[CW: Religious Trauma, Queerphobia]

“REMbox Disassociation has been one of the largest looming issues that we refuse to talk about with the rise of the REMnet. While hard-coded limits have technically been put in place to ensure that nobody can use the device longer than twelve, real-world hours at maximum, that hasn’t stopped people from trying to get around that. The rumors of people using hacked accounts to use two different ‘boxes to evade the time limit or intentionally putting themselves in comas to avoid having to wake up have never been conclusively proven, but they’ve never been disproven either. Pundits like to point the blame of overuse at the REMboxes themselves and the developers of REMsoft. Or social media and REMnet culture… but honestly, what kind of world are we expecting people to live in? Global warming is destroying our ecosphere, corporate greed is still strangling any hope of reform and we’re looking down the barrel of another war. Is it any surprise that we want to escape? Would Disassociation numbers go down if we actually gave people a life worth waking up to?”

-Sy Renoir, BreadNews Blogcast, December 2034 

_____________________

 

I woke up on Marianne’s cot. It apparently hadn’t been the most comfortable of sleeps, judging by the knots in my muscles, but as I looked down at my body, I realized I would have slept on a bed of nails for this.

Beth’s words were still burning in my skull, and I still wasn’t sure if I agreed with them.

Transgender... the word was so alien... but there actually was a word for the kind of feeling burning inside me. I needed to do some more research online.

Later though. For the moment... I was going to just be normal, everyday Zoey.

“Ah, you’re awake,” said Marianne, out of bed and standing in front of the tall cabinet in the corner. “Here, catch.”

She tossed me something and, surprisingly, I caught it. It was some kind of rolled packaging covered in some kind of leaf.

“Get dressed and eat that on the way. We’re going to be late,” she said, tying back her long hair. “Goodness, you humans really do sleep like the dead.”

In a blind panic, I grabbed my work clothes which were now drying on a rack next to the stove. I tossed off the shirt I was wearing and pulled them on as quickly as I could. “Sorry,” I said, grabbing my boots and pulling them onto my feet.

“It’s fine,” she said, smiling, “glad to see you’re eager, at least.”

I checked the mirror, and still found my heart lit up just the way it had last night. I was a girl. I looked like a girl. Everything was right with the world. I breathed a sigh of relief and followed Marianne out the door.

“What is this?” I asked, unrolling the package. It resembled a sort of granola bar wrapped in leaves.

“Trailwrap,” she said, keeping a brisk pace. “Best way to start the day. Gives you energy.”

I took a bite. It was like nuts and grains held together with honey and with berries nestled in. The leaves had an earthy taste that subtly flavored the whole thing. It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t any substitute for a hot meal.

“Can I ask you a question?” I said, finishing the compact breakfast. 

“Yeah?” she said, keeping a fairly quick pace.

“Do you know anything about the old human wars?”

She skidded to a stop and I nearly bowled into her as I stumbled to avoid a collision. Her body went completely still. It was as if she suddenly became a statue.

“Who told you?” Her voice came out low and quiet, the rest of her body unmoving.

“I... What?” I winced. Clearly I had asked the worst possible question.

“You don’t know about my family, do you?” she continued, spinning around to face me, her mouth pulled into a thin line as she examined my face carefully.

I shook my head, holding up my hands defensively. “Sorry... a friend told me about it and I didn’t mean to upset you and-“

“A friend?” she said, raising an eyebrow. “None of the townsfolk would talk about it. They know better. And I was with you most of the day.” Her eyes widened. “Oh gods... I thought that was just a human myth.”

“What?!” I said, even more flustered.

“You can talk to each other in dreams. No matter how far away you are,” she said, eying me carefully, “I thought it was one of those stupid legends like how humans can disappear at will or read your mind or fly through the air. But you actually can...”

I didn’t know what to say. “Uh... it’s not... Um... it’s a little... uh...”

She chuckled, waving it aside. “Gods, Zoey, you’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?” She sighed. “Okay, so what did your friend tell you in your dreams?”

“There was a battle. The humans did awful things. But some fought back,” I said, trying not to make her feel more upset by pointing out that I knew someone who fought in it.

“It was slaughter... madness. Humans lost all sense of reason and saw us as less than beasts. They killed, pillaged and worse, laughing all the while. They called it the Ser-Varr Purge and there was no stopping them. They caught the kingdoms off guard. They coordinated. They upended everything,” her voice was cold, as if she was reading from an invisible script. “They came to our town at Stonebridge Pass. It was barely even a village, but they were still hungry for blood. My father was part of the town guard. My mother was drafted too.”

She winced. “It was hopeless. Their numbers were unthinkable and they didn’t fear death. My father lost an arm and nearly his life. My mother had these awful burn scars. They thought everything was going to end...”

She sighed, closing her eyes for a moment. “But then came the Guardians. A dozen or so good humans held the line against hundreds of evil ones. Their names are lost along with their lives but their deeds were never forgotten.”

I was in awe. Beth and Leon were legends.

She nodded back to her apartment. “Those weapons. The shields. All of it belonged to the fallen of Stonebridge Pass. Mother took the time to patch them up and I learned my mother’s craft to continue that legacy. My parents moved here and married afterwards, having me later.” She paused, thinking, “my father eventually passed from his wounds... as they never quite healed right. I only ever knew him as a sick man... but he told me that I was to respect humans if they ever returned. That they were no more evil or strange than any other race. There are good and there are bad, and I was to always seek out the good.”

She leaned heavily on the stone wall. “I hate war. Zoey. I hate the price of it. I hate the lives it destroys. I hate swords and spears and arrows and blood. The world has enough orphans and widows in it without making more of them.”

She wiped tears from her eyes and I found that I had to do the same. On instinct, I took the time to wrap her in my arms. It felt like the right thing to do, and I finally felt like I was capable of it.

“I’m sorry…” I breathed, “I can’t begin to apologize for what my people have done to yours. I will never let that happen again... I promise...” I was surprised by the tone in my voice. I found that the sadness and pain within me was bringing forth a sort of righteous rage. 

I would become strong, I told myself. I would make a difference. I would protect others. I would be better than the others.

My mind flashed to “Nightedge” or the cloaked human thief from yesterday. It was all just a game to them. But their actions reflected some dark awfulness inside them. I wouldn’t let myself become like that.

Marianne gave a watery laugh. “Zoey... goodness, you sound so determined.” She pulled back, smiling through the tears. “But it means a lot that you care.”

There was the tolling of a distant bell and Marianne’s head popped up in alarm.  “Curses… we’re late. Let’s move.”

We ran together, side by side. Maybe I didn’t have any kind of strength to back up that promise. But I swore that I would find it

___________________________________

I grinned wide over my first completed piece as I wiped the sweat off my brow: a plowblade. It had taken all day to create and I had made a number of mistakes, but it was done. It was ready. This shining metal blade was going to a farmer to let them carve up the land for planting. It wasn’t going to do anything like shoot lightning or slay demons. It was going to let them eat. It was going to let them feed others. It was going to help people.

And I did that for them.

Marianne slapped my back in congratulations. “Nice work, Zoey...”

I beamed, even if I rubbed at my back slightly from the impact. I was sweaty and tired and burning alive in this forge, but I had done it all the same. “I mean... you helped, to be fair.”

She waved it off, “No no no… you did the bulk of the work. That’s your craftswomanship... well done.”

There was the signal chime for the end of the day which cut through the usual noise of the forgeworks. I saw the rest of the smiths work to clean off their stations as me and Marianne did the same.

“It’s… incredible,” I whispered, staring at my work lying on the anvil as I cleared up my station.

“There’s nothing quite like your first piece,” chuckled Marianne, as she worked, “I still remember that first horseshoe I put together. Nearly a hundred-something years ago, but I remember it like yesterday. Terrible work, but it was mine. I did it.”

“Wait…” I blinked in alarm as I turned to Marianne, “You’re a hundred years old?!”

“One hundred and sixty-eight next month,” she said, shrugging. “I know I look a little old for it, but that’s my mom’s blood. Dwarves don’t last as long as elves do. Mom died when she was two-hundred and ninety-eight if you can believe it.”

