For the first time in eight years the parallel of a bedroom I can see but doesn’t exist, and a bedroom that exists but I cannot see is troubling. I’m too aware of the foam mattress beneath me, the clunky, nine-year-old headgear nestled around my head like a basketball, and the slight pinch where it connects with the neural receptor implanted at the back of my neck. The controller in my hand is as heavy as the keyboard balanced across my stomach is not. Both are necessary to bridge the failings of DUSKFALL’s slap-dash implementation of nerve controls, but they only add to the disorientation as my in-game self looks at her empty hands.

Will I need this ridiculous set up for the beta? Have they fixed this? If so, well, it won’t make the forced transition worth what we’re losing, but maybe...

Maybe.

Curiosity eats at me, even as tears sting my eyes. I rip the helmet off.

“Get a grip, goddammit.” I sit up, rubbing hard at my cheeks and eyes. This is ridiculous. I am ridiculous.

Taking a deep, shaking breath, I hold it to a count of five, and release. Once, twice, thrice; I keep going until the weight in my chest dissipates, and the stinging fades. Eventually, I open my eyes to stare at the grey bedroom around me. The real one. Mountains of boxes and old medical equipment replace the tapestries and elegant furniture of the game world. The light leaking from my AltGear VR helmet flickers, giving the space an otherworldly glow and casting strange, haunting shadows along the walls.

“It’s just a game, right?” I ask the empty air, and hate the responding silence.

A week ago my father would have heard me through the bedroom’s open door. He’d shuffle in from the living room, one hand against the wall to steady himself, and remind me that, yes, it is only a game.

He’d promise we’ll find something else to play if I don’t like the beta. We’d laugh over the good times we’d had, and then we’d move on together. We’d find new friends. Design new projects. And I’d make him sit the hell back down, because what was he thinking tiring himself like this? Was the silly old man trying to kill himself?

Tears again. I blink them back with a growling, frustrated sigh and flop back into my pillow.

My friends—our friends, for all they hadn’t known Dad as well as he’d known them—they’re waiting on me. I need to get my shit together. No matter how pathetic and miserable I’m being, I can’t skip out on what may well be our last night. No matter how much I want to. Goodbyes suck, but at least with them I get one.

Back in game, I press the controller joystick forward and my avatar shoots to its feet. MANIK PIX-E, the game’s development team, didn‘t concern themselves with avatar modeling or animations. Characters don’t have a wide range of visible movement or flexibility, or even customization choices. But that’s fine. That’s not why anyone plays DUSKFALL.

Brilliant sunlight streams through the wall-sized stained glass window at the end of the bedroom, washing the room with color. Opalescent shell pieces I worked into the limestone coating on the walls shimmer as I turn around. This—the ridiculously lush, realistic environmental graphics and crafting system—this is the appeal.

For a brief moment I just stand there, soaking in the luxurious surroundings so far removed from anything I could obtain in the real world. Still, my pride is tempered by the knowledge that, though I’ve spent every spare moment of the last several months trying to finish this place, I didn’t make it. Not quite.

There’s still a little time… sort of. With an errant thought, and a heavy heart, I call up the server’s leaderboard.

The simple, semi-opaque pop-up hovers in the air before me, showing a list of the server’s regular players.

WOLVES IN THE WOODS [PVE] LEADERBOARD

RANK

PLAYER

DEATHS

KILLS

POINTS

STATUS

1

MSWYVERN

24

876

12,570

ONLINE

2

ECHOVOXX

32

1,679

12,038

ONLINE

3

QUIETKING

14

947

11,676

OFFLINE

4

WIN5TON

85

1,648

11,277

ONLINE

5

LOOS-E-NTEHSK1

76

1,942

11,171

ONLINE

6

2MANYCHAIRS

126

2,984

11,043

OFFLINE

7

BABZNTYLND

29

1,139

11,406

OFFLINE

8

SQUEAKAH

156

3,002

9,965

ONLINE

9

ROBZURUNCLE

43

1,102

9,641

ONLINE

10

NOHAMBONE

149

3,127

8,946

OFFLINE

11

DOPPLERG4NG

11

284

7,913

OFFLINE

12

TACORNY

52

563

6,086

OFFLINE

It’s a paltry list. We’ve been hemorrhaging players for the past two years as DUSKFALL entered the dreaded “abandonware” stage of early access. Once, during the game’s peak, there’d be thirty to forty players online for an event like tonight’s. Now there’s twelve.

I can’t help feeling like that’s a good thing.

