Sentenced to Troll
Page 1
Sentenced to Troll
S.L. Rowland
Other Books by S.L. Rowland
Pangea Online Book One: Death and Axes
Pangea Online Book Two: Magic and Mayhem
Vestiges: A Post-Apocalyptic Gamelit
Sentenced to Troll Copyright © 2018 by S.L. Rowland
SLRowland.com
All Rights Reserved. This book may not be reproduced or used in any manner without the permission of the author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cover Art by EbookLaunch (ebooklaunch.com)
Editing by LKJ Bookmakers (lkjbooks.com)
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Dedication
To JKR, for showing the world that anything is possible.
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Prologue
“Died to the trolls again, did you, Glenn?” asked Randy. The dark skinned man emerged from the shadowy corner of The Dancing Donkey, his boiled leather armor and long black cape making him almost invisible in the dimly lit inn. His sword hung from his waist opposite a dagger the length of his forearm. Glenn wondered if he could grab the dagger and shove the pointy end through Randy’s eye before anyone noticed.
Maybe later, thought Glenn.
“They’re tougher than they look.” Glenn patted Randy on the shoulder and forced a smile. “They nearly destroyed this world once. They could do it again.”
“Most of these people have never even seen a troll.” Randy laughed, pushing his thumbs against his belt. “From what I’ve heard, they’re on the verge of extinction. I don’t know how you keep convincing so many NPCs to follow you to your death, but you can have your trolls, Glenn. I’ll stick to the dungeons and keep all the good loot for myself.”
Glenn found a table in the corner of the room, taking in the other players who were settling in for the night. To them, this was a game, but to Glenn, this was everything he had ever dreamed of—an island where he could be anything he wanted to be and do anything he wanted to do. Sure, it was prison, but it was also paradise.
Glenn didn’t care about dungeons. They were only useful in replenishing the gear he had lost each time he died to the trolls, along with a hard-earned level. He was interested in survival. If he wanted to become anything in this world, he needed to make sure the trolls wouldn’t hold him back. He could influence people, bend them to his will even. He knew his Charisma was higher than most players and more than that, he knew how to use it to get things done. It didn’t work on trolls, though. Somehow, they resisted his charm. In the end, it didn’t matter. With every death, he took more trolls with him. And they didn’t respawn.
He’d read the stories of old and talked to the townspeople. If there was anyone that would inhibit his rise to power, it would be the trolls.
The trolls were the problem, and they had to be destroyed.
1. Sentenced to Troll
My heart races. I sit behind the table. Its dark cherry wood is polished and pristine, unlike my reputation. To my right, my lawyer shuffles papers in a bored manner. He doesn’t give two shits about this case. I’m sure he’s ready to be out of here so he can meet his cronies for a beer or a game of golf. The swish of the paper is like a thousand papercuts to my eardrums. This must be how teachers feel when the whir of zippers crashes through their lecture like a tidal wave and there are still five minutes left in class. Except this is much worse. This is my future on the line.
I shouldn’t be here. I should be at home logged into my computer, slaying orcs, trolls, and every other manner of foul creature.
The clock ticks by slowly on the wall. Tick. Tick. Tick. Who knew a second could be so long?
Sitting back in my chair, I straighten my tie. My hands shake slightly as I align it with the buttons on my shirt. It always seems to go askew, no matter how many times I fix it. The action doesn’t waste nearly as much time as I want it to.
Any minute now, the judge should be coming out to announce my sentence.
I know I’m toast. I screwed up big time. Being a professional streamer, I’m supposed to set the example. Set the culture. I’m known for my clever taunting and never-say-die attitude; it’s the main reason people follow me. I’m not a phenomenal gamer. If I were, I’d be a pro gamer and not just a glorified commentator. I screwed up, and I lost my temper. If it had been the first time, I probably wouldn’t be here, but I’m a repeat offender. The sad thing is that I learned my lesson. Finally. I regretted what I said as soon as the match was over.
When they cuffed me and brought me into the station, that’s when I knew that I had really screwed the pooch. The city wants to make an example out of me. If one of the top streamers in League of Mythos can be punished, it’ll set a precedent for those below me. They hope to stamp this behavior out of esports entirely. Honestly, I don’t blame them. I’ve dealt with my fair share of bullying and name-calling. I get trolls every time I stream. A lot of people would say I brought it on myself. The way the system works, it’s almost like you’re set up to fail. An entire community that hides behind a keyboard or an avatar. Some would call me a troll, but that’s not true. Not really. I’m a rager. Not that it’s any better. At least by punishing me, they’ll finally show the world that no one is safe.
