A frail young man sat in a dark room, illuminated only by two computer monitors. One revealed an animated tv show with young girls wearing too little clothing, while the other showed a game.

Not just any game.

The Knights of Elora.

Luke blinked rapidly, his hands trembling as he stared at the empty cobalt vein on his screen. The dull hum of his computer tower filled the silence left by his sister's retreating footsteps. His thoughts spiraled into the void of monotony that had become his life.

In Knights of Elora, you could be anything you wanted. Do anything you wanted. And you weren't bound to live in a world full of cruelty.

"One in a thousand," He whispered the odds to himself like a mantra.

He opened the crafting screen to his bookmarked section to look at the Pharoah's Scarab Spear, a legendary weapon that could turn the tables on the guild wars.

"Or, I could just sell it once I craft it..."

He closed the crafting screen and sighed.

"One in a thousand, and still nothing."

He reached for another Devil's Energy can, his fingers brushing against the sticky condensation of an empty one instead.

How long has it been since I left my room? Was it Monday? Tuesday? What's today?

He shook the thoughts from his mind as he continued to mine the cobalt ore in the caverns beneath the undercity.

He had the Guild of Gatherers working under him. An elite team of botters, cheaters, and no-lifers who gathered materials for him to get some of the rarest items in the game in return.

Even with two-hundred people trying to get the scarab drop, it's been weeks...

Hours went by and the faint light from beyond his blackout curtains faded.

The Guild of Gatherers had pinged him, eagerly reporting their latest yields: ores, gems, scraps of rare leather, but no cobalt scarab. Weeks of grinding, hundreds of hours spent—for nothing.

"Typical," Luke muttered, leaning back in his chair.

The weight of his body caused the cheap, faux-leather material to groan in protest. His eyes drifted to the poster behind his monitors: "The War Needs You!" it proclaimed in bold, metallic letters. Once, the man in futuristic metal armour had inspired him. Now it just felt like a cruel reminder of all the things he would never become.

For thirty-five years, Luke had accomplished nothing. Done nothing. Meant nothing. Aside from wasting the air he breathed, that is.

A new notification dinged.

"Due to majority vote, General_Luke has been demoted in the Guild of Gatherers."

His heart sank. Someone in the guild chat had already started gloating.

"About time, huh? This guy doesn't even gather anymore. Just a leech."

"What the fuck do they mean, I don't gather? I'm gathering right now!"

Luke slammed his hands on his desk, knocking several empty cans off the edge.

Another chimed in: "Can't even keep his bots running efficiently. No wonder we're lagging behind."

Luke's jaw clenched. He closed the game without replying, the bitter sting of rejection lodging itself deep in his chest. He glanced at the clock. Nearly midnight. Another day wasted.

I'll convince them that they need me tomorrow. I'll show them all of the rare drops I've gotten this past week and they'll have to accept me as their general again.

"Luke! You better bring your dishes to the kitchen tonight!"

Luke's mother screamed from downstairs.

The scream only just managed to squeeze its way under his headphones. He sighed, took a sip from his Devil's Energy drink, and logged out of the game.

His desk, covered in empty energy drinks, grew stickier with each passing day. Bags of trash piled up in one corner of his room like the piles of bones he could search for loot in his video games. Bottles of soda, now filled with dark yellow bodily fluids, covered his floor.

What little money Luke made from selling resources in video games to other players, he spent on posters, figurines, and other merch from his favourite games and shows.

He stared at the ceiling, his mind wandering to the last time he'd felt... alive. He couldn't remember. The days blurred together, one indistinguishable from the next. The cave in Knights of Elora, the guild chat, the constant grind—it was all just noise, filling the void where purpose should have been.

And then there was Leena.

His sister's hopeful voice echoed in his mind. "Can we play today? I haven't seen you in ages!"

He'd brushed her off, like always. And now she was asleep, her door closed, her world separate from his. Guilt twisted in his gut.

Luke sat up abruptly. The room was dark, the only light coming from the muted glow of the streetlamp outside. He stood, his legs unsteady, and made his way to Leena's door. His hand hovered over the handle.

Tomorrow, he almost whispered. But tomorrow was a lie he'd told too many times.

With a deep breath, he knocked softly.

"Leena?"

There was no response. He hesitated, then pushed the door open. The faint glow of a nightlight revealed his sister's form curled under a blanket. On her bedside table was a stack of board games—games they used to play together, before the Knights of Elora, before the spiral.

Luke stepped back, closing the door gently behind him. He returned to his room, but instead of logging into the game, he powered down his computer. The silence was deafening, but it felt... right. He grabbed a trash bag and began picking up the bottles, cans, and wrappers littering his floor. The task felt monumental, but for the first time in years, he didn't feel like stopping.

Tomorrow, I'll say yes to Leena.

He collected the dishes around his room into a precarious pile resembling the Tower of Pisa, and left his fortress of darkness.

He flicked the light switch to the hallway with his elbow and the flash of light forced his eyes to adjust before walking to the staircase at the end of the hall.

Luke descended the stairs with a stack of dishes wobbling dangerously in his hands, their weight shifting with every creak of the wooden steps. His mind was elsewhere, replaying the battle he recently lost in Knights of Elora, the bitter words of the victor still sharp in his ears. He didn't notice Bert, the family's aging Labrador, sprawled lazily across the bottom step.

His foot caught on the dog's hind leg, and before he could steady himself, the world tilted. Time slowed as the dishes flew from his hands, shattering on the wooden floor with a cacophony of sharp cracks.

Luke hit the ground hard, his hand instinctively reaching out to brace his fall, but it was already too late. A jagged shard of porcelain, glittering like a cruel knife covered in last night's dinner, met his throat in a brutal embrace.

Warmth spread across his neck, his breaths turning to wet gurgles as crimson spilled from the wound. His vision blurred, the sound of Bert's soft panting filling his ears. The dog, oblivious to the gravity of the moment, began licking at the pooling blood, his tail wagging in innocent delight.

Above him, his mother appeared, her silhouette framed by the dim hallway light.

Her expression was stony, a blend of disdain and disappointment carved into her features. She made no move to help, her lips curling in a grimace as she regarded the mess before her—the broken dishes, the blood-streaked floor, her son's twitching body.

Luke's vision darkened as he struggled for air, his mother's icy stare the last thing he saw before the void claimed him.

So, this is how I go out? Just as I decide to do better?