"Whoa, these fish are practically begging to be caught!" Carl exclaimed as he hauled yet another good-sized horned fish up onto the dock, its two-foot length hitting the wood with a whump. The fish wiggled around, but it was helpless as the large man removed the hook from its mouth and tossed it into his still-open inventory. Feels almost like cheating today.

A bigger fish flew out of the water to the side of the dock and landed next to him at that moment. It flopped around, sending water flying everywhere.

Carl stared for a moment before he began to chuckle. This has to be something Roger and his guys cooked up. Okay, you got me. Very funny, but it's not gonna stop me from fishing this darn lake dry!

The Director of IT tapped a couple keys on his keyboard, repeating the previous command to check the time again. "Ah, shoot. I gotta get going." He glanced at the game's clock at the edge of his vision one more time, verifying that it seemed to still match the system time he saw in his terminal. Don't need to keep checking in the term—

The still-flopping fish tail-slapped him in the arm, eliciting another round of chuckles. "You're gonna have to get going, too, big guy. I think you're a little too huge for Bobby to play with." He set his fishing rod down on the dock next to himself and tried to heave the five-foot, orange-with-black-markings, triple-horned fish back into the water, grunting with exertion. "C'mon," he huffed. "Do your tail move again, buddy."

The fish flailed wildly, slapping him across the face and drenching his beard.

"No, not that move, the other one! Gotta get some—oof—momentum going or something," Carl said. He wiped his face on his sleeve and spit over onto the dock, then rose to his feet. He placed his hands on his hips and looked down. "How the heck are you this big, anyway? What kinda stuff would you even be eating if you were real?"

He bent down in a deadlift posture, positioning his hands under the fish. "Stay still for a sec, okay? Might be getting old, but I still get in to the gym a few times a week before work. Not that it's gonna help in here, I guess." He took a deep breath, the action habitual even though he didn't strictly need to breathe inside the game. He came up under the fish, heaving it up and tipping it back off the dock and into the water.

Carl nodded in satisfaction. "Yeah, that's a good way to end a quick fishing session. Biggest one I've seen so far, too." He shook his hands free of some of the water, then wiped them on his shirt. Kind of a shirt? Like, one of those medieval ones, the short dress kind. Tunic, maybe?

"Friend list," he said, causing the window to appear before him.

Ir'alith Shadewoods BobTheGreatest Offline ➤ FE 0/2 Online

Shadewoods? Carl considered it. Seems like the kinda place she'd hang out, I guess. Her recall was the throne of shadow or whatever? Maybe it's nearby. Maybe there's like, a whole zone set up for all the edgy kids to hang out in. That'd be pretty cool for them, even if I'd never… Well, I guess I would if there's some cool fish to really wow Bobby with. Maybe I'll put in a suggestion for it when I get out in case we don't have something like that. I'll have to talk to Greg, but it might be a good way to capture one of those niche markets we have trouble with.

As he daydreamed of edgelord fish, the window updated and drew his attention once more.

Ir'alith Whitetop Mountains BobTheGreatest Offline ➤ FE 0/2 Online

Huh, looks like she's on the move. Maybe I should check on her again before I log out? He shook his head after a moment. Nah, she can message me if she needs help. I don't wanna seem like some kind of VR creeper or something. "Message: Bob The Greatest," he called.

"Composing new message," the system announced to him. "Please—"

"Yeah, yeah, I know how messages work," Carl said. Can't believe tooltips still can't be disabled. Or maybe they can and Roger just hid the option for my account. This prank war has to stop. Gary was way too irresponsible to let it go on for however long it did. Ooh, that reminds me, I've gotta get moving on reimplementing our mail handling to not rely on his stupid cron jobs…

"—When you are finished," the system finished, jogging him out of his thoughts.

"Uh, yeah, hey, Bobby," Carl said, scratching his still-damp beard. "Sorry I haven't been sending you any cool fish lately. Work's been really crazy like I said. Managed to sneak on for a few minutes tonight before I left for your sister's game and caught these. Hope you like 'em. Love you, pumpkin. Porkchop sandwiches."

"Message recorded," the system announced. "Review, attach items, or send?"

Carl chuckled a little, as he always did when he uttered his designated sign-off phrase for messages. Just can't beat the classics. "Attach," he called, reaching into his inventory. He placed his hand on a fish and it disappeared, then repeated the action with the rest of the fish he'd caught until there were no more fish. There was no longer any evidence of his fishing excursion save for his fishing ro—spear laying on the dock. He wiped his brow with his sleeve.

Maybe not the coolest fish I've sent her, but this is still pretty good considering I only had like, five minutes. "Send message," he called. Maybe they'll get to go in that little aquarium she made in her house? Nah, probably not cool enough to go in with her favorites. She'll probably make some good food or potions for raiding buffs or whatever with them. Or sell? She was trying to explain how people apparently buy fish to get that fish collector achievement that one time, but I kinda zoned out.

"Sending," the system announced. "Message sent."

"Dismiss all," Carl said, getting rid of his friends list window and inventory. He reached down to pick up his fishing spear. Still weird. Why is it a spear? Whatever. I'll be ready to go the second I log in next time. Daddy's gonna catch you the coolest fish ever, or my name's not Carl the Master Fisherman!