Sweat runs down the back of my shirt. I don’t know what they have planned. The maximum sentence for online griefing is one year in prison, though I don’t know anyone who has ever served that much time. Even though it’s a crime, it’s often ignored. Much like jaywalking. Those that are brought to trial, they get community service, a fine, and a slap on the wrist, but ever since the mayor’s son offed himself because of online bullying by a rival guild, the city has been on a witch hunt.
I just happen to be the unlucky son of a bitch who lost his cool on a nationally-televised event. I had been invited to participate in a ‘celebrity match’ with other popular streamers before the championship.
Apparently, telling your teammates they are worthless cockroaches who only have one brain cell between them and that they probably have to pass it back and forth in the middle of the fight is frowned upon. If I had stopped there, I’d probably be fine. But I didn’t stop there. I definitely should not have told Jordan to go kill herself for healing our DPS instead of the tank. Multiple times. I yelled at her so much that she had a mental breakdown right in the mid
dle of the match. That was a dick move. I realize that now. And yes, using racial slurs is never a good idea. I had been breathing fire by the end of that match.
I lost my temper, plain and simple, and now I’m about to pay for it.
Just please don’t send me to prison. I’m too pretty and too skinny to survive the ogres that are in there for real crimes, like murder and assault. I am not made for that type of environment.
The click of the doorknob announces the judge’s return. Her face is stern, giving nothing away. The black robe she wears swishes when she walks, like some wizard of doom. The long black sleeves conceal a small envelope in her hand. I imagine that is the sentence she will be giving me. It’s almost like winning an award, except for the part where it’s not. There will be no afterparty once she reads its contents.
Anything but prison. I repeat the mantra in my mind like it will make a difference.
She takes a seat and bangs her gavel, bringing the courtroom to order. My lawyer sets down the papers he has been torturously shuffling and smiles. I want to punch him. Of course I was guilty, but he never even seemed interested in fighting for me or letting the judge know that I was remorseful. I bet the sorry sack of shit already has one foot out the door.
She clears her throat before reading the sentence that may change my life forever.
“In the case of New York vs Chadwick Bryan Johnson, based on video and audio evidence presented in court, I find the defendant guilty of online griefing.” She sets the envelope down and looks at me directly. “Mister Johnson, this is not your first time being accused of griefing. Hell, this isn’t even your fifth. You are widely known as a toxic player throughout your community, and I’m surprised it has taken this long for charges to be brought against you. Telling someone to kill themselves, hate speech, those are things that are no longer tolerated in League of Mythos or anywhere in society.”
The entire time she is talking, the only thing I can think is ‘please not prison.’ I repeat it over and over. Anything but prison. Anything but prison.
“Is there anything you would like to say before I sentence you, Mister Johnson?” she asks.
I had a speech planned before we came in today, but now that the moment is here, all I can think of is the mantra running through my mind. My throat is suddenly parched. I open my mouth to speak but only a croak comes out.
“Mister Johnson?” she asks again.
“I-I’m sorry,” is all I’m able to get out. This was my moment to at least show some remorse and maybe convince the judge to give me a lighter sentence, and all I can do is croak like a frog.
“Very well. The law states that one year in prison is the maximum allowed for offenses such as yours. Prison may very well be where you end up if you don’t change your ways, but in your case, I feel it may do more harm than good.”
I let out a sigh of relief. I’m not going to prison. I have to fight to keep the smile that dances at the edge of my lips from taking over entirely.
“It is not my goal to punish you, Mister Johnson, but to make you better understand the seriousness of your actions. Yes, they may just be words in an online game, but let me assure you, words do have power. If Miss Jordan had indeed acted on your words, you would be being sentenced for far more than online griefing right now. Let that sink in for a minute.” She pauses and looks back down at the envelope. I’m on the edge of my seat, wondering what is in store for me. Prison is off the table, but I can tell by the look in her eyes that she has something bigger planned than community service. “Mister Johnson, you have been, for lack of a better word, a troll. A bully. Miss Jordan, the victim of your tirade, doesn’t wish to hurt you or your ability to play online games. She wishes that you treat her and other players with respect, both your teammates and players on the other team. To help you learn what it feels like to be constantly attacked and berated, I think it is only fitting that you become the very thing you already are. You have therefore been sentenced to one month of full-immersion rehabilitation in Mythos Games’ newest development, Isle of Mythos. You will be forced to play as a troll, the most hated faction on the island. For the next month, you will experience the same degree of verbal assault and backlash you have dealt out on so many occasions. I hope you are able to learn from this experience.”
I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. That’s it? My punishment is to play a game for a month? Piece of cake. If I’d known that was an option, I wouldn’t have been so worried.
