MoonCrawler, aka Peter Maloney, watched on as everyone in the room cheered in anticipation of a person’s murder.

And Peter couldn’t lie to himself anymore - this was murder.

At first, he had just been doing what he was told. He had been lucky to keep his employment after how badly he had bungled his interaction with the Damsel known as Ray Davis. And then, in the conference with Ray and his lawyer, he had compounded his mistakes, let his own embarrassment and shock cloud his judgment. Just how that lawyer, Mr. Suck, had known how much he loved cats was a mystery - and a terrifying one. Cats had always been his comfort in a life that had been cruel and often times, pointless. Without his babies, he would have ended everything years ago.

The humiliation had continued to grow during the debrief with Goldman, the other Latimer lawyers…and Holt.

Everything about Holt triggered Peter’s childhood traumas in the worst possible way. The undisguised look of disgust and loathing had made him shrink back into himself, wish he could hide behind one of the pods, or behind one of the lawyers.

But he couldn’t hide - his size wouldn’t let him. He was used to being belittled and tortured for his weight - that was nothing new. His nickname in middle school had been Baloney Maloney, for Christ’s sake. No, what bothered him was that it was the CTO of Swords & Sorcery looking at him with such disgust. He thought he had outgrown this level of childishness when he had joined the corporate world.

It reminded him of when his 7th grade math teacher, Mr. Siezman, had joined in with the students in calling him Baloney Maloney. For some reason, the ridicule from an authority figure had hurt more than any teasing or bullying from the students.

It had brought him back to that childlike state, and when the dust had settled from the meeting with Mr. Suck and Ray Davis, he had found it physically impossible to voice an opinion of his own for an entire week.

But he had finally had time to process what Goldman and Latimer were doing - what he was doing.

And it was wrong.

That clarity was only part of the puzzle, the first step, perhaps. He hadn’t been strong enough to speak up and take that next step. And so he continued to feel complicit.

No, not feel. He was complicit. And it was slowly eating him alive.

He was wringing his hands under the conference table now, sweat pooling on his palms, his underarms, his back, and…well, just everywhere. Arrayed around the semi-circle table were all the members of the Ray Davis Task Force. That wasn’t an official name or anything, but how Peter had begun to think of these daily meetings. Sitting at the middle of the table was Goldman, his cronies on his right side in order of rank and importance. On Goldman’s left was Holt, along with all the technicians and S&S staff that had been brought in to facilitate the observation deck. Jeffrey was part of this group, but had positioned himself at the very edge of the table, as far from Holt and Goldman as he could physically be without walking out of the room.

And in front of them was a floor-to-ceiling wall of monitors, each one dedicated to a different perspective in the attempted murder of Rayshawn Davis.

The four monitors in the center of the wall were the focal points of the Task Force, and were periodically shifted to a different player’s perspective by the technicians, depending on their view. Right now, one of the monitors was showing the viewpoint of a player in game who was perched in a tree, directly ahead of Ray’s position. At the bottom of each monitor was the player’s name, class, and level. This particular player’s info read: Norsebbbzerker - Berserker (Warrior) - Level 54.

The other three central monitors were devoted to players flying on the edges of the trap. One to the east, west, and south. Ray and his team were escorting lower level players towards the north, fleeing from a group of Necks chasing them from the south.

Playing over the speakers in the room were the voice comms of the Neck raid group as they tightened the trap around Ray.

“We lost them!” the southern team leader called. “They were heading north with a bunch of lowbies. Gotta be low on stamina!”

“Get your asses over here!” the northern team shouted back. “There’s only two of us over here.”

“Disregard that!” Goldman suddenly shouted into the comms. “Wait until the Damsel flags before closing the trap!”

“Who the fuck-” one of the players started to say.

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“Above your pay grade,” the southern leader interrupted. “Do what the man says.”

“Uh, roger,” they replied.

A few moments passed without a word. Then, “Oh, shit! She fragged us! But she’s flagged for combat!” That was the northern team leader. “I repeat, she is flagged! Get her ass!”

Peter watched as the different teams of Neck players leapt from their hiding places. There were more than 50 of them closing the trap, with even more stationed throughout the region in case the quarry slipped the noose. And by all accounts, Ray only had three level 60s with him.

It would be a slaughter.

“We see them,” the eastern team leader said.

“Same! There’s no escape now.” That was the western team leader. The pincer had been closed.

“She’s not with the others!” the now dead northern team leader shouted. “She ran ahead! I think she’s heading for the Flight Master!”

Peter watched Goldman lean forward, his eyes wide, his jaw clenched.

“Norse, she’s coming right past you,” another voice said.

“I’ll flag the bitch,” the player called Norsebbbzerker said.