“That’s insane!” I breathed, shaking my head. 

“Really?” Marianne quirked up an eyebrow. “You have to be at least… what, eighty? Seventy?”

“Sixteen,” I breathed, eyes wide.

Marianne choked out a gasp. “Seriously!? You humans look so much like elves I assumed you aged like us. Heck, I don’t even think orcs age that quick. Maybe goblins do, but…” She shrugged. “Well, I suppose you will have to enjoy life to the fullest. Given how fast you picked up the craft here you’ll probably be doing in a year what took me a few decades.”

As I looked around at the other smiths (now seeing myself as one of them), it felt strange to me to see these tools in a new light. How much time and energy went into their creation. In RoR, I would move my character over to an anvil, move items into a “crafting grid” and wait for the progress bar to fill up. And repeat the process until either I ran out of items or my experience bar filled up.

Here, I had taken all this time and energy… hours of work and sweat. Only for a single piece of metal. It felt so much more meaningful now, rather than the piles of generic longswords I had made previously, only to sell them off. 

I imagined putting all the effort into crafting a sword and presenting it to someone, only for them to toss it to the side a moment later because they found one with “better stats”. I would have kicked their ass for doing something like that. How could you take all the time and energy I put into this and just look at the numbers? The farmer using this plowblade didn’t care, as long as it did its job. How could you put all this time and effort and just slap a number on it?

“Dude, this is so lame,” grumbled a voice next to me.

I peered beside me. A boy, maybe a few years older than me, held up a long sawblade for felling trees. He was a thicker guy, with a scruffy beard and sideburns who stared at his day’s work with disgust. “All that work for this? When do I get to make swords and shit?” He peered over at me, “Is that like an axehead or something?”

“It’s a plowblade,” I replied, raising an eyebrow, “Farmers use them to till fields for crops.”

“Ugh!” he groaned, “When do I actually fight something?!”

“What would you even fight?” asked Marianne, crossing her arms over her chest as she stepped up beside me.

“Like… mobs, I guess,” said the boy, scratching at his head.

“Are you intending to incite an angry mob?” she asked incredulously.

“He means monsters,” I interjected.

“What monsters?” asked Marianne, holding out her hands in confusion. 

“I dunno...” I said, frowning as I realized that there really weren’t any monsters that I could think of. Save for the humans who acted like psychopaths. “Dragons? Maybe?”

“That would be a colossally stupid idea,” she said, shaking her head. “Dragons are essentially immortal. Their scales are impenetrable and their blood is living magic. Facing them in combat would be a death sentence.” 

“What about demons?” asked the boy, frowning slightly. “Last raid I had in RoR, I fought a demon lord.”

“Yazurax, the Archdemon?” I asked, genuinely impressed, “That’s an epic level raid.”

“I have no idea what you two are talking about,” Marianne interjected, “But the only way you are facing a demon is if you spend the time and energy to summon one. Which is a very, very bad idea. If you get killed fighting it, as you most likely will, you’ll leave the rest of us to deal with the damned thing.”

“Uh… like do you have any sea monsters?” asked the boy, holding up a hand. “The Pirates and Plunder update for RoR was the best. You got to fight a kraken.”

“Urgurorth was kind of an annoying boss fight,” I said, shaking my head. “Especially if you had to tank it.”

“So… let me get this straight,” Marianne groaned, massaging her face, “you want to travel days out of your way, get on a boat, travel out into the middle of the ocean and find some poor sea creature minding its own business and kill it? For what?”

“XP? Loot?” said the boy, frowning.

“What loot?! It’s a giant squidfish!” she exclaimed, loud enough for the entire workspace to hear us. “Why would it have anything of value!? Would you kill a mouse and expect it to cough up a sack of gold pieces?”

“I mean… kind of,” said the boy, frowning.

“Look… uh,” I gestured to him uncertainly, as I didn’t remember his name.

“Milo,” he supplied.

“Milo. Nice to meet you, I’m Zoey,” I said, smiling. “I think you need to realize that this… world… is different from the other ones we’ve known. We don’t need to fight.”

“Then… what do we do?” Milo asked, genuinely confused.

“Create,” I said, nodding to the sawblade in his hand. “That saw is going to cut down a tree that someone else will turn into a home.” I held up my plow. “This is going to help people put food on the table. That’s pretty cool, if you ask me.”

“I guess,” sighed Milo, not looking particularly convinced. “Just seems kinda lame.”

“Okay, human,” grumbled Marianne, cracking her neck. 

“Milo,” I interjected.

“Milo,” she added, before continuing. “You really want to fight someone? Fine. I don’t mind a little sparring match before dinner.”

“Alright, sick,” said Milo, grinning, “I can’t wait to see what my strength gains have been. You’re on, elf chick.”

“Marianne,” I insisted, before turning back to her. “Uh… are you sure?”

“Relax, Zoey, I can handle myself,” she said, stretching out her arms slowly. “Here…” She reached down and pulled out a pair of rods shaped from rounded steel, maybe a little shorter than an actual sword. “Take this, follow me. I know a spot.”

Milo grinned as he took one of them, testing its weight. “This is gonna be so poggers.”

One of the dwarves, a man with a thick, braided beard and gray streaks through his shaggy hair, rushed up to us, weaving through the forge. “Oh gods, what have you gotten yourself into this time, boy!?”

“Relax, Odd!” he smirked over to the dwarf. “Just gonna do a little PvE.”

“It’s fine, Odric,” said Marianne, turning to him. “Just going to show him a few things. I won’t damage your human, I promise.”

“If he ends up going to a mender, I’m not paying for it,” he grunted. “But, this I have to see.”

A few other dwarves, including Alexander, followed us as we stepped out of the forge and over to the town square in the caves. Lampposts were once again illuminating the area, and the other smiths made a point to clear out a circle of space for Marianne and Milo to square off. More people spotted the scene and drew close, watching curiously.

Alexander stepped in-between them and cleared his throat before speaking. “Alright, listen up. This is going to be a friendly match, so I want both of you to remember that. The first to bleed, break, fall down or concede loses. You stop the match when I tell you to. My decision on the victor is law. And I don’t want any of this spilling over into your work. We’re a team, and while I don’t mind a little fun now and again, I don’t want any grudges. Agreed?”

“Yes, sir,” said Marianne, nodding, bowing respectfully to Alexander.

“Yeah,” said Milo, still smiling with excitement as he swung his weapon. "Let's go already!"

“Meet in the middle, shake hands, and return to either side of the circle. You don’t move until I tell you to,” said Alexander, gesturing to the two of them.

I watched Marianne and Milo stride into the center of the circle, watching each other carefully. She offered her hand and Milo did likewise, though I noticed Milo wincing a little in her grip. They turned back to the opposite sides of the circle of watchers as Alexander directed them.

“Go Marianne!” I cheered, over the general mumbling of the crowds around us. 

“Two gold pieces says the human doesn’t last longer than three seconds,” grunted a dwarf next to me.

“No bet,” growled Odric, standing beside him.

“Ready!” Alexander called out, raising his arms.

Marianne, held her rod of steel loosely in one hand, as if she were fencing. Milo gripped his weapon like it was a baseball bat.

“FIGHT!” barked Alexander, as I watched Milo shout and rush at Marianne, who hadn’t moved an inch.

“Look out!” I called, gritting my teeth as Milo drew close, raised his weapon and-

CLANG.

In a blur of movement, Marianne had swatted the strike aside and stepped one foot to the left. Milo’s weapon cracked into the stone beneath them, sending up a flash of sparks. He frowned, now swinging his weapon upwards, which Marianne again evaded with another step backwards. I saw her hair flutter slightly with the wind of Milo’s steel passing by her.

“I don’t understand why you humans see everything through combat,” said Marianne, watching as Milo began to circle around her. “Even orcs, as much as they love fighting, still make art and music. What kind of world do you come from that bloodshed is all you know?”

Milo made another overhead swing, but at the last moment, he twisted his body and moved to come at her from the side.

“Mari!” I shouted, nearly stepping into the ring, before Odric caught my arm and held me back.

She saw it, and lazily caught the attack with another deafening CLANG of impact.

