The Blue Team exchanged stories in the post-game lobby as Mitch reviewed the mission stats. He divvied up the experience points and loot to each team member—fifty to Blue One for finally coming around, thirty over to Blue Three for making a few shots on that final run—until the remaining balance hit zero. He submitted his mission log, shaking his head with a grunt as he noted the date: September 16th, just like he’d thought.

Two weeks early.

In two weeks—September 30th, 2055, to be exact—the virtual reality game Skirmish would celebrate its thirtieth anniversary. Over the years, it had grown into a first-person shooter game that had seized the planet’s attention and had never let go. A seemingly never-ending series of missions that challenged players to join teams and attack outposts, rescue hostages and infiltrate bunkers. But Skirmish had grown into something else altogether—a game that bred a new generation of celebrities, performing as the world watched online and in packed arenas.

With each annual release since its founding, Skirmish managed to grow its market share with new maps, weapons, and challenges. Sure, there were other VR platforms out there—Kon2 and Levelgreen and even Spark Online—but nothing like this one. The last time Mitch checked the numbers, seventy-eight percent of souls living on Earth had an active Skirmish account.

Seventy-eight percent.

Do you know how hard it is to get seventy-eight percent of people to do anything together? If you polled the planet asking what color the sky is, at least thirty percent would write in some douchebag answer like “aardvark” or “UR Mom sucks LOL.”

Skirmish was an anomaly. A phenomenon.

As he closed out the loot menu, Mitch saw Blue Two approaching with careful steps.

“Mr. Mantock—I just wanted ... I wanted you to know ... “ Blue Two fought to get the words out.

“Don’t worry about it,” Mitch said, snatching Blue Two’s Razor pulse rifle from his hands and checking the chamber for active rounds. The Razor had been Mitch’s go-to weapon over the years. It could be stuffed full of stacks of ammunition, had a precision zoom for targeted attacks, and could even be shot from the hip for random spray fire. He knew that rifle inside and out, better than he knew his own face some mornings. “Everyone has bad days. It’s just a game—play it enough times, and you’ve seen everything. The key to Chinatown Docks is to look up. Those guys on the catwalks surprise everyone the first time, but you’ll know they’re up there next time.”

“No, sorry, it’s not that,” Blue Two whispered. “My credits ... they’re gonna be a bit late this week. Just need another day or two. But I’ll get them to you, I promise.”

Mitch paused. “You sure you don’t have some lying around somewhere?”

“We’re just a bit short this week. My mom, she finally landed a new job ... character mining ... but there’s a delay with the paperwork. But as soon as she gets them, I’ll have them transferred over to you. And if you need me to—”

“Don’t worry about it, kid. Just keep practicing, stick with it. Get me the credits when you can.”

“Thanks, Mr. Mantock,” Blue Two said. “You’re the best game guide I’ve ever had. The only one, really, but ... I think you’re great.”

“You keep working hard, and we’ll get you where you need to be.”

“Mr. Mantock?” Blue Two continued. “There’s something else I’ve been wondering ... “

“Call me Mitch.”

“How ... how do you know so much about Skirmish? It just seems impossible to know as much as you do. Every weapon, every mission. You seem to know what’s behind every corner without even thinking about it.”

Mitch laughed. “Game’s been around a long time. So have I. That’s all it is. Just time and pressure.”

“That’s not it,” Blue Four said from the far side of the lobby. He approached with a slight swagger in his step, his rifle still dangling from his avatar’s shoulder. “It’s more than that. After last week’s walkthrough, I looked him up.”

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

Mitch turned to cleaning his laser pistol, keeping his eyes pointed down.

“This avatar, it’s just for us tourists, isn’t it?” Blue Four asked. “You used to be known as someone else in Skirmish.”

The group fell silent as they waited for Blue Four to drop the bomb.

“Spitfire.”

An almost comical gasp filled the room as they closed in around Mitch with careful footsteps.

“Spitfire?” Blue Three whispered. “The Spitfire?”

“From the Nefarious Five?” Blue One asked, stumbling over every other word. “The original five? Oh my God, it is you. You—you and the team—you were the champions as long as I could remember. Legends. My dad ... he watched all your tournaments. Every single one. He had posters, t-shirts. Hell, everyone did. You dominated the leagues. You led that team through some of the toughest—”

“That was all a long time ago,” Mitch said, swiping the accolades away with a quick swipe of his hand. “Nothing you need to worry about.”

