, extra points all around.
This is perfect.
“Alright, Armada, lock on to me. I’m picking up lots of resources and...well, it just looks great.” I grin into the webcam. “We deserve this one. I’m going to go ahead and turn the stream on and start recording in three...two...one...”
I hit Record, and the stream is live. I’m hoping against all hope that no one in the small bunch of ships is a troll in disguise.
“Let’s go!” I exclaim, pressing down on the jump. My ship and all the others rocket forward. After just a few seconds, the green planet comes into focus. It almost looks like a floating ball of moss. Bits of blue pop up among the green, but also some splashes of yellow.
“Weird,” I hear Aaron say in my headset.
“The fact that it’s almost all land, or those little yellow splotches?” I ask, flicking to a private chat.
“Both,” he says with a chuckle.
“If we encounter any trouble, do your best to escape,” I advise the Armada, going public again. “Save yourselves. We spend too much time on these ships to have them ruined.”
With that, I push the throttle forward and my ship speeds toward the surface. I squint at all the greenery, trying to find a safe landing spot, when it strikes me that all of it is likely safe. It’s a planet of moss, or at least, whatever alien moss this is. My landing gear comes down quickly with a soft click, and my ship sinks in a little as it touches the ground, like placing something on a large, soft blanket.
I pop open the cockpit and hop out, surveying my surroundings. The fields push out far, way past the horizon, but nearby, there is a bubbling lake of something yellow. I walk toward it, the sounds of the other Armada ships echoing around me—landing gear lowering, cockpits opening, feet hurrying along the soft, springy surface.
Aaron appears at my side. “What do you think that is?” he asks, gesturing at the yellow pool.
Just steps away now, I see that the yellow is a bit darker than I originally thought. I squint at the screen and load up one of the mineral analyzing tools. It takes up most of my view, but after a quick scan, it comes back with an answer that sends my heart racing.
“It’s a lake of gold,” I whisper.
I turn around, looking past Aaron and back toward the Armada that made the trip with me. Minerals and resources are a key part of Reclaim the Sun, and they’re randomly generated planet to planet. But lakes of molten gold? I haven’t heard of anyone finding anything like that in game yet.
I turn back to it, making sure I get some long, hard looks at the surface, walking around the edge of it all. I need this for the recording. Absolutely need it. Rebekah will lose it if I don’t capture every single moment, and it’s killing me that she’s not here for this.
“I can’t even fathom how many in-game credits all this is worth,” Aaron says, his voice far and distant. I look up and see he’s nearing the other side of the lake. “Do you think we can swim in it?”
“Um, no,” I reply. “You’ll probably die immediately and have to start over.”
“I gotta try,” he says, taking a step toward the lake.
“Aaron, come on, you did all this leveling up,” I protest. “Don’t waste it.”
He steps back again. “You’re right, you’re right,” he says and makes his way over toward me.
“Man, Rebekah is going to lose her—” I start.
A concussive blast nearly knocks me off my feet. In the distance, a ship bursts into flames as blaster fire erupts all over the ground, peppering the surface, leaving a trail of fire in the green moss wherever it hits. The channel lights up with screams and loud exclamations from the Armada, and their ships hover into view above where most us have landed.
I immediately recognize the logos on the sides of the ships.
The Vox Populi.
The damn trolls are here.
“Get back to your ship!” I shout at Aaron, who immediately takes off running. I sprint alongside him before breaking off toward my own vessel. The Vox Populi circle overhead in their ships all the while, occasionally taking out a member of the Armada, but for the most part, they wait silently.
And then it hits me.
They aren’t just here to fight.
They’re waiting for us to leave.
They couldn’t have tried taking the planet at the same time as us, so we could have dueled, the way Aaron and I almost did when we first met. No, instead, they sat waiting, following us, ready to attack. And now, instead of fighting fair, they’re straight-up camping here, ready to steal what we found.
I climb into the Cedere Nescio and take to the skies, the planet of green and gold flashing by beneath me, shimmering and bright.
Aaron thunders in over my headset as I turn my ship to face those of the Vox Populi. “What are you doing?!” he demands.
“We can’t let them take the planet!” I shout, broadcasting to the entire Armada.
“What?” he shouts back. “Why? Fuck this, no way, D1V. You and the Armada should—”
I cut him off. “Think about how much those gold lakes are worth in credits. They’ll be funded for life, Aaron. That’s why they’re just sitting there. They’ll never stop. This game will be ruined for everyone. Their ships will always be faster. Their upgrades will always be better.”