“Relax, lass,” crooned Odric, “The girl knows what she’s doing. She’s just playing with him, is all.”

I nodded, but still watched with clenched fists as the two continued to face each other.

“Hasn’t your kind taken enough from us?!” she shouted, stepping around his next attack, which swished short of her. “Were all those lives at Stonebridge Pass not enough for you?!”

“The fuck?!” growled Milo, trying to bring his weapon back to bear, “Is this a cutscene or something? This game is fucking cheating.”

“Marianne has been fighting a lot longer than you have, lad!” called out Odric, “Her pa was a guard captain at Stonebridge! Her mother was the smith who trained Alana Mason. Just put down the steel and stop making a fool of yourself, for gods sake!”

Milo gritted his teeth for a moment, before sighing as he set down the weapon. “How the fuck am I supposed to know how strong she is?! She doesn’t have a level above her head or a skull or anything. There’s no fucking stats!”

I took a tentative step forward. “There are… but you can’t see them,” I said, holding up my hands. “It’s like in real life… you get stronger through practice. I mean, you’ve only been here two days…” I considered my words for a moment before speaking again. That bar of metal was still in his reach. “You actually moved really fast.”

Milo seemed to consider that for a moment, looking down at himself. “I guess so…” he breathed, flexing his arms. “I’ve never moved like that before.”

“Humans grow quickly and learn quicker, I guess,” said Marianne, shouldering her weapon. “Another year and you might actually be a challenge.” She shook her head. “Look… Milo… I don’t want to embarrass you or act like an ass. I…” she glanced down at me for a moment before turning back to him. “I’m sorry for lashing out like that. I know all humans aren’t the same. It’s just… when you talk about war and fighting so readily… it brings back bad memories.”

A hush settled over the crowd. A number of people lowered their heads sadly. 

More people had been hurt by that war than I realized. I wondered how many family members these people had lost in the fighting.

Milo flushed, staring at the ground. I stepped a little closer to him, putting a hand on his arm. He looked at me, surprised.

 “Fighting isn’t wrong in itself,” I said, remembering all the weapons of those who fell at Stonebridge pass. People like Beth or Leon who gave their lives, digital or not, to save others. “But there has to be a reason for it.” I leaned closer. “These people don’t respawn when they die,” I mumbled.

“Huh,” he said, scanning around himself. “We can’t really die. I heard we just respawn somewhere else. That makes us sorta like superheroes to them, right?” He paused for a moment, scratching at his chin. “That’s pretty cool, actually.” 

I wasn’t certain if I agreed with that. The idea of respawning somewhere completely new and losing Marianne and Alexander and Gresh and everyone else felt like a fate worse than death. I had no desire to leave my life in Whiteoak Falls behind.

“Alright, that’s enough,” said Alexander, clapping his hands. “Marianne, you made your point. Milo? Are we settled here?”

Milo nodded, “Yeah sure, GGs.”

Marianne glanced at me for translation. 

“He means ‘good game,’” I explained.

She nodded, and offered a hand which Milo gratefully shook. “You seriously gotta teach me, though, cuz those moves are sick and I gotta move up the skill tree.”

“Maybe some other time,” sighed Marianne, in the kind of tone that made it clear that she wasn’t interested.

As we returned to the forge and the crowd dispersed, I drew closer to Marianne, who was being congratulated and fawned over by the others. She flushed a little in embarrassment, but nodded all the same.

“Gods, that was embarrassing,” she sighed, shaking her head. “I didn’t mean to turn this into a spectacle. I just wanted to teach the boy some humility.” She eyed Milo who was being spoken to by his partner Odric with some clearly stern words.

“You were incredible,” I breathed, staring at her in awe. “He never even touched you.”

She shrugged. “I don’t like fighting, but I learned how to end fights quickly.”

“Could you teach me?” I asked, as we stepped past the forge and into the dining hall. 

She watched me carefully, as if sizing me up.

“I could handle it,” I said earnestly.

She forced out a sigh, “I’m sure you could, but I don’t know how I feel about it. You’re a kind girl, Zoey… and fighting is ugly.”

“I… I just want to protect people,” I said, shyly as we got into line for our meal.

“I know you do,” said Marianne, nodding as she looked up at the food being served. A massive chunk of spiced meat on a skewer being sliced off and placed in a flatbread with vegetables on them. Like a sort of hearty taco, I supposed.

“We’ll talk about it later,” said Marianne, “I want to take this meal to-go anyway. I want to see how Gresh is doing.”

I nodded and accepted the flatbread alongside her and we stepped out of the forge with them. Apparently other workers had the same idea as they left. I noticed that Milo was sitting with Odric in deep conversation, but he looked up at us and gave us a weak wave.

As we finished our handheld meals, I was once again faced with the prospect of losing said meal when we stepped into those damned basket elevators. But before we got close, I noticed a pair of guardsmen nearby, with a group of passersby watching them. 

As we drew closer to the tree, I once again spotted Leon and his partner, Frieda. They were kneeling on the ground a ways from the path, pinning someone into the grass. Leon was applying steel chains with manacles on the end to their wrists as Frieda kept their legs in place.

The figure, I didn’t recognize. He was young, easily my age. He was wearing a pair of ill-fitting trousers and shirtless with a woodcutting ax lying on the ground a few feet away. We had been getting more humans in the village as the game surged in popularity. I’d seen a number of white-shirted humans wandering the town in awe and confusion since yesterday. And of course, with more players there came more people who just wanted to destroy.

Griefers. 

It was the term for players who only saw the game through the lens of loot and power. They didn’t want to work or to socialize, they just wanted to steal whatever wasn’t nailed down and kill whoever they could. They wanted to make the game miserable for everyone else and didn’t care what it took to make it happen. 

“Fuck the police!” cried out the kid, wrestling against their efforts, “Just let me fucking respawn!”

“Absolutely not...” said Leon, grunting as he hauled the kid by the manacles up to his feet. “I’m not about to let you off yourself and respawn to terrorize some other city. You nearly killed that poor man!

The kid looked over his shoulder and spat in Leon’s face, going on a long and unpleasant tirade containing words I winced at hearing.

Frieda got to her feet, pulled out one of her blades and brought it down on the griefer’s head. He went limp.

I was alarmed and nearly rushed in, but Marianne grabbed my shoulder, “Relax... she hit him with the flat. He’s fine… though he’ll have a bad headache when he wakes up.”

Even so, I cautiously approached them. I pulled a cloth that was reasonably clean out of my pocket and handed it to Leon. “Are you okay?”

“Fine...” he sighed, wiping at his face, “we’ve been at this all day. Purge-fanboys spawning in and stealing the nearest weapon and attacking people or things for “XP” or “lolz’. We had a farmer lose a hand in a fight yesterday...” 

I pressed my hands over my mouth in horror. “That’s awful...”

“Scares the shit out of me that these assholes just don’t care. The harm they do is permanent and clearly visible and it doesn’t seem to matter to them. They just want a thrill and to fulfill their twisted power fantasies,” said Leon, hauling the kid over to Frieda.

“Beasts...” Frieda spat darkly. She grabbed the kid’s ankles and helped carry him.

“Was it like this in the beta?” I asked, looking at Leon. 

He shook his head. “Worse, if you can believe it, at least when the Purge kicked in.”

“Um... Beth told me about what happened...” I said.

“Right!” He said, nodding, “I forgot that you and her were friends. She messaged me about it. She told me to look out for you.”

I shrugged, “I mean... you’re doing a good job of keeping us safe just by keeping the griefers at bay. Like at Stonebridge Pass...”

“Mmm,” said Leon, heaving out a heavy sigh,. “Yeah that was pretty much how it went, large scale before the Guardians got outnumbered. Take down people as quickly as you can before they cause more damage. The hope is that now, if we keep a lid on the current raids and start tracking problem players, we can eventually stop people from doing this. Stop another Purge.”

“Can I help?”

The words came out before my brain had the chance to catch them. Frieda and Marianne looked over their shoulders at me curiously. 

Leon broke into a smile. “You sure?” he wiggled the limp body of the griefer he was carrying, “This is unpleasant work. They don’t fear death and they are toxic SOBs. They’re going to be particularly unpleasant to women like yourself.”

