So apparently getting into The Game and having continuing access to The Game were two different things. For the second all you needed was a pod. For the first you needed to go through a whole procedure with techs and medical professionals standing by and other officials who seemed to be there only so that the government would have a record of who all the new Players would be. The surprising thing about this was that the obvious government oversight didn't scare away the filthy rich people, though were entering the building by a separate door from the rest of us plebes. The process inside was relatively quick, at least for anything that the government got involved in, where they had me sign some papers saying that I wouldn't go mad with power and start killing anyone who annoyed me. Then came the tests of identity: IDs, Birth Certificate, fingerprint verification, some sort of eye scanner thing, they even took a DNA sample. They were so thorough that I was surprised they didn't ask me to turn my head and cough.

But then I was in. I turned the final corner and walked into the polite nesting grounds for dragon sized emus, minus the birds. The interior room looked like an empty warehouse had been prettied up with painted walls but still held the high ceiling and concrete floors. Arranged in a simple grid pattern were rows and isles worth of giant eggs being supported by some glowing organic looking parts surrounding the base. It all looked suitably sci-fi and alien, even if it glowed purple rather than the traditional alien green.

The people in the room, not counting the techs, naturally separated themselves out into three groups. The first and most obvious group were military personnel, mostly in some variation of green and brown cammo. They took up the far wall area, seemingly dividing the room in half by their very presence. The second group consisted of the rich people, most of whom were dressed like they were headed to some high-society party. Their group mingled at the corner of the room farthest from both the military people and where I stood. The last group, standing right by the door where I had entered, consisted of all the rest. Nerds stood next to some sort of woodworker with his belt of tools, who stood next to a college football player in full pads, who stood next to some girl with a tennis racket. I, of course, angled over toward the nerds.

"... and when I pulled out the win in the Space Fighter Pilot tournament the scouts were all over me. One of them asked if I'd like to pilot one of these things for real? And they would pay for it! How could I refuse?" One excited kid answered back toward the group of people who were all in their early twenties or rapidly approaching it. He was one of the younger members of the group and wore the memorabilia of his game. Good for him.

"What about you?" some unseen voice called from within the pack as everyone turned in my direction. "What's your story that got you here?" a different voice called out, but from the same area.

I shrugged, attempting a friendly smile. "I just figured I'd give this game a try since the pro circuit wasn't doing it for me anymore."

There were a few nervous laughs, mostly from the older people in the group who likely knew what was going on. "Hey, aren't you Johnny Max Riker? I know you from Ultimate MOBA and your videos on HoLEy TOLC really saved me with my clan!" A nineteen or twenty year old held out his hand for a shake and my smile got lighter as I obliged. Being recognized for Ultimate MOBA was maybe expected, with me having been professional at it for longer than anybody, but HoLEy TOLC (or "Heroes of Legends and Epics: Team of Online Leagues and Circuits") was something of an embarrassing surprise. The game was a generic MOBA that just refused to die, despite bad management, simply on the merits of having outlasted everything else. It is the kind of game you are ashamed to be good at, but you still put up videos for it because they bring in steady clicks and advertisement revenue.

Another smiling fan stepped forward just after, his hand also raised in greeting. "So what changed, man? In 2001, after the aliens had been around for a couple years, your entire team disappeared into The Game. You stuck around. Rumor had it that you were afraid the pods were mind control devices?"

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I shook my head and clasped his hand in greeting, "Naw, man, I just wasn't finished playing my games. That was the year Circles of Space Warriors 3 came out and Guns Throughout Time had just hit its high point before it really dropped off. I might be known best for my MOBA play but FPS and other Shooters are, and have always been, my real passion."

A third guy walked up, his glasses making him look nerdier than the others despite his body being more well filled out than the typical skinny nerd build. "So why didn't I ever see you on You Are Gun? You consistently hit the leader boards on just about every other shooter style game, first or third person. It just seemed weird."

I shook my head. "The VR, man. The wonkey Virtual Reality setup always made me sick to my stomach. I've never been able to make that input work. People keep saying it is getting better, but it..."

"Oh look, the fossil finally decided to join all of us at the big kids table," came a familiar voice that interrupted me and forced back several of the others. 'Winner' Winston Smith was half a head taller than most of the other geeks and looked like he did actual exercise. He was also the reigning top player on Ultimate MOBA and had his team thoroughly humiliated by my split and aggravation tactics in the last tournament. They still pulled out the win but it was much closer than it should have been against my lower rated team.

I held back an eye roll at his aggressive stance, even with him being flanked by several of his teammates. "Are you angry about that last game we played?" He stiffened in response and I continued. "Look, it was all part of the game. You even went on to win everything! Congratulations, by the way. There is no reason to make this an issue."

"You humiliated me! People were watching that match for weeks!" His voice was getting louder and I noticed one of the lab coated technicians heading in our direction flanked by a couple of the army guys.

"Humiliated you? You won! And don't pretend that the advertisement revenue from that match wasn't a nice bonus. Only the semi-finals and finals got more hits." I turned and straightened off against him. The worst thing you can do when someone tries to intimidate you is to back down, that just encourages them to be worse. So instead I tried to talk him down. There wasn't much chance it would work, but at least in would make me be the reasonable one. "Look, it is just a game. There is no reason to be so upset about it."

He scowled. "You can't just beat someone, humiliate them, and not expect to make enemies. Maybe if you were top dog, then you could get away with it. Everyone expects to loose to number one. But you aren't. You're an old has-been who tries to keep his relevance by leaching off the backs of better players careers." Then, in a single moment, his anger cooled to become icy sharp as he stared me down. "Besides: It was never 'just a game'. Not to either one of us."

I was momentarily silenced by his words. He was right about one thing, at least: It wasn't "just a game" for either one of us. Even so... Humiliation was hard on anyone, but this?

"Sir," the tech spoke to me, holding up a pad like a shield and intervening before things could get more heated, "this section is for the corporate sponsored entrants. Those entering through personal funds are gathered over there." She pointed toward the group of rich people and started escorting me away from the brewing fight. There were a few surprised looks from the surrounding people at her declaration, but nobody objected or blocked our path.

Just before we headed completely out of the area the nerdy kid with the glasses from before caught up with me, the one who had recognized my leaderboard position on multiple games. "Don't be too upset with him. That near loss really cost him on the bargaining table when the sponsors came about The Game. He almost didn't make it in." And then he was gone as we made our way toward the other side of the room.

That game was big for me too. Our team's chances of winning the tournament were nonexistent and there had been talks about closing the franchise entirely. We needed something to show that we were competitive, or at least entertaining. If we hadn't made certain quotas I would have been in a far worse position than just having a bad place at a bargaining table, I would have been out on the street. I wasn't going to apologize for fighting back when his team tried to humiliate us in front of the viewing public, and I certainly wasn't going to apologize for humiliating him in return.

Perhaps this was how most enemies were made: Neither side backing down, even when someone has to be the looser.