I feel a bloom of heat in my chest as the Populi ships come into firing range. While a handful of the Armada have fled like I told them to, a number have stuck behind, their vessels floating up behind me, flanking me, and a few hovering in front of me, all close together. They’re forming a shield, and the gesture is not lost on me.
The sounds of them chuckling and talking to one another erupt into my headset.
I grit my teeth.
Log on.
Fight back.
Alright. Let’s do this.
“Oh, look who it is.” The computerized deep voice I heard the last time I saw them in game speaks up, and one of the ships jets forward ever so slightly. “It’s amazing what a little pressure can do, even to the strongest friendship.”
“Excuse me?” I nudge my ship farther ahead, past the others trying to protect me. Friendship? What is he saying?
“D1V, don’t do it,” someone in my Armada speaks up.
“Stop!” I think it’s Aaron.
“Stay behind us,” another person says through the channel.
“What are you even talking about?” I press, looking back and forth from his ship to the blast panel in mine. His ship looks heavy, upgraded as much as it can be, and so do the rest of his friends. I’ve gone all out on mine, too, but if his entire fleet descends on me, that’s it. Game over, start again, all those credits I fought for, all the belief my Armada put in me, everything they pledged to help restore my ship...gone.
This planet. All these resources.
It’ll belong to them.
“Your commander,” the voice says mockingly. “Your little streaming friend, Rebekah.” I hear him laugh, and the sound of a few more boys chuckling. “One little letter sent to her apartment, and it all came falling down.”
My heart stops in my chest.
That’s why she’s been so closed off.
That’s why she’s been so distant.
I turn away from my computer and reach for my phone. There, all over it, are scores of texts from Rebekah. The silence broken at last.
REBEKAH: I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’ve been so quiet.
REBEKAH: I’m watching the stream.
REBEKAH: They found my address.
REBEKAH: They threatened to send photoshopped nude photos of me to my school.
REBEKAH: They said they hacked my phone and email.
REBEKAH: Div please don’t hate me.
REBEKAH: I was afraid.
I want to scream and throttle the world. How dare they. How fucking dare they.
Rebekah.
My best friend.
The one person in this world who has seen me through everything.
My parents’ divorce, my mom and I having to move to this shitty apartment. Watching things get taken away from us, piece by piece, bit by bit. Who helped me start this thing, even as she wrestled with her own trauma. That elevator. The black eye. The cracked rib. The trip to the ER and the long talks with the cops. The new studio she can barely afford. The articles and the rumors and the women’s center meetings, and all the shit talk she didn’t deserve.
The only safe place for either of us has been online. In these games. With beautiful strangers that make the world worth living.
And now I am going to set this world on fire.
I turn back to the game. “This is where you fucked up,” I say coldly into the microphone. “You think I’m going to be mad at her? Turn on her? Over a damn video game? It’s just a game!”
As their laughter echoes through my headset, I load up my missiles, preparing to fire.
“What you’re doing out there isn’t a game!” I shout at them. “It’s real life. Those are real people—”
“Take her down,” the deep voice says.
And the battle begins.
Several of my Armada’s ships fly hard and fast, hurtling themselves in front of mine. The Vox Populi’s missiles and blasters make quick work of them, smashing their small ships into pieces, their names quickly disappearing from my channel list. I hear them as they sign off, pressing for me to run. Get into deep space. Jump. Log out once I’m far away. Crackling voices interlaced with explosions and cursing.
But I can’t.
I just can’t let them get away with this.
The urge to put my VR headset on is so great. I want to watch them burn in real time, as close up and in my face as possible, but there’s no time for it. Delaying by even a second could cost us everything, and the headset takes way too long to connect.
I fly down toward the green earth, the moss all aflame, burning in straight lines like razor cuts in the ground. Aaron and several other ships follow suit. I select my missiles and stare at the glowing lakes of gold that litter the planet.
If the trolls get their hands on such vast resources, it won’t just ruin the game for everyone else. They can take the in-game credits and sell them for real-life currency, something people do notoriously on message boards and on eBay. This planet is probably worth millions of credits. Maybe tens of thousands of actual dollars. They could use that money for anything they want. Nefarious or not.
They don’t deserve it.
For a moment, I dream of everything I could do with that kind of money. College at County, paid for. No having to explain a gap year to anyone. Mom’s summer classes, done. Rent, secured. Dad can fuck right off. No asking for anyone to help me out ever again.
I can almost feel the throttle shaking in my hands, even though my hands are firmly resting on a keyboard and mouse. Another explosion rattles my ship, followed by a second and a third in quick succession. The channel shows more of my Armada disappearing, but a couple are still with me per the onboard sonar.
Fuck it.
You. Get. Nothing.