Sure, the server’s more populated days had been great for its owner, ROBZURUNCLE. Rob enjoys having large teams to work with; it’s why he made a PVE server. While those of us who prefer Player-VS-Environment games can be a surly, anti-social lot—at least in terms of playstyle—we mostly get along, hang out in chat, and come up with fun, competitive challenges that don’t hinge around being dicks to each other. That’s not the case with most PVP servers. Not in my experience, anyway, though a few of the others—like Echo—would argue that assessment.

One of the drawbacks to a packed server is that events inevitably getting out of hand, and fast. Spawning enough enemy mobs to be a challenge taxes server resources, and results in catastrophic problems. Nine times out of ten we have to wipe directly after, setting everyone’s progress back to zero.

As if sensing my thoughts, a text-chat pops into existence along the bottom of my screen.

ROBZURUNCLE: how you holding up, sugar?

The green of his gamertag tells me he’s on a whisper channel; otherwise, I might have to murder him.

MSWYVERN: I’m holding. sorry for the late

ROBZURUNCLE: not a problem. How was the funeral?

My fingers stall on the keyboard as I try to find a response that isn’t rude. Rob is my friend. He’s the only one of my friends, in fact, who knows why I’ve been quiet and disconnected most of the past week. And I’d only told him because I had to. If I hadn’t, they would’ve planned something truly ridiculous for tonight, robbing me of the last couple hours I need to complete this build.

MSWYVERN: a funeral.

OK, that was still harsh. Hastily, I add:

MSWYVERN: figure they all suck on some level

ROBZURUNCLE: fair enough

ROBZURUNCLE: y’know if you still need help i can rally the troops. I’m sure they’ll want to help.

MSWYVERN: and have Wins or Luce paint the castle pink when I’m not looking?

MSWYVERN: thanks, but i can handle it

ROBZURUNCLE: they wouldn’t if you explain why it’s important to you

He’s right. I know he’s right. But the words clog my throat every time I try; the tears sting my eyes, and breathing gets hard, and I am not doing that. Logic says they wouldn’t think any less of me. Most of them, anyway. But I would.

MSWYVERN: I’m not ready, OK? Please, just drop it.

ROBZURUNCLE: alright sugar

ROBZURUNCLE: you’re still coming tho, right?

MSWYVERN: I’ll be in chat

ROBZURUNCLE: demons will swarm if you’re there.

Dammit. He has a point. Once triggered, the resulting mobs will head for every player on the map. I wouldn’t get as many demons as the party, sure. There’d still be enough to cause more structural damage than I can fix by my deadline.

ROBZURUNCLE: Get over here, hang out with us, and I’ll call the party at nine.

ROBZURUNCLE: that enough time to finish up?

In theory, sure, but that doesn’t answer my real question.

MSWYVERN: and that stops you guys from fragging the server...how?

ROBZURUNCLE: already told them we can’t

ROBZURUNCLE: and no, I didn’t tell them why

MSWYVERN: thank you

MSWYVERN: lemme check something and I’ll port over

ROBZURUNCLE: kk

The chat window fades after a second’s hang, and I sigh. Calling up the chat list, I mute my mic, and join the only active channel.

Echo’s overly amped southern drawl is the first voice to grace my ears. “I ain’t your son, son.”

He and Rob laugh though everyone else groans.

“You guys are tragic,” says Lucy in her usual, sardonic monotone.

Apparently, that’s even funnier. Though I don’t get the joke any more than the rest of our non-southern friends, a smile still tugs at my lips. As usual, they’ve overridden my sour mood in a matter of seconds.

This is why I agreed to attend despite the funeral this morning, and the work I’ve left to do on the build. Even despite my desire to document everything before it’s gone forever. It helps that I’m not alone. Their presence is only virtual but the familiarity of their voices and the world we’ve built together eases the aching hole in my chest.

Besides, Dad wouldn’t want me burning any more bridges. I have to remember that.

I close the panel as I leave the bedroom. It exits onto the internal balcony overlooking the castle’s throne room. There ought to be enough time to check on the paint downstairs. I vault over, stick the landing, and jog to the antechamber. Above me, light bounces off the newly finished frescos accenting the vaulted ceilings.

My smile widens. I slow down, taking a moment to appreciate the paintings. I’m not an artist by any means, but in DUSKFALL I don’t need to be. An image editor, a little time with the texture files, and those frescos look like I hired Da Vinci himself.

These weren’t part of the original specs, but I’m sure Dad would approve. I chose each from his collection of medieval artworks; the ones he’d pointed out while he was researching for this build.

The build he didn’t live to see completed.

Stop it, Alexa. Shoving those thoughts aside, I pass from the throne room through the large double doors into the freshly painted antechamber.

It’s still wet. Dammit.