I smiled, in spite of myself. “I want to be like you and Beth and Marianne. I want to help make this world better for people. Everyone should be able to enjoy RoEM without fear.”

Leon heaved out a sigh. “I have to deposit this young man in the prison,” he said, “you have Beth’s contact info, right?”

I nodded. “Yeah we swapped tags.”

“Okay, I‘ll tell her to get you an invite to our Discourse,” he said, nodding, “we have a server that we use to collaborate.”

“Um... okay...” I said, nodding. “But I was kind of hoping for more... uh... something more direct?”

Leon sighed heavily. “You want to learn how to fight...”

“A little...” I said, eying Marianne worryingly, “I’m not wanting to hurt people, but I don’t want to let other people get hurt either.”

“Okay...” said Leon, nodding, “when you have yourself a weapon... an honest to goodness real weapon...  and can use it effectively... we can go over some basics. Until then, we really just need eyes for information gathering rather than hands for battle.” He tapped his head. “This is the real weapon for this fight.”

I nodded. It was fair, although a little less heroic than I would have liked. “Okay, I’ll let you know when I get a weapon I can use, because this,” I also indicated my head, “is a mess.”

Leon gave me a stern look. “I don’t think so. You’re better than you think. And I want you to say it to yourself. You are brave, you are smart and you are unstoppable. Say it.”

Feeling a little silly, but unwilling to disappoint him, I said, “I am brave, smart and unstoppable,” as confidently as I could.

“Attagirl,” he said, grinning. He frowned as the griefer began to stir. “Whoop. Me and Frieda need to get him to lockup. See you two later.”

Frieda shot me one more cold and suspicious look before her and Leon hauled the griefer away. Marianne, now with me, eyed me carefully. 

“I don’t want innocent people getting hurt,” I insisted. “And that means I have to be able to know how to fight.”

“I’m not judging...” said Marianne, shrugging, “But I do wonder where you’re planning to get a weapon.”

“You have some on the walls-“

“No.” Marianne cut me off more sharply than any blade. “Those belong to the fallen that have earned their rest. They are a memorial and shall spill no more blood.”

“Okay,” I said, nodding, “then you can show me how to make a weapon. Right?”

She considered this. “The metal isn’t going to be cheap. And the process takes time...” She scratched at her head for a moment before she seemed to come to a decision. “Let’s start small... do you have a weapon in mind?”

I thought about my paladin’s gear in RoR. “Maybe a sword and shield?” I hazarded.

“What kind?” she said, exasperated, “swords come in many different styles and shields are the same way.”

“What about those big square shields?” I asked, visualizing my old paladin. “The ones as tall as a person. Can I have one of those?”

“A... tower shield?” she said, blinking in shock, “okay... Zoey? Do you know how heavy those are?”

“No?” I said, feeling a little foolish. My old character in RoR had been able to carry one easily enough, but obviously that wasn’t going to be happening here.

“Okay...” she said, rubbing at her temples, “it’s not the sort of thing you just pick up causally, if you can pick it up at all.”

“Sorry...” I said, not quite meeting her gaze.

Marianne sighed, guilt etched onto her face. “Okay... so... here’s what we’re going to do... we’re going to visit Gresh because you very much need some more clothes. And after that,” she paused, as if still unsure, “we’ll get you a starter weapon. Something to practice with.”

“Oh!” I said, breaking into a grin. “Thank you!”

She waved it aside. “Come on, let’s go.”

After another stomach-churning ride in the basket elevator, we went back to Gresh’s store. As we stepped in, his eyes lit up. “Marianne! Zoey! Welcome! What can I do for you today?”

“I need some more clothes,” I said, looking around the store, “Something besides a dress and a forging outfit.”

“Sure,” said Gresh, nodding. “More casual.”

“A training outfit would also be helpful,” said Marianne. “She wants to learn some basics for combat. Something with leather and padding.”

Gresh frowned, eying both her and me. “Really?”

I nodded earnestly. “Yeah!”

Marianne shrugged. “Things are getting a little dicey these days. It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if she learned some of the basics.”

“Sure,” said Gresh, frown deepening, “but...” he sighed, “Go easy on her, yeah, Mari? I heard about what you did to that other human.”

“Gods, gossip travels fast here,” she sighed, “And I can tell you whatever you heard was exaggerated beyond recognition.”

“I didn’t think you had beaten the human to within an inch of his life,” he mused, “But I remember how strong you were when we crossed steel.” He gestured to me. “Go easy on, Zoey, alright? I’m growing to like her.”

She looked at me. “Of course, Gresh.” Her eyes seemed to dance over me, sizing me up.

I decided to look closely around the store and distract myself. I hated that feeling that I was being treated like a kid. I was sixteen for goodness sake. I wasn’t a baby or some kind of glass figurine that had to be sheltered from everything.

There were some interesting designs in Gresh’s stock, representing different fashions. In Whiteoak Falls, there was a mishmash of elven and dwarf fashions. Elves would wear specially treated leaves that would act as different types of cloth. Dwarves would wear heavy, woolen fibers taken from underground plants and creatures. Metal accents would often factor in.

I saw a few tops on the racks that looked promising, and a dress that looked amazing. A black dress with criss-crossed laces over the tummy and glittering studs snaking around it. I immediately took it off the rack and continued to browse.

 It was strange. I had never really cared about clothes all that much. While I was mostly expected to wear khakis and button-down shirts when my parents demanded it, t-shirts and jeans and hoodies had been most of my chosen wardrobe up to this point. Nothing else seemed to matter. But... looking like this and being able to dress like this... everything was so much more vibrant. As I tried on the outfits, I felt... good. I felt pretty. I felt like this was something I could wear and feel good about wearing.

“Did you ever catch the robber?” I asked Gresh, adjusting the leather vest I was now wearing. It hugged my body in a way that was just keeping my eyes glued to the mirror.

“The guard caught him...er… mostly,” said Gresh, going a little pale. “But they didn’t get him alive. He just laughed and jumped off the tree as soon as they cornered him.”

I winced. It was a long fall.

“I don’t understand...” he said, shaking his head. “Why would you throw your life away so readily? I wasn’t even going to press charges... I just wanted the money back.”

I didn’t know what to say. Obviously, like with any game, when you died, you just respawned. I assumed they would reappear just the way you did when you started the game. A new village somewhere randomly in the world. You had no money or possessions. Just that plain white outfit.

But nobody knew who you were in this new place. You lost all connections to those around you. You were dropped in a place far away from what had been your home, a complete stranger. It would have been a painful punishment if griefers actually cared about those connections.

While NPCs certainly wouldn’t risk their lives for gold or weapons, these players didn’t care. Death was certainly better for griefers than being stuck in prison or otherwise held to account for their actions. The players would happily jump to their deaths to start again so they could start their horrors anew.

“Here...” said Marianne, pulling out a heavy, bulky-looking bodysuit. It was heavy, quilted and had leather worked into the arms, shoulders and body. “Try this out and see if it fits.”

I peered at it warily. It was anything but fashionable. “What’s it for?”

“Protection. I don’t want you getting seriously hurt in training,” said Marianne sternly.

“Is that a risk?” I asked, taking the outfit and stepping back.

“Not really...” said Marianne, audible through the changing room curtain. “But Alexander is going to kill me if I hurt you badly enough to make you lose work.”

I pulled the training outfit on with some difficulty. It was like wearing a giant marshmallow. I stepped out and Marianne eyed it. “Are you able to move? Does it feel okay?”

I tried. It was stiff, but I could move. “Yeah?”

She nodded. “Okay... we’ll buy this and the other clothes. We need to make a quick stop at the carpenters, then we’ll get to work.”

I nodded, going to remove the outfit, but Marianne waved me off. “Keep it on, you need to learn how to move in it.”

I made a sour face. “I look ridiculous. And everyone’s going to stare.”

“You’re going to want to learn how to move in real armor at some point,” said Marianne. “Call this training. And if you’re wanting to be a warrior, then maybe you should learn a little bravery, right? Who cares what everyone else thinks?”

I sulked a little but didn’t reply. She counted out the gold coins for the purchase and Gresh actually accepted it this time around. Presumably, he needed it after getting robbed. “You ladies take care of yourselves, yeah?” 