“Wait a minute,” Blue Two turned to his wrist screen, tapping furiously. “That means you wrote that book—The Skirmish Manual. My brother has read it, like, a hundred times. He calls it his Bible.”

“Based on the royalty checks, he’s the only one,” Mitch laughed.

“There’s a book?” Blue Four asked.

“The book was just a place to write stuff down,” Mitch said. “Stuff I’ve picked up over the years. Nothing different than what I’ve been teaching you—roles, tactics, strategy. Stuff we were just talking about today.”

“Like what?” Blue One asked.

Mitch took a breath and rose to his feet. He holstered his pistol and began singling out team members from the crowd with the point of his index finger. “I was going to start you on this next week, but I’ll give you a couple highlights. Blue One, you were given the role of Leader today, right?”

“Damn straight,” Blue One replied, jumping to attention.

“Then why did you keep running in first?” Mitch asked. “A good Leader isn’t always heading up the charge—in fact, in most cases, the Leader role means the exact opposite of that. You call the shots, you make the plan, you keep the team alive. Don’t be a glory hound. Earn that leader badge next time.”

Blue One nodded back.

“Where’s Blue Three?” Mitch asked. A head snuck out from behind a virtual locker with a slight raise of his hand. “You—you were the Bulldozer last round, right?” He waited for a shy nod back from the user. “Well, congratulations, that means you’re the tip of the spear. Don’t think I didn’t see you lingering in the back, you’re not helping anyone back there. The team is counting on you. Next time, front and center. Take the damage, deal out the damage.”

“I ... I didn’t know what I was running into,” Blue Three said with a shaking voice.

“That will change with more reps,” Mitch said. “Where’s my Sniper?” Blue Two stepped forward. “Snipers live in the rafters. Always. If you had made a beeline for the stairwell on mission start up, you would have seen the trap back in the Docks before it sprung. Stay mobile; try new angles. Snipers go high—Snipers always go high.” Mitch closed his virtual inventory bag and flung it over his shoulder. “If I don’t see improvement out of you guys, we’re never even going to make it to the Trafalgar level.”

A hush fell over the crowd. “I hear Trafalgar is amazing,” Blue Four whispered under his breath.

“Yeah, it is,” Mitch said. “It’s ridiculously cool. But you don’t get to go to the playground if you can’t tie your shoes to get out the door. I’m not going to send you into a meat grinder. I have some degree of respect for the game.” Doing the math, Mitch turned to the two remaining team members. “Blue Five, you were Demolitions today, right? A critical role. Timed explosives, grenades. Shock and confuse the other side, give your team the advantage right out of the gate. So what were you doing bringing out that hand cannon? All you did was destroy half the level, and worse, you did it after everyone was dead. And you, Blue Four—you’re on Rover duty? You go where you’re needed. You’re the wildcard. Don’t let them know where you are or when you’re coming.”

“I don’t get it,” Blue One said.

“You need to attack the game with a strategy,” Mitch said, “and if you stick to the strategy, there’s no stopping you. But you need to—”

Blue One cut him off. “No, not that. I get the roles. I don’t get why you’re here. You’re still the highest ranked player in Skirmish. Top of the friggin’ leaderboard. What the hell are you doing, guiding tour groups? You should be out in the arena. You should be—”

“I don’t pay attention to that stuff any more,” Mitch said.

“He’s the closest one,” Blue Three said, checking a readout on his wrist screen and tapping Blue Five to check the numbers for himself. “To the billion point level. 999,985,224.” Blue Three turned to face Mitch. “You got so close ... why would you stop? At a billion you get to do whatever you want.”

“Not whatever you want,” Mitch said. “And I stopped ... because I stopped. Can’t get points if you stop doing missions, and I’d rather be in here doing this. End of story.”

“A billion gives you Legendary status,” Blue Four whispered in awe. “No one’s ever done it. Unlimited weapons. Unlimited skill points. The game has never seen anyone at that level. You’d be unstoppable.”

“And then what?” Mitch asked, checking the game lobby one last time for any remaining loot. “At some point it all becomes a dick-measuring contest. One I’m not interested in. Like I said—Spitfire is ancient history. That was all a long time ago.”

The questions kept coming. Mitch did his best to politely deflect the tidal wave of questions while slowly stepping back towards the game lobby’s exit. With a few taps on his wrist screen, his avatar began to glow, ready to dematerialize.

“I’ll see you all next week,” Mitch said. “Be sure to practice your levels—and your aim—and don’t forget to send your credits in before the next session. And as always, remember—”

“Find your next battle today,” the team chanted as Mitch’s avatar disappeared.