DUSKFALL’s crafting is wonderful for its complexity, but sometimes it’s also a pain in the ass. For instance: the time it takes for certain surfaces to ‘dry’. Examples: paint and cement. The material’s status effects a surface’s overall HP and load capacity until its had time to dry. Mostly that means waiting out a timer, but said timer can be buffed or debuff by things such as weather conditions and a thrown pail of water.

Ah, well. The only items left on my agenda are applying the trim and tapestries, moving the furniture back into place, fixing some relatively minor demonic damage on the exterior walls, and filling in the brickwork on the chapel wall. It sounds like a lot, but at my current levels it should only take a couple hours. If I attend the party, that’ll leave one extra hour to record some video, take pictures...and let the last piece of my father go with dignity.

My breath hitches.

Sounding a trifle annoyed, Lucy says, “Where is everybody? I need to get my drunk on.”

Shit.

Blinking fresh tears from my eyes, I call the leaderboard back up and select ROBZURUNCLE, choosing to teleport myself to his location. The effect is instant: my screen blurs with colour and then I’m standing in the courtyard of Rob’s main fortress, The Welcome Wagon.

Someone has strewn flower chains, paper-streamers, and candles across every wall and surface of the place. Lucy, most likely. For all her gothy, depressed nature, the girl has a major passion for frills.

“Don’t see anyone stopping you,” says Echo. “Damn sure ain’t stopping Hank, here.”

Unmuting myself, I say, “Who the fuck is Hank?”

A few heads turn toward me. I wince; thankfully they can’t see my expression. As used as I am to the geometric body seemingly attached to myself, having other player characters around is always jarring. It's like being trapped in a pulpy horror movie; the kind where mannequins come to life.

I say “like“ because avatars have facial features, they‘re just painted on blank, shapeless heads. They don’t move, or blink, or have any kind of animation other than directional movement.

From the gate tower, the slender-man-like avatar of Echo leans over the parapet to wave at Rob. “Hank Hill, over there.”

“Aren’t you way too young to understand that reference?” says Squeakah. He’s standing next to Echo on top of the wall, working with two glowing witchlight orbs I recognize as the materializations of Echo’s ever-present camera bots. My mood sours again as one floats up a few feet before zooming off into the distance.

“First of all, I was born in ‘98; I was raised on that show. Secondly, classics never die, man.” The other bot rises to circle overhead. “Okay, Rose’ll cover the gates at your place, Win. Sophia’s getting forest footage. Who all’s recording on their end?”

Oh... great. I dig my fingernails into my palms to keep from snapping as, all around me, arms raise.

ECHOvoxx is a Glitch streamer. He’s not super popular on a world-wide scale, but he is huge in the DUSKFALL crowd. Big fish, little pond and all that. Problem is, a good portion of that celebrity came from leveraging our parties, our builds. What were once private affairs now get broadcast to the entire internet. As usual, I’m the only one who’s put off by it.

“Et tu, Win-tin?” Echo asks.

I turn, surprised as everyone else to find WIN5TON’s arm isn’t raised. That’s weird. He’s usually the first to sign up for Echo’s particular brand of video-game Jackass.

Winston’s avatar expands its arms out; our in-game version of a shrug. “Connection’s been struggling lately.”

I frown. If Winston’s having power issues that means San Francisco’s undergoing rolling blackouts again. There’d been nothing on the news about it. Then again, I hadn’t been paying much attention this week, had I?

Before I can ask, Echo lands beside me. He wacks my arm. I can’t feel the hit, but my screen flashes red at the border for a millisecond.

“C’mon, Ms,” he says, “Last chance to get in on the fun.”

“I’m running in the race. That’s fun.” And there I go being a surly bitch again. I take a deep breath, preparing to apologize when a clatter of keys catches my attention. My mood dips even further. Mikah. It’s always fucking Mikah. “I can hear your keyboard, Squeaks.”

Squeakah jumps on the defensive. “Don’t assume everything’s about you.”

Which means it absolutely was. Mikah likes to believe none of us know his ‘occasional’ off-colour comments are more frequent behind our backs. Comments he often ‘forgets’ to whisper.

Lucy has more tact; unlike Mikah’s mechanical keyboard, hers is whisper silent.

LOOS-E-NTEHSK1: you ok girl

MSWYVERN: just not in the mood for his nonsense

LOOS-E-NTEHSK1: mikah or justin

MSWYVERN: yes

LOOS-E-NTEHSK1: lul

LOOS-E-NTEHSK1: don’t let them get to you tho

LOOS-E-NTEHSK1: not like you’ll have to deal w/them in the beta if u don’t want

She’s right. Maybe that should make me feel better, but it doesn’t. As much of an ass Mikah can be, he’s our ass.