I let my missiles loose, targeting the gold lakes. They twist and turn through the air, high-powered and upgraded to all hell, and explode over the gold, setting the liquid surface ablaze. I watch as the resource meter on the planet ticks away, moving down, the virtual currency being destroyed and burned.
Shouts of rage and loud cursing fill my ears, and I grin.
Sure, gold doesn’t burn in real life.
But this is a video game. Randomly generated nonsense.
I’m not about to file a complaint to argue about the physics of the world, especially if it allows me to keep these resources out of the hands of those trolls. Save that for the monsters who come after me. The ones who have nothing better to do than write think pieces and hot takes on that kind of stuff.
“Blast her! She’s taking out all the gold!” the Populi leader bellows, his computerized voice blinking out for just a second, revealing a deep, real voice. For some reason, it makes me laugh, the idea that he’s someone older. It makes him that much more pathetic, somehow. Some grown man, waging war on me and Rebekah.
Rebekah. The rage surges through me again. She wasn’t being cold or pushing me away out of anger or something I’d done wrong. She was afraid. She was trying to protect me from this.
I catch sight of Aaron’s ship pushing ahead of mine. He dips down, blasting some of the lakes himself. The remaining vessels behind me quickly follow suit, and many of them are taken out in the process, the ships exploding into balls of flame, tumbling down into the green, leaving trails of blackened waste in their wake.
Blip. Blip. Blip.
Ten ships left.
Seven.
Four.
Two.
“It’s time to get out of here, D1V,” I hear Aaron say over the sound of blaster fire and explosions echoing through my cockpit. “I’m out of missiles.”
“Go ahead,” I tell him. “I’m not leaving until I’ve destroyed the planet.”
I hear Aaron sigh loudly. “Well, the upgrades were nice while they lasted,” he says.
“Aaron, what are you—”
I watch his ship take a nosedive toward the ground. An explosion thunders in my headset, combined with the sound of Aaron cursing as his ship hits one of the lakes of gold and erupts in a ball of fire, lighting up the shimmering pool of liquid credits with it.
Blip.
One.
I wince. All that work he put into that ship of his. That patience. All that time we spent exploring and leveling up together. Wasted. Gone.
But then I smile. At least he spent it doing something stupidly heroic in a virtual world.
I kind of adore him for that.
Now I’m all that’s left.
I can still see some pools of gold glimmering in the distance, but it’s a fraction, a sliver of what they would have had before we literally set the world on fire. This beautiful randomly generated world. For a moment, my heart breaks a little for it. There will never be another like it in this game, and we had to destroy it, so someone else couldn’t claim it.
I yank on the throttle of my ship, a blinking orange screen warning that I might stall out after ascending straight up too quickly. I let go, and the ship dips back, flipping around until I’m facing the remainder of the Populi fleet. There’s at least a dozen of them left.
I load up my remaining missiles as they hover there. They target my ship in response, alarms blaring in my ears, rattling my skull.
“Wait,” the computerized voice says, and the warning sirens fade away as the targeting systems in their ships let me off the hook. “Let’s see if it works.”
“Let’s see if what—” I start.
And just like that, I’m logged out of the game.
“The hell?” I grumble as the title screen comes up. I type my password in. I get an error message. I do it again. The same.
My heart races. There’s no way they could have... Could they?
I move to reset my password and head over to my email to await the new one.
But I can’t get into my email. My password isn’t working there, either.
I request a new one. They’re supposed to send a text to my phone, to let me know the new log-in code. I wait a few agonizing seconds, but when my phone finally buzzes, it’s a number I don’t recognize.
555-324-6456: Nope.
I sink back in my chair, dread coursing through me. Slowly, I load up my social media channels, terrified of what I might find. My Twitter, personal Facebook, Glitch stream, everything...it’s all been hacked. My Twitter feed is blasting out a steady array of hate messages, my Facebook is posting advertisements for sunglasses, shoes, and other various products.
But the worst is my Glitch channel.
All my videos.
My revenue streams. The platform I built to get me these sponsors.
Gone. All gone.
I’ve been erased.
They couldn’t beat me, so they deleted me.
They won.
I move to delete the text from the troll and stop. There’s a number there. It could help. Maybe someone could trace it, though my experience with law enforcement is limited to what I’ve seen on Law & Order: SVU marathons and discussions with Detective Watts.
Maybe she could do something with it.
I move to open the game’s chat application, to talk to Aaron, but it boots me out immediately. Wrong password. Right. It’s all gone.
Aaron.
Aaron is gone.
It’s almost strange, the sinking feeling in my stomach. No social media, no email, the chat app... All my resources for reaching out and talking to him ripped from me. I never even got his phone number.