“Catch you later, Gresh...” she said, smiling.

“Until then,” he said, smiling back.

As we walked back into the open air of the wooden walkways, I tried to get a feel for the training outfit. “Are you okay with this?” I asked, still unsure. “I know you don’t like fighting...”

“It’s not that I don’t like fighting,” said Marianne, sighing. “It’s just that violence tends to be the first tool people jump to in the case of a problem. But sometimes it’s necessary to keep people alive.”

I nodded. “So why are we going to the carpenter's shop?”

“You’ll see...” she said, smiling.

We rounded along the tree until we arrived at the carpentry storefront. It was remarkably ornate, with all sorts of ornate carvings laid into the walls and the door. It was, of course, for them to show off how skilled they were. We pushed our way into the store, a wooden chime hanging above it to announce our presence. Inside, there were all kinds of fine pieces like wooden statues of wildlife, carved effigies of people’s faces and a ticking cuckoo clock. There was a wizened elf working on carving something at his desk as we stepped in.

“Marianne!” said the elf, smiling, “Goodness... what brings you here?”

“Hi, Seamus,” she said. “My friend Zoey here is looking to pick up some basics for fighting.”

Seamus peered at me. “Ah... that would explain the outfit.”

I winced in embarrassment, hiding slightly behind a large carved statue of a bear.

“I need a practice weapon or two. A shield as well,” she said. She looked at me. “Let’s say... a sword and a mace. Something heavy and light. See what she has the aptitude for.”

Seamus nodded. “I think I have a few in the back... one moment.” Seamus shuffled into the back.

I looked at Marianne, a slight frown creasing my face. “So I’m getting a wooden weapon?”

“Of course,” said Marianne, eyebrow raised. “Do you think I’m going to start you off with a razor sharp sword right from the start? Absolutely not. Even with Milo, we used blunt steel, nothing that would cut off anything important. Alexander would kill me if I let you get chopped up.”

I winced uncomfortably. Reminded unpleasantly of the story of the griefers and the handless farmer, I tried to focus my attention elsewhere. I watched as Seamus returned with a well-crafted wooden sword with a leather wrapped handle and some impressive carved flourishes on the crossguard. He pulled a rounded wooden shield with a leather armstrap from under the table and, after looking around, he pulled a hefty wooden mallet from his workbench.

“How does that look?” He asked, setting the items on the table. 

“Shield looks good. Sword is nice... what’s with the hammer?” asked Marianne, looking at him carefully, “couldn’t find anything else?”

“A war hammer is a perfectly valid weapon,” said Seamus reproachfully, “and unless you want to wait until tomorrow, that’s what I have.”

Marianne sighed. “Fine...” She started counting out gold coins until Seamus nodded and pushed them across the table towards me. 

I picked up the hammer first, feeling the weight of it in my hands. It was heavy, the heft both familiar yet strange. I had been holding a forging hammer in my hands for a few days now, and in some ways, I felt as if it were an extension of my own hand.

But this was also a weapon. It was a weapon that could hurt people. It was a tool that could crack bones as well as stone.

There was a twisting in the pit of my guts. In spite of what I knew the griefers were capable of... the idea of hurting another person was difficult. I had to remind myself that it was about protecting others. It was about keeping people like Marianne, Gresh or Alexander alive. Because players would respawn. NPCs wouldn’t.

Like I told Milo, someone needed to do something.

I swallowed hard and held up the hammer. Marianne and Seamus flinched slightly. The two of them exchanged a significant look I couldn’t decipher.

“Are you sure about this?” asked Seamus.

Marianne sighed. “Not exactly. But she’s...” she looked to me and back to Seamus. “She’s a Guardian at heart. If we’re looking at another repeat of the past, then I want to make sure the good people are able to stand and fight.”

Seamus nodded grimly. “Sure. But let’s hope it won’t come to that.”

Marianne's jaw clenched. “Yeah...”

Seamus grimaced and turned back to his work. Marianne nodded, picking up the wooden sword and the shield. “Let’s go... there’s a nice field a few miles away from the tree.”

I followed her out of the store and, once we were more or less alone, I finally voiced what I had been thinking the whole time. “Do you think I can do this?”

Marianne eyed me as we walked towards the basket elevator. “I’m not sure, to be honest. I know your heart is in the right place... you care about others and are driven to protect them and help them... but your kindness is going to make it difficult too.”

We stepped into the elevator and it was just as awful as it always was. I was never going to get over the sensation of being dropped into freefall suddenly and roughly jerked back to a stop as I wobbly stumbled out of it. Once the feeling subsided, I found my voice. “They’re going to hurt people, Marianne. Kill them. They don’t see people like you as real. They don’t care that we’re friends... that they have families... that they have dreams... all they want is gold, weapons and power.” 

Marianne nodded, her face pale.

“So I have to do something... even if it’s hard. I have to do this.”

She nodded, still grimacing. We traveled the rest of the way in silence. I gave my hammer a few trial swings as we walked, still trying to wrap my head around the idea that it would be a weapon instead of a tool. We traveled over the lush grass as we arrived at what looked to be a more open field away from farms or other people. 

It was a reasonably worn patch, the grass turned to a small circle of dusty dirt. Marianne sighed, setting down the shield and eyeing the wooden sword in her hands. She strode deliberately into the center of the patch and took the time to sit down on the ground, holding out the sword in both hands, balanced as if in supplication.

The night air around us was cool and still. Lightning bugs, or something like them, glowing into the air, casting us in a green, almost haunting light. The chirps and buzzes of the wildlife around Whiteoak Falls along with the distant roar of the waters themselves provided the only escape from the surrounding silence.

She looked strangely peaceful. Like in that moment, she was perfectly aware of herself and her surroundings and what she wanted to be. Unsure of what to do, I followed suit, plopping down onto the dirt. I held out my hammer as she did, and immediately I noticed the weight it carried. This was an uncomfortable position and I had to prop up the weapon with my elbows on my knees for support.

“Have you fought before?” Marianne asked, not opening her eyes.

I shook my head. “Not really.” 

“Fighting is a bitter trade,” she continued, “you are trading pain for pain, blood for blood, bone for bone and life for life. You are working to come out ahead each time you raise your weapon. You have the duty to return to those who love you first and foremost.” Her eyes opened and peered into mine. “You stay alive... that is the first rule.”

She pushed herself off the ground, giving the sword a few experimental twirls through the air. It whooshed through the air as it blurred, scattering the fireflies around us. She barely seemed to register the danger of it, as if she was just playing with it.

“The second rule is that you are bound to preserve life,” she said, bringing the sword back to a ready position, “life is precious. Even the life of your most hated enemy. When you take a life, it doesn’t come back. Wounds can heal... until they don’t.”

I swallowed hard. I uneasily got to my own feet, opposite to her.

“Okay... hold out your weapon,” she commanded, her tone firm.

I did, and the hammer in my clenched fists shook as I tried to keep myself steady. My heart was pounding in my chest as I realized I was going to be fighting a friend. Even in practice, I found myself sickened by the idea of hurting my best friend in RoEM.

“I’m using a sword,” she said, gesturing slightly with the weapon. “It’s a balanced weapon. It’s fast and flexible. I’ve been using swords ever since my father taught me how. I am an opponent that outmatches you in every conceivable way.”

She tapped my hammer with her weapon. “You have a heavy, slow and awkward weapon, by comparison. You are too close to reliably swing it. The only advantage you have is power and force to drive me back. And that assumes that you can even land a hit on me in the first place.”

I looked down at the hammer. “Should I trade with you?” I asked, uncertainty.

“Do you feel more comfortable with a sword?” she asked, tapping my mallet with her sword with a heavy, wooden clunk. “You picked up the hammer on instinct, I noticed.”

I looked down at it. “I’ve been using a hammer since I got here... and the hammer felt... safer.”

“Just to be clear,” she said, shaking her head, “that weapon can kill just as easily as any. That is the nature of it being a weapon. It can crush skulls and break bones. War hammers are fearsome weapons.” She leaned forward, “are you sure about this, Zoey?”

