Suchi's Earthfriend Habitat, a collection of hill-dwellings covered in spring-green grass, supported by a tiny tree in the centre exerting an aura of ancient jungles long cut-down.

Under the supervision of haggard Elder Earthfriends, players and NPCs of all kinds of Classes were rushing around the area with poultices and potions.

A group of friends, on the outskirts of The Habitat, were returning from The Slums carrying herb-laden baskets. With the crisis, the group had been stuck at level 5, unable to be initiated into their desired class. Nevertheless, their spirits were high, this game-event having made them feel like they were heroes starring in an epic quest - what a thrilling start to their online adventures!

“What's that?” A female member of the group ran over to a rectangular object protruding from a tuft of grass.

“What is it, Sniper?” asked another.

Sniped picked up a book, inspecting the tooltip. “It's a book for a spell called 'Mend-i Ble-mi-shon', restricted to someone level 90 or higher."

"What's 'Mend-i Ble-mi-shon'?"

"Is level 90 high?”

None of the friends knew the answers. They were turbonoobs.

“Well, what should we do with it?”

“Let’s take it back to The Habitat. Maybe an Elder dropped it?”

As they were about to leave, however, an old NPC passed them by staring at the ground, his body so feeble he could barely support the many bead-necklaces weighing down his shoulders.

“Hiya!” greeted one of the players.

“Hello!" Another waved.

The old gentleman, however, was too distracted in his search to hear their greetings.

Sniper had an epiphany. “Excuse me, Elder, is this what you lost?”

The NPC, startled out of his concentration, turned to her, stared at the Spelltome in her hands, then immediately fainted, his body collapsing to the ground with a thud.

The friends ran over in a panic.

“Elder?!”

“What do we do?”

“Quick, call for help!”

A few seconds later, while one of them was holding the unconscious NPC in their lap, his eyes slowly struggled to peel open. Noticing the commotion around him, he put all his strength into building a reassuring smile that would hide his frailty.

“Don’t worry, young ones," he croaked. "This old man just has a bad case of narcolepsy, for—AH! I see you’ve found my book.”

“Here you go, Elder.” Sniper placed it in his grasp, closing his fingers around it and patting them softly.

Another player lifted the Elder to his feet. “Your narcolepsy, Elder, is it the same as the other Elders'? Is there anything we can do to help you?”

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The old man paused to study the group, to ensure that these were the heroes he could entrust his life to. One couldn't give a quest to just any random Offworlder.

“It is a sensitive issue," he said, "and this old man has to be wary in case the one who cursed him discovers his whereabouts. First, I must test you with a few questions."

“Ask away!"

“Yes, Elder, ask away!”

The old man nodded. “Firstly, are any of you meat eaters?”

In real-life, the friends were, but as Earthfriend roleplayers, they pretended to be disgusted.

“Excellent." The old man nodded again in approval, while secretly despising these noobs, roleplayers being in Henry's top 10 hatred demographics. "Second question: are you what they call 'Villagers'?"

The group nodded in unison.

Internally, the 'Elder' winced, these noobs having never had a chance. "Great. As a final question, when are you planning on reconnecting with the cosmos?”

None of them understood this phrase.

The Elder coughed. “I believe you Offworlders call it ‘the logging off’.”

“Ah, it’s our first night playing. We’re doing a 48-hour marathon.”

The Elder nodded again, slowly, his palm stroking his wrinkled jowls in contemplation.

He nodded a last time, with resolve. "Then...then perhaps you heroes can help this old man. First, I should introduce myself. I’m Dr Iskander, a researcher from Volefa...umm...a place to the east. In search of a cure for my narcolepsy, I have roamed the lands..."

The old man proceeded to give a mind-numbingly-long NPC dialogue, the type that in pre-virtual RPGs time-thrifty players would skip through.

"...to avoid being discovered by Him, I need to minimise the number of people aware of my presence...

"...curious qualities of this curse, reminiscent of the Oogun Nightmare plague of 6240...

"...take these Communication Stones. Due to my narcolepsy, I won’t be able to respond at all times, so I'll contact you myself whenever I'm awake...”

The gullible noobs, while listening to the Elder’s proposal, began to tremble with excitement, their hearts racing at thought of this epic quest escalating further, of the awesome bounty of Slum Points they would be awarded.

Back at the Newbie Spawning Area.

After the time it takes to boil two pots of potatoes one after another, a donkey could be seen charging again through the crowd in front of the admins handling inquiries.

"Watch it, you bozo!"

"What the frick, bro?"

“Sorry, sorry! Stubborn beast's got a mind of his own!” apologised Henry, pinching the donkey's bottom, his lips behind his monkey-mask curled into a millimetre of delight from their usual flatness.

Was this not the sweet pleasure of retirement, the joy of shrugging off a burden and dumping it onto the shoulders of the younger generation?

Such a simple cure quest didn't even require his direct oversight. Right now, his new minions, selected based on high trustworthiness and a low risk of revealing his identity, were racing around the region, chatting with the afflicted and gathering research materials.

While they sweated and fretted, Henry would be breezing through the tutorial. His only further contribution would be a couple minutes later on when, bringing together all the puzzle pieces for the curse, he instantly solved it with his giga-genius giga-giga-brain.

Easy.

This was another retirement pro-tip. As the classic Sanskrit saying went, 'For felling a giant oak, it is indeed better to have in hand a chainsaw than an axe, but better still than a chainsaw is a novel and a cup of tea.' Don't do most of the labour yourself. 'Delegate', manipulate others into squandering the finite hours of their life on your behalf.

Henry was pulled out of his self-aggrandising delusions by a question.

"What can I help you with this time, sugar?" asked the administrator, recognising him and the donkey from before. "Changed your mind on becoming a Shaman?"

"Gods no." Henry winced in repulsion. "I didn't see it noted earlier, but which of the trainers hire themselves out for private mentoring? I only need one for about half an hour, for the tutorial."

Half an hour, with the nuisances cleared away, that's all it should take for him to blitz through.

The administrator's expression darkened again. "Bless your heart, sugar. Don't you know? The Union banned private mentoring months ago."

Henry puckered his mouth as if he'd sipped an oversalted soup. "...but why?"

The administrator gave him a hard stare, a fanatical glint igniting in her eyes. "The walls of the private education system must be toppled. Knowledge should not be a privilege limited to the children of those with money."

Henry, the smugness draining from his face, raised his tired gaze to the cloudless heavens laughing down upon him and this hyena-turd zone. "...but why?"