The entire room watched from his viewpoint with bated breath as he charged his jump. He timed it perfectly, launching himself right into Ray and latching his arms and legs around the damsel avatar.

“You’re fucked,” Norsebbbzerker said to Ray as they plummeted to the ground. They crashed in the dust together, Ray’s character smashing into Norse’s body with a wet thwack.

“Is the trace live!?” Goldman demanded, pointing at the technicians.

“The whole region is snooped,” the lead technician replied. “As soon as he dies, we’ll get the dump and be able to isolate his code.”

Peter watched in horror as Ray writhed on the ground in obvious pain.

Get up, he implored. Get up!

He had to force himself not to cheer when Ray rolled to his feet and began running.

The rest of Ray’s flight from the enemy players was a blur to Peter. The adrenaline had his limbs shaking, his back glued to his chair through a puddle of sweat. He would have been mortified at how much sweat he was producing if he wasn’t so laser-focused on the monitors in front of him.

When Ray escaped through the Flight Master at the last possible second, Peter finally relaxed. He was surprised to notice that his legs were trembling, his fingers flexed into tight fists on his thighs, and his ass cheeks squeezed so tight he was aggravating his hemorrhoids. With a deep exhale, he forced himself to unclench…pretty much everything.

Goldman slammed the table loud enough to make the entire room flinch. “How, in the name of God, did one person escape a combined force of 80 people!?” He whirled on Holt, who hadn’t looked away from the monitors despite the outburst. “This is the best you can find? Was that a team of 12-year olds?” he demanded. “No, even 12-year olds would have done a better job than that!” Goldman’s eyes were boring into Holt, who was still staring at the monitors in front of him. “Are you sabotaging this effort?” he asked, his voice quiet now.

Holt finally turned to him at that, his expression stony. “That was a solid squad of player killers,” Holt said, his tone even. “They got unlucky. They’ll get him next time.”

Despite Holt’s words, Peter knew this squad wasn’t the cream of the crop. Far from it, actually. A better description would be: amateurs, bordering on incompetent. They were known for throwing numbers at enemy forces, rather than using tactics or skill to win engagements.

No, the big-time player killer Guilds were staying far away from Ray for now. No one wanted to get egg on their face the way Ysillith had. Word on the net was, Ysillith had been the laughing stock of the Neck PvP Guilds since his loss.

Peter knew from experience - when the real heavy hitters decided to take out Ray, they wouldn’t miss.

The discussion had continued, but Peter had missed it in his thoughts. But something that was said caught his attention.

“I think our suspicion was correct,” one of the technicians said. “He seems to know when he’s being observed. It’s possible the System A.I. is even assisting him.”

“God-fucking-dammit!” Goldman shouted, slamming the table once more. “Where are we on that? Why is it taking the level 5 so long to subsume the native A.I.?”

The technicians all looked anywhere except Goldman, their discomfort obvious. When it was clear no one would speak up, Goldman threw one of the conference phones across the room.

“If one of you doesn’t answer my question in the next five seconds, you’re all out of a job.”

Peter had instinctively ducked as the phone flew across the room, even though it wasn’t even remotely in his direction. He thanked God Goldman’s rage wasn’t directed towards him.

The technicians seemed to be having a mental battle of ‘nose goes’, before one of them mustered the courage to speak up. “It-uh, it appears the System A.I. has, umm, well-”

“It’s infected all the players’ pods with a virus,” Holt jumped in, his tone casual. “It’s burrowed its way into millions of systems. In order to extract it, the level 5 also has to invade each pod and forcibly extract the System A.I.’s code.” Holt sighed. “It has essentially turned our players’ pods into a botnet.” When Goldman didn’t say anything, Holt started to explain. “A botnet is when-”

“I know what a fucking botnet is!” he shouted. Holt shrugged, affecting a casual demeanor. Peter was impressed at the man’s poker face, even if he was a prick. “And the damsel? Why haven’t you been able to isolate her code?”

“We believe it’s done the same thing with the damsel. Seeded her code across millions of units,” Holt explained. “That’s why it’s been impossible for us to isolate it.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Goldman asked, his tone incredulous. “So, let me get this straight. Not only do we have the key to human immortality at our goddamn fingertips - that we can’t access. But now you’re telling me we have a potential class-action lawsuit worth trillions on our hands due to this rogue A.I. infecting our entire player base with a virus?”

Holt shrugged. “It’s what Latimer programmed it to do.”

Another phone went flying.

“Out!” Goldman shouted. “Everyone get the fuck out!”

Peter was only too happy to oblige.

As he fled the room, he realized it was time to grow a spine. Have some conviction and do what he knew was right.

He had to find a way to help keep Ray Davis alive.