Again, my stomach twisted into knots, but I nodded. “I want to protect people.”

She sighed, raising her weapon. “Okay then... let’s start with the basics. I am going to lightly strike at your head. I want you to raise the handle of your weapon to block the attack, okay?”

I nodded, raising up the mallet above my head. Marianne shook her head slightly as she grabbed the handle in my hand and lowered it slightly. “You want to trace the path of where their strike is traveling and move to intercept,” she said, “see where the sword is going to go and put the handle in its path.”

She nudged my feet with her own. “Widen your stance a little. You want to plant yourself. Don’t give ground you don’t need to.” She put both hands on her sword again. “Okay, get ready...”

I braced my body for the impact and I was surprised at the rattling crack of the impact of wood on wood. My arms jerked and the force traveled down my whole body and into the ground.

“You said lightly!” I cried out indignantly.

Marianne chuckled guiltily. “It WAS light. If you wanted to see full speed...” She took a number of steps back and raised her sword to the ready position. Then, she just… blurred. It was like she was moving in fast-forward, just effortlessly spinning and twirling and striking with the blade so fast I had to double-check that she hadn’t suddenly produced a second one.

“It takes practice, Zoey,” she said, breathing a little heavily, as she stopped, “I started where you stand a long time ago. You’ll get there.”

I swallowed hard, but nodded. “I want to go again. Harder... but maybe not as hard as you can go.”

She smiled. “Okay, prepare yourself...”

I held up my hammer and tried to trace the sword’s path, seeing where it would go in a crescent moon shape. I inserted the handle in its path and was rewarded with her next strike impacting against my block. It rattled my body even worse this time, like I was trying to stop a rhinoceros with a broomstick, but I managed to keep my weapon steady.

We went through a number of those strikes until I had to ask for a break before my arms fell out of their sockets. As I sat there on the ground, sweaty and tired, I felt my arms ache like I had been doing a double-shift of forging. Marianne was looking at me with a faint smile on her face.

“Not bad for your first time,” she said, nodding in approval, “you just need to build up the strength for it.”

I shook my head. “There’s no way I could ever beat someone like you,” I panted, wiping sweat from my brow, “you’re just too fast.”

“The sword does have a distinct speed advantage, true,” she nodded, “but against a warrior of equal skill, it really wouldn’t be that much of an advantage. The more you train with a weapon, the more you learn its strengths and weaknesses. Your hammer,” she gestured to it, “can be a difficult weapon to face if used correctly.”

I frowned, “How?”

“The heavier weapons... clubs, hammers, maces and the like,” she said, holding up her own sword, “are about power. Stronger races, like giants or ogres or trolls, will wield them to bring their power down in a crushing blow... overwhelm their opponent’s defenses.” She tapped my mallet again with her sword. “When you’re dealing with a fast opponent, you want to wait until the right opportunity. Wait until they’re off balance. Then you drive that advantage home. When they put too much power into their strike? Push them off their feet and bring the hammer down. You just need to find your opportunity.”

I stared at her in awe. She made it sound so easy, but just standing there and having her smack my hammer over and over again made such a thing feel impossible. I looked over to the wooden shield she had set aside. “Should I be using that?”

She chuckled. “Uh, when you feel capable of wielding that weapon comfortably enough in one hand, we can start with the shield work.”

My eyes widened at that. “One hand?!” I sputtered, “no way! It’s too heavy!”

Marianne smiled, reaching over to it and picked it up with one hand. It was like she was handling a toy. “You just need to build up the muscle for it.”

Indeed, I remembered that Marianne had extremely thick, corded muscles on her arms, no doubt from years of forging. I poked at my own arms a little reproachfully as they felt like damp noodles in comparison. Marianne got to her feet and offered a hand up.

“It just takes time, sweetheart,” she said, still smiling, “you’ll get there.”

I didn’t quite believe her, but I knew I didn’t want to let her down either. I took her hand and let her drag me to my unsteady feet.

“Let’s get ourselves cleaned up,” she said, leading me back towards the apartment.

I nodded, falling into step. “Thank you... for doing this.” 

Marianne shook her head. “It’s fine. Honestly, I don’t mind this.”

“I know that you have a... um... difficult history,” I said, unsure quite how to phrase it, “with fighting.”

She nodded. “It’s an awful thing. But sometimes it is necessary. And I would rather do this and keep you alive than ignore a dangerous world and leave you unprepared.” She looked at me, her eyes glittering, “I will say this. Your kindness will always be your greatest weapon, Zoey. Understanding the heart of another, knowing their pain and being able to speak to that pain... it is a gift much more powerful than any blade.”

I considered that. It was... nice to hear, but there was a sinking feeling as I realized that there was one group there was no reasoning with. “I don’t understand the griefers...” I said, shaking my head, “I have no idea how to connect with people who just don’t care about other people. Who can hurt others just for profit. Just for fun. I don’t know how they can look at people like you and just see a target...”

I remembered, with some discomfort, that it wasn’t completely outside the scope of my experience. How many orcs had I killed in RoR? Certainly it wasn’t anything like this, in terms of realism and interaction... the orcs hadn’t begged for their lives or cowered. 

But, it was an orc that had made my clothes and had been kind to me when others weren’t. Sure, they were different games, but there was always that theme of seeing NPCs who looked less than human as expendable. Green orcs and goblins were color-coded to tell you that they were fair game.

Green means go... slaughter them. I cringed at the thought.

“‘Grief eaters’?” asked Marianne, snorting. “Is that what you humans call them? It is… an accurate name.”

“I…” I began to correct her, but stopped, unable to explain the truth. I knew she wouldn’t understand the truth. But she understood enough.

And “grief-eaters” felt like a particularly accurate name, to be honest.

As I walked alongside Marianne into the late night air, I realized that she felt more real than anyone else in my life. Gavin was only a string of texts these days, as we didn’t see each other in game. I didn’t really have any other friends. Mom was always focused on keeping the house in order, keeping us on our homework and keeping Dad happy. Dad was never happy and always angry and bitter at whatever piece of news or thought flitted through his head. And Paige was a two-faced brat who hated my guts.

Marianne was the closest connection I had right now. I couldn’t decide how to feel about the fact that computer code was a closer friend to me than my own family.

“Something on your mind?” asked Marianne, noticing my silence.

I glanced at her, a little unsure on how to get these feelings across. I decided the simplest answer was the best. “I’m really happy that we’re friends.”

I don’t know if the warmth of that smile was just computer code, but it felt real enough for me at that moment.

________________

In the days that followed, RoEM became my real home. The work in the forge, the combat practice afterwards and the quiet nights of talking until we both fell asleep became more real to me than my existence in the waking world. The small moments of cooking alongside Marianne for lunch or breakfast, or going shopping or cleaning up our home meant everything to me.

The world of filling out homeschool packets, disappointing everyone in my family and being trapped in a body that felt wrong beyond words was my waking nightmare. Gavin continued to message me, and while I tried to remain connected, I wasn’t sure I was the same person that he was looking for me to be. Maybe I never had been.

I still hadn’t spoken to Beth, and couldn’t force myself to. I was certain that she had answers for me if I asked the right questions, but doing so would force me to confront my existence in that world of pain rather than the joys I found in RoEM. Even if I was transgender, there was nothing I could do about it or change. Mom, Dad and the church were the only opinions that mattered in the real world. And in their opinions, being a transgender was unforgivable.

I wished that those days could have gone on forever. That I could just wake up every day in RoEM and never go back to the “real” world.

But no amount of wishing stopped what was coming. And while I was slowly becoming a skilled blacksmith and learning how to fight in RoEM, I was still just as weak in the world I was leaving behind every night and coming back to every morning. And this time, there was nobody to protect me.

Tonight was youth group night and I didn’t have the release of RoEM to use as an excuse to escape it. I was going to have to go.

I had intense feelings of dread as Mom dropped me and Paige off, leaving the two of us standing before the church, long, intimidating and cast in shadows in the moonless sky. As if all the misery that I’d been ignoring in the past few days had suddenly crashed upon me in one giant heap.

“Have fun!” called Mom from the window, circling the car around to leave.