“Guards, please take Mister Johnson to his holding cell while he awaits transport to Mythos Games Headquarters.”
The guards grab me by the arms, and my lawyer is already out of the courtroom before they even have my hands cuffed.
As they walk me out the back of the courtroom, I scan the room, hoping to see my mother or father. They were in Japan on business. Business that was more important than seeing their only child before he was potentially shipped off to prison. That’s the story of my life, though. Their business was always their favorite baby. I honestly don’t even know why they had a child. Maybe it saved their marriage by giving them something to ignore together.
“You got this!” a voice shouts. I turn to see Taryn, with his giant billowing afro, giving me a thumbs up. He’s the only person I consider a true friend, as well as my queue partner in most games. The one person I can count on to have my back when things go south.
The guards lead me to the holding cell where a man in a black suit waits inside. He looks like some kind of special agent with the way the suit fits him perfectly at every angle. You can tell he’s well-built underneath and could probably kick my ass in a hundred different ways. I wonder if he’s here to make sure I don’t escape. Not that I could.
I step inside and take a seat on one of the metal benches. It’s cold and hard against my backside, a far cry from the ergonomic gaming chair I use when playing games.
“Feeling sorry yet, kid?” he asks. His voice is deep and gravelly. There’s more manliness in those four words than I have in my entire body.
I nod. Now that I’m out of the courtroom, I wonder what kind of game I’m about to be logged into. I know full immersion has existed for a few years now, but it’s so expensive to produce that it hasn’t been marketed on a mass level yet. With Mythos Games being the biggest name in virtual reality gaming, it only makes sense that they would have something running on the down low.
Thirty days of full immersion. How is that even possible? It can’t be healthy for a human to be still for so long.
We sit in silence. Mr. Secret Agent is content to let me sit and brood with my own thoughts. A few minutes later, his cell phone rings. He answers it, but doesn’t say a word. When the call ends, he taps on the bar of the jail cell and a guard comes over to unlock the door.
“Our ride is here. Don’t try anything stupid, and I won’t have to hurt you,” he says. He nods to the guards as we exit through a door into an alley where a black SUV waits with one door open.
My hands are still cuffed, so Mr. Secret Agent guides me into the SUV and takes a seat next to me. Two other men, both dressed in similar black suits, sit up front. As soon as the door shuts, we’re on the move.
All of this makes me feel more important than I am.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“Mythos Games Headquarters.” Mr. Secret Agent pulls out his phone and sends a quick message to someone. “They take their security very seriously.”
“What, do you think I’m going to escape?” I ask.
“Don’t flatter yourself. This isn’t for you. We’re here to make sure you aren’t followed. There are a lot of people who would love to get their hands on the technology you are about to experience.”
Consider me intrigued. Mr. Secret Agent reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a fabric bag.
“This is for you, though.” He puts the bag over my head and everything goes black.
The driver takes turn after turn, jostling me against the door, and I wonde
r if it’s necessary or if it’s all an attempt to lose anyone who might be trailing us. I don’t understand what the big deal is. Everyone knows where Mythos Games Headquarters is. It’s the biggest building downtown, dwarfing all the others. The architecture makes the building look like a giant wizard’s tower and at night, it glows and smoke billows out the top. I’ve done several press events there with my team.
The SUV makes a sharp turn, slamming me into the wall. Mr. Secret Agent removes my blindfold and I see we are in an underground parking garage. A metal gate closes behind us and we go down three levels before stopping in front of another gate. The driver rolls down his window and scans his badge. The gate opens, and we speed through. This far down, all the levels are empty. We descend three more levels before coming to a stop in a parking space far against the back wall in a dimly-lit parking deck. There are only a handful of cars parked here, along with a few more black vans. We’re so far down that this is practically a dungeon.
I can see an elevator tucked into the wall near where we park.
Mr. Secret Agent opens his door, and I attempt to do the same. It doesn’t budge. They child-proofed me.
“This way,” he orders.
Surrounded by the three men, I feel like someone important, a president or a celebrity. For a moment, I’m not a criminal.
They guide me towards the elevator, but when I stop in front of it, Mr. Secret Agent nudges me in the back to keep walking. There is nothing ahead of us but a brick wall and a flickering light attached to it.
A thought runs across my mind, and I stiffen. Are they going to kill me?
Mr. Secret Agent must sense my nervousness, because he says, “Relax, kid. Nobody is going to kill you today. Now get moving.”
For whatever reason, I believe him.
I do as I’m told, and we walk to the corner of the parking deck. One of the other men faces the brick wall, searching for something. I try to see what he is staring at but can’t see anything other than brick and mortar.