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

He took a last, deep breath. "Feels good, man," he said after holding it for a moment. "I really needed this. Should try to get back in the habit of taking a few minutes off at lunch, at least." Especially now that I finally got that insane malware off all the accounting systems. Which could've easily been avoided if Darryl and Tanya and whoever else had just followed the policy and not been watching porn at work… He sighed, feeling his earlier good mood slipping away. "Log out."

Nothing happened for a moment.

Carl rolled his eyes. "C'mon, how do you make this take longer than—"

A status window appeared.

Dear Carl,

You wasted my time with your stupid, tedious systems training courses.

I thought it would be enough of a hint when I skipped it last year.

Guess not.

Have fun fishing. Hope you didn't need to do anything important now.

I'll come unplug you when I get back from lunch and we'll chat.

-Roger (Director of Engineering)

Carl stared, and an audio recording of Roger's voice reading the message played. When it was done, the status window faded out of existence.

Carl sat down on the dock, landing harder than he'd expected, looking out over the placid waters that he'd been enjoying moments earlier.

Lunch? Carl blinked. He thought I'd hit this while I was fishing at lunchtime? But… It's not lunchtime now. It's nighttime. Friday night.

Nobody else stays past seven at the absolute latest on Friday nights…

His fishing rod dropped out of his enervated hand, rolling slightly when it landed on the dock. It teetered on the edge of the wooden plank for a moment before rolling back firmly onto the dock.

I'm not gonna be able to get out in time for Sammy's game. Carl felt a twisting, piercing pain in his gut. She said she was starting for the first time, and I said I'd… He sucked in a breath, but that only seemed to make the pain worse.

A minute passed.

I'm in a real pickle here. Carl took a slow, deep breath to try calming himself. Let's think this through. Focus. I just need to get someone to come by and take the stupid headband off me so I'll wake up. I just need…

Building security? They're probably the only ones here. I know John's at least here anyway since we talked about Sammy's game when I had to go down to grab that package from the mail room this afternoon. I could try emailing him—

"Keyboard," he called with a feeling of growing dread. His trusty sidekick snapped into place, just a little too low. He dragged it up and began typing quickly, even though, as the Director of IT, he already knew the result. His hands rose to cradle his head. "Can't send email in-game. Network access in-game is restricted to game servers now at the office for security after all the leaks. My own policy…"

Think. Think! Can't get onto any of the network shares, can't get to the email server, no intranet… I can get to my home directory, but only because it's local and syncs with the network passively—not that anyone else would or could ever see anything I do there…

A ticket? Argh, all the GMs are external! And even if they weren't in another state or country or whatever, they don't even have building access badges! And they're probably in a different country entirely, so it's not like they'd be able to call over or even have access to the company directory to get in touch with security…

Carl growled in frustration. "Dammit, Roger!" he yelled at the top of his lungs. The words echoed for a time across the tranquil lake.

"I can't get out," Carl muttered, feeling crushed. "I'm gonna miss her first game starting. Annie barely understands how cameras work, too. All the photos are gonna be one big blur…"

The depressed father let out a deep, anguished sigh and slumped forward. "Not even gonna be able to be the dad cheering way too loud in the stands or take her out for ice cream after." He sighed again. "She's the only other person in the family who likes Rocky Road."

He tried to come up with something—anything—that would get him out of the stupid game he'd only wanted to log onto for a few minutes to maybe catch a fish or two and relax because he was just a tiny bit stressed after working sixty-plus hour weeks for the past month while also trying to juggle his family and all their plans.

He just wanted a little break.

A few minutes to himself to do something he wanted to do.

Some time to unwind.

Time passed.

Carl flopped backwards and spread his arms out on the deck, suddenly unsure how he'd reached this point in his life or what he was even doing. His hand carelessly struck his fishing rod, knocking it off the dock and into the water with a quiet splash. He didn't notice.

When was the last time I even had time to do something I wanted to do? Carl struggled to come up with an answer. Even fishing like this… I used to love playing games. I was in top guilds since MMOs were freaking invented. I didn't just fish. If I said I wanted to catch one more, they'd wait for me before starting a raid, even if it was gonna be a world-first. "That's Carl," they'd say, laughing along with me in voice chat.

Carl sighed. But I gave it up for her, didn't I? I gave up a lot. Had to grow up sometime, I guess. I don't regret that, I just… I wish I could've had both. Haven't even talked to any of my old friends in like… What? Five years? Ten? Probably since—

Suddenly, a loud crack sounded out and his world tilted. The entire dock pitched forward, and he slid off the wooden planks and into the lake.

Except there was no lake anymore.

Carl landed unharmed on the moist, dirt bottom of what had been a lake minutes earlier. He looked around in hurt confusion, feeling betrayed by his favorite fishing spot. The supports under the dock had snapped under some kind of force, causing it to drop into the lake, and there was no water in sight.

Not even a single fish, either.

Carl reached down and picked up his fishing rod from where it lay next to him, then stood up and thrust it into the air over his head. "GOD FUCKING DAMMIT, ROGER!" he roared, his voice echoing for much longer this time as he stood in the empty basin of the largest lake in New Era's world.