Paige waived back, smiling, but even through her shallow smile, I heard her voice clearly murmur, “This is fucking bullshit.”

She shot me a dirty look as soon as Mom was out of sight, as if daring me to disagree. I found the simplest way of dealing with Paige was to pretend to not have heard her and to stay quiet.

She made a sound of disgust and set off across the parking lot to the church building. I swallowed hard and nervously followed.

As we approached the building and entered through the heavy wooden doors, I heard the sound of music, as the worship band was clearly warming up on the other end of the annex. Paige strode ahead of me, making her way across the open basketball court and over to where the chairs and stage were being set up for our service. 

I glanced around, noticing all the screens hanging all around, all showing the steady rotation of images promoting upcoming events (such as the “March for the Unborn” in front of the local abortion center) or displaying Christian messages (“None come to the Father except through Jesus Christ. All Others Shall Perish.”).

I swallowed hard, fear simmering in my guts as I followed Paige across the court and to the meeting space on the other end. We used the gymnasium to meet for the youth group, a large, starkly white area with the hoops on either side and gray thin-carpeted floors with the white play lines visible.

The chairs ringed around a small set of risers where both the podium stood and the instruments of the worship band were sitting. While our church was slightly less than comfortable with “modern” worship songs during the regular services, they seemed to be okay with the “youth” enjoying their own type of music. Honestly, it always sounded terrible to my ears, but I’d never been able to listen to anything else to compare it to.

The other kids were spread into their usual groups, which meant that Paige immediately began pretending that I didn’t exist as she ran over to her circle of close girl friends. 

I never quite fit into any of the defined groups, so I just made a point to drift off to the side and out of the way. I usually would just hug the wall until the group started and I could just blend in. 

I’d survived this before, I could just do it again, I reassured myself.

I flinched as I heard the noise of an opening door unlatching behind me. An exit to outside the building, from which the last people I wanted to see stepped through. The reason I hated coming here every week.

Jacob was Pastor Benny’s only son, and he commanded both respect and fear over all the other kids. For one thing, he essentially ran the youth group with minimal oversight from his dad, but his real power was that if he told Pastor Benny that you were doing something wrong, he took it as gospel truth. Even if it was an outright lie, it didn’t matter. Jacob could do no wrong in his eyes and Pastor Benny could do no wrong in the eyes of the adults.

Jacob was a tall, muscled and imposing figure with short-cropped blonde hair and icy blue eyes that constantly roved for prey. He wore a wrought iron crucifix around his neck made of actual nails, visible over his starch-white, button down t-shirt. His khaki-clad legs and black boots stomped towards the stage, purposefully.

His crew of loyal followers, Devon, Isaac and Paul were bringing up the rear, hanging on his every word.

“It was fucking incredible,” he said, walking past, the smell of smoke wafting off of him. It was an open secret that he smoked, even if nobody had the balls to call him out on it. “Like, you pussies should have stayed to watch. Fucker lit up like a goddamn matchbook.”

“There were too many,” said Devon, apologetically looking at the ground. “We didn’t have enough people.”

“And that is why you need to think bigger, dumbass,” snapped Jacob turning back to them. All three of his crew stopped in their tracks and stepped back away from him. “Look... they’re NPCs... they’re coded to help and shit... I just threw a can of oil at one of them and tossed the torch, and every single one of them ran back to put the bitch out while she screamed. Which means...” he grinned, “I got to live to fight another day.” He sighed, shaking his head. “Holy fuck, I don’t even know why I’m bothering to play with you shitheads. Just uninstall RoEM and make room for the real pros.”

I couldn’t help but stare at Jacob in horror. For a start, I had no idea he played the game, but most of my shock came from the chilling way he described it. RoEM NPCs had feelings and acted like real people. If he really did that to an NPC... and laughed about it.... he was a monster.

I felt sick to my stomach.

Without a shadow of a doubt… he was a griefer.

His crew all laughed in appreciation, but I could notice that Devon looked a little uncomfortable as Jacob described it. Jacob caught onto this instantly.

“Something you wanna share with the class, Dev?” sneered Jacob, staring down Devon.

“N-no,” he said, shaking his head as he tried to arrange his face into a smile, “that was epic. We’ll have to try it during the next raid.”

Jacob considered him for a tense moment before shrugging and turning back to move towards the stage. “Try not to fuck it up so much next time or I’ll kill you myself and you can respawn out of my fucking way.” His eyes snapped onto me as he walked by.

I didn’t move or react or show any sign that I understood what he was talking about. “Move it, faglord...” he spat as he roughly shoved me aside.

I stumbled back and hit the floor, finding that it wasn’t particularly soft. His crew all laughed in appreciation, but I was surprised to find that Devon, after looking around nervously to make sure he wasn’t noticed, actually stopped to reach down and help me up. He didn’t say a word beyond that, and as soon as I was back upright, he doubled his pace to catch up to the rest of them.

Jacob took the stage, leaning into the microphone on the podium. “Okay everyone, let’s gather up and begin this in a word of prayer.” While the ego never left his voice, the crassness did. It was always a little unsettling how Jacob could go from total monster to youth leader so quickly.

Everyone did as he said, finding their places and standing at attention as Jacob bowed his head. 

“Father God,” he proclaimed, “We gather here tonight as a community of believers. We are your true followers and warriors for your kingdom. Outside these walls we have a fallen world full of sinners. Thugs, thieves, liars, queers, whores, heathens and communists lie in wait to prey upon us, guided by Satan. We stand firm against the devil’s power by your grace, Lord. For we know the end times are coming soon, and come sooner every day. We will never forsake your word and your power, oh Lord, for we are the faithful. Though all others shall perish in the flames of Hell for all eternity, we as your chosen, pure and few, shall enter paradise. Tonight, let us continue to worship you and prepare ourselves in your word. For as it is written, shall we put on the Armor of God, and prepare ourselves for battle against evil. We shall triumph and we shall overcome all in your name. And the people of God said...”

“Amen,” we all said in unison. Jacob gestured to the praise band and they began to play.

It was a fairly standard set, with the commonly played songs “Christ Shall Overcome All” and “The Blood of the Lord Drowns All Sin” and the recently added, “Burning Holy Spirit” which they all played with great enthusiasm. Jacob took particular pride in belting out the chorus of the last song, “Holy Spirit Burn! Burn away the sin! Burn away the filth! Burn away the devil’s power!”

I couldn’t help but see Jacob’s glee etched into his face as he strummed the guitar and leaned into the mic. That smile and those wide eyes... I wondered if that was the expression he wore when he set an NPC on fire. 

I didn’t fit in here. The wrongness that filled the room was suffocating me like toxic smoke, making me feel as if I couldn’t even breathe properly. For so long, I thought that I was too soft or too weak, or maybe my faith just wasn’t strong enough. I couldn’t hate people the way that Jacob and the others did. 

I thought of Beth and Anika, and realized that the people in this church didn’t even see them as real people. They were nonbelievers and people like Jacob would gleefully hurt them. They didn’t count, after all. They were just as much NPCs as Marianne or the woman he had burned to death in-game.

As the worship music came to a close, the back door opened up and in strode Pastor Benny, grinning ear to ear as he surveyed the situation.

Pastor Benny was a bald man, with rounded features and body, always wearing a black suit jacket, dress pants, white shirt and tie. His eyes scanned over the gym with a vaguely hungry look, taking particular notice of Jacob and his command of the other teens.

“Don’t mind me,” he boomed, nodding up to his son on stage. “You keep moving as the spirit leads, Jacob.”

Jacob snapped off a lazy salute before turning back to the rest of us.

“So... let’s open the word of God, shall we?”

We all brought up our apps on our phones to display the scripture from the King James Bible as he gave it, hovering before our eyes as if God had scratched those letters into the air Himself. 

Luke 12:46

“‘The Lord of that servant will come in a day when he looketh not for Him, and at an hour when he is not aware, and will cut him in sunder, and will appoint him his portion with the unbelievers. And that servant, which knew his Lord's will, and prepared not himself, neither did according to His will, shall be beaten with many stripes.’”

He paused for a moment, his face stern.

