Drawing his pistol, Fergus traded bullets with another player (who lived across the continent) and got the headshot. In the physical world they sat on chairs moving through mouse and keyboard, but in the game one lived and the other died.

Bent over like a hunchback, Fergus stared into the blue light of the television screen. Fergus fantasised pushing himself into the game with the aid of dancing electricity and pixel generation that pulled him into the frantic chaos of an online shooter.

The roar of bullets blasted through his headset. He couldn’t die. He was on a three player killstreak. His best of the night so far and he was scraping close to his four kills in a row from two nights past.

The streak ended with a noob spraying and praying from behind. They could have taken him on a date first before they poured lead into his arse. He fell back onto the backrest of his chair.

Fergus was playing alone running the queues solo, his mate was out with his gf and the rest were all tied up. Fergus played without them, which gave him a chance to roam his library of interactive media. Over the years he had bought rows and rows of games to pick from.

He couldn’t say when, but at some point Fergus dedicated his evenings to gaming. He did so with the dedication of a priest to prayer. Passion ebbed and flowed and like a priest he sometimes doubted his faith. Tonight, he continued to play.

His faith was so sincere he didn’t even notice earlier when his mate tried and failed to make Fergus jealous. Fergus was supposed to envy that his mate was out on a date. Maybe one day he would. Tonight, he continued to play.

He had solo campaigns to play: like the one involving cowboys, a huge map and a long story. Another day he would want to lasso a horse or rob a train, and knowing his luck it would be when his mates were around to play. Tonight, he blazed through first person shooter combat.

He chucked a grenade. Boom! One kill. He popped out of cover and aimed at a player right in the back of their skull. Bang! He had two kills on his streak. He sprinted down the narrow corridor and slid along the floor. He ran out of the door. Bang! He died. He’d fail to get more than a two kill streak.

The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

He drank the last of his Monster can and lobbed it into the bin where it clattered off the bin’s edge and rolled along the floor. He’d missed. Again.

“Fuck!” He shouted.

An unheard, unsung twinkling of bells rang through his bedroom. Someone supernatural entered through the gap in the window.

Before humans mastered electricity or invented the internet, Fae interfered when humans stumbled upon them. Now, they kept out of sight because Fae politics was complex and surprisingly human-phobic.

One of the issues was that humans vastly outnumbered their magical counterparts. Pit was one of the Donna Shee and he was out doing what we might call ‘charity’ work.

Fergus never saw the finger-sized kawaii-eyes dream fairy fly over his head. Out of Pit’s bag poured fae-salt.

Invisible to the human eye the twinkling blue crystals worked on the mind clearing blockages - it led to clarity. It wouldn’t cure depression, but it might help a desperate gamer focus for a few precious seconds.

The enemy's position came to Fergus like he had been struck by a lightning bolt (or doused by magical salt). Fergus knew where the enemies were coming from, he primed and threw a grenade. Turned the corner and set his sights.

Fish in barrel the grenade took the guys at the back and he gunned down the rest. Five kill streak. He reloaded. Spun round and killed a guy trying to flank him. Six kills. He rushed down the corridor and shot first. Seven kills.

“Yusss!” He screamed.

Knife in the back.

“Noooo!” He howled.

Respwan screen.

He reset. The truth of what he’d accomplished wiped away his annoyance at dying.

“Best kill streak yet.” He muttered and smiled.

Pit flew away to the neighbour's house to help James soothe his pain. James who lived with his sister Jess.

It had been his golden hour. He took a screenshot, clipped it and bragged on social media to his mate. Better than sex, although Fergus did not yet have any experience to compare. Minor spoilers, as a man of tepid passions, it was certainly better than most of his future erotic encounters.

He settled happily with a ‘gamer girl’ called Jane like other hetrosexual normies. Their shared appreciation of the same hobby, but different tastes meant they had plenty to talk about and share when not moaning about work and kids.

When he stole the chance he played shooters sometimes with his old friends from the school days. All that is in his future. Tonight, he continued to play.