“Look outside and you will see a world that pretends that God doesn’t exist. You have sinners and heathens who are in outright rebellion against their creator. They defy Him, willfully. We were made to serve the Lord and you’d better believe that He is watching you for the first sign of weakness. We are in enemy territory, brothers and sisters. This is war. And this church is a fortification against the horde of Satan. When you are here, you are safe...”

He paused for a minute, before raising his voice.

“BUT! You cannot let that make you complacent! You have to remember that Satan takes many forms and is always looking to seek out those whom he may devour. There is always the taint of sin seeping in through the walls. As the scripture says, God is ALWAYS watching. Whatever you think you can let your guard down... whenever you let sin enter into you... whenever you let the world dictate what’s right and wrong instead of God... as the Bible says, the Lord will PUNISH YOU.”

He slapped the podium, causing me to flinch.

“You are a community of believers. You know the difference between good and evil. And if you act in violation of God’s law... he will lay on you with MANY STRIPES.”

Jacob reached down beneath his podium and pulled out a long length of wood, a rounded dowel about the length of a baseball bat.

He swung it through the air making a swooshing noise as he swung it. “This was about the length of wood they used to beat slaves in Jesus’ time. This is the kind of punishment that Christ is talking about. When slaves were beaten... this rod left bruises in the shape of stripes. He does this because He loves us and wants us to become stronger and set our hearts fully on Him. Anything else is a distraction and an idol. You were created to serve Him and obey His commands. Each and every one of you knows what your Master expects of you... and if you think that God’s giving you leeway, remember he subjected His own son to be beaten before he was hung on the cross.”

Jacob smacked the rod into the podium with a crack of wood hitting wood. I flinched in my seat, as everyone else did.

I imagined Marianne facing him down like she had with Milo. Wielding that wooden sword and slowly tearing apart every attack he launched. Defeating him and showing everyone here how weak he really was. While we had been practicing every day in RoEM, I was no stronger in the real world and couldn’t dream of standing up to him.

Even if Zoey was a warrior in the making, right now I wasn’t Zoey.

“He will give no mercy to you for failure. I hope you remember what is expected of you,” Jacob said in the deathly silence, “because we are at war, and our Master expects nothing less than complete discipline. Let us pray...”

I used the bowing of my head to stare at the floor. I wanted out of here. If any one of my brothers and sisters in Christ knew what I was... what I wanted... they would turn on me without question. Jacob would pounce on me and ruin my life. 

I shuddered to think of what griefers like Jacob would do in RoEM, and with a sickening realization, I now understood that even in game, I wasn’t safe from them. He was in the world I had hoped would be my home and sanctuary in addition to this one.

And others like him were there as well, hidden and waiting to strike.

I thought about praying to God for help or protection or guidance... but as Jacob held everyone’s attention, I had that chilling feeling that I wasn’t one of God’s children anymore.

Maybe I never had been.

Finally and thankfully, the youth group adjourned and we were left with some small measure of time to socialize before our parents picked us up. The boys by and large all scooped up basketballs and set off to play on one half of the court while the girls still sat in their chairs and talked. Paige was always fairly popular with the other girls and I could see the ease with which she kept their attention. I wished I had her confidence.

Lacking any other option, I meandered towards the boys, but kept a respectful distance from them, and returned to trying once again to blend in with the wall.

Jacob was in the process of shooting free throws while his lackeys would fetch the balls for him and return them to his hand so he could continually shoot. He didn’t seem to be particularly good at it, but it didn’t seem to matter to him as he was mostly using the activity as something to do while he talked.

“We need more people,” he said, frowning as he lined up another shot. He didn’t seem to care who heard him, but I made a point to look away from him so he couldn’t tell I was listening.

“I mean... do we know anyone else who plays RoEM?” asked Paul, running after a ball.

Jacob looked over his shoulder. “Vince’s dad doesn’t let him have a ‘box... and Kyle spends his nights jerking it on OnlySimps.” He paused and from the corner of my eyes, I saw his attention snap onto me. “Hey, Harlow!” he called out, waving at me. “Come over here.”

I swallowed hard and felt a churning sensation in my guts. Every ounce of my being was screaming at me to run away from him, but I knew there was no escaping. Running would only make it worse. I turned around and, my steps unsteady, walked towards him. “Y-yeah?” I said, not meeting his eyes.

“You got a REMbox?” he said, making it sound like an accusation.

I briefly thought of lying. I wanted to do anything that would get me out of his attention as soon as possible. But I wasn’t particularly good at bluffing, and maybe some small measure of defiance made me dig in my heels a little.

“Yeah,” I said, still not meeting his gaze.

“You play RoEM?” Jacob continued, stepping even closer to me. I was pressed against the wall as his crew blocked off any chance of escape. I was surrounded.

“Yeah,” I said, nodding. I tried to remember some of the lessons that Marianne had tried to teach me in combat training. Posture. Footing. I didn’t think I had the physical strength or will to actually fight all of them, but the very least I could do was try to make myself look like less of a target. I stood up straight and adjusted my stance a little.

Jacob raised an eyebrow, but didn’t back down. “What town did you spawn in?”

I hesitated. I absolutely didn’t want any of them anywhere near Whiteoak Falls, but I wasn’t going to be able to bluff being from somewhere different like Golddell or Duneport. I compromised by naming a village I remembered close by to Whiteoak.

“Briar Glen,” I said, still trying to project a measure of confidence.

Jacob snorted derisively. “Fuck... are you hanging out with all those forest-fags?” he spat, wrinkling his nose in disgust. “Do you even know how to fight or are you one of those pacifag tree-huggers?”

“Huh?” I said, unfamiliar with the term.

“Pacifists,” said Devon, standing to my right. “Like... players who don’t do combat. Briar Glen is supposed to be some kind of peace and love druid place, yeah?”

“Pacifags,” Jacob insisted.

“I... can fight,” I said, trying not to let my voice waver with all their attention on me.

“Bullshit,” said Jacob, laughing openly as he jabbed a finger in my chest, “pussy like you?”

I took in a deep breath and tried to summon some measure of courage. I thought back to my training and the calm yet firm voice of Marianne in my ears. I imagined doing this in game. I imagined that I was standing in game, as my real self. As Zoey. And not backing down an inch in the face of a bully. 

“Listen... I spend eight hours a day in-game hammering out steel over a hot forge,” I said, trying to sound both confident yet conversational, “I’ve been training with a war hammer. I can fight and I don’t particularly care if you believe me, Jacob.”

Jacob was briefly speechless, clearly not expecting me to have responded like this. Neither was I, come to think of it. A frown creased his face as he spoke. “Hmm... you actually kill anybody yet?” 

“I know how to fight,” I repeated, “And to win.” I hoped that my confidence would keep them from pressing the issue.

“Fuck...” snorted Jacob, breathing with a little laugh as he leered at Devon ruefully. “He’s more of a man than you are, faglord.”

Devon grimaced as he turned away silently.

Jacob continued to look me up and down. “You got a crew?”

“Crew…?” I said uncertainly.

“Ugh.” said Jacob in disgust, shaking his head, “a crew, dumbass. A team. A faction. A group. Who do you fight with? The Faceless? The Steel Crusade? The Goon Troop? What?”

I thought about it. Theoretically, I knew people who were Guardians. Beth and Leon and Anika. That was the closest thing I could think of.

“I know people I can rely on to have my back” I said, nodding slowly. “That’s all I need.”

Jacob looked me over a little more before turning away. “Hm... hit me up when you’re ready to actually grow some balls. Run with a real crew.” He walked away, the others following suit as he lost interest in me. Devon was last to leave, giving me an unreadable look as he walked away.

I was alone again and I breathed a sigh of relief. I took the time to think over what Jacob had been talking about. He had to be talking about some kind of guild of griefers. He was literally just as bad as the people who slaughtered the population of Stonebridge Pass. It didn’t matter that it was a brand new game, people like Jacob still saw everyone who wasn’t on his side as targets.

I would have to practice harder with Marianne, I told myself. I would have to get better. I refused to let players like Jacob and his friends run rampant. Just like Beth and Leon, I would get strong enough to defend people who couldn’t defend themselves.

 Maybe I couldn’t stop them in the real world, but I could at least do it online.