“Guys, if she doesn’t want her POV included on the farewell vid that’s her prerogative. We good, Ms?”

Echo, ever the diplomat, raises his avatar’s arm like he wants a high-five.

No matter how annoyed I want to be, or how grating Echo’s insistence on broadcasting what should be a private matter between friends is, I have a hard time staying mad at him. Most people do.

Ironically, that’s why I’m never quite sure what to think about him. Echo’s perfected the whole 'parasocial relationship’ part of being a streamer. He’s unoffensive, projects happiness like his life depends on it, and avoids confrontation like a lawyer avoids prison. Hell, I’ve known him for six years now and I’m not sure ‘Justin’ is his real name. And somehow that doesn’t matter when he’s around because… he’s fun. At least, he is when we aren’t fighting over the one thing he won’t back down about: his streaming.

I chuckle weakly and push his arm away. “Yeah, whatever. We’re good.”

With that out of the way, I look around and realize just how many people haven’t arrived. “Are we the only ones showing up?”

“Quiet and Babz said they’d be here, though I dunno,” says Rob. “Taco’s gonna be late.”

“What’s new?” Lucy quips.

There’s a pause before Rob finishes, saying, “Dopper, Chairs, and Porkchop are out.”

“Out for the party, or…?”

“‘Out,’ out. They’re play testing some new game they want us all to move to if the megaserver doesn’t fit.”

“It’s just PVP.” Echo sighs. “It’s not like the world is ending.”

“Says you.” I wince. I hadn’t meant to say that, but now it’s out there. For once, though, Mikah’s loud mouth comes to my rescue, drowning my comment out.

“Hey, I don’t agree with MP pulling server rights any more than you guys, but if they got their shit ironed out enough to make an MMO from this wreck I’m all for giving it a chance. Can you imagine real skill trees? Brand new weapon sets?”

Ugh. “Yeah, sure. Even more siege and assault options to blow each other up. I’ll bet you fifty bucks, here and now, there isn’t a single addition to PVE content or the crafting system.”

Mikah scoffs. “Does there need to be? Crafting is already robust. What else are you looking for; functional plumbing?”

“Yes? That’d be more useful than...Oh, I don’t know.” I toss out the first over-the-top idea that springs to mind. “Acid enchanted Gatling harpoon launchers. Who needs that kind of weaponry?”

Echo and Win raise their hands, but it’s Echo who says, “Uh, me. I need that.”

“Please. What would you even do with one?”

“What would I not do with one? PVP aside, think of how much shit you could destroy. Or disintegrate.”

“Knowing you? Probably your own foot. On purpose. Because your followers dared you.”

Echo’s laugh is loud and so genuine that I smile despite my annoyance at the topic.

The thing is, DUSKFALL’s already hard enough for solo players. Sure, we all knew going it wouldn’t be easy. From the start they’ booked the game as PVP survival crafting with an emphasis on group play. But PVE was an option; particularly with the private servers. No matter how I try to rationalize it away, there’s this deep, angry part of me who feels like the devs’ “PVP-Only megaserver” spits in the faces of the loyal PVE fans. We’re not the only group still playing DUSKFALL by any means, but why should we be punished when we’ve stuck with the game just as long as everyone else?

Hell, some of us—like me, Rob, and Winston—have been here since day one. Eight years of loyalty and this our reward: a knife in the back. If they would just let us keep the private servers…

I shake my head, tuning back into the conversation as Winston muses, “I bet you might even hold off a pig mob with that.”

“Pigs are immortal,” Lucy reminds him, with a small scoff.

“I didn’t say ‘destroy,’ Luce. I said hold off.”

“Guys,” Rob drawls, “Y’all’re borrowing a lotta trouble.”

There’s an audible gulp of liquid from his end, followed by an aluminum crunch and the sound of another tab being popped. I frown, but say nothing. Rob’s drinking habits aren’t my business. And if I keep telling myself that, maybe I’ll believe it one of these days.

“We don’t know what the alpha’s gonna be like. ‘Sides, we all got each other, right? We could all still team up there.”

I press my lips together, listening to the awkward silence.

Most of us have tried teaming up. Granted, my participation was a long time past; back when we, and DUSKFALL, were all new.

I’d met Rob on a PVP server when those were the only kind available. Tired of being griefed and harassed, I’d been ready to quit when Rob came along. We clicked instantly. Rob handled most of the fighting and hunting while I scavenged and built. It was fun, even if I never quite shook the feeling I wasn’t pulling my weight.

But a small team can’t survive against the brutal pack mentality PVP fosters. While we were decent players, neither of us had the bloodlust or, frankly, the lack of basic morality to loot other people’s shit while they were offline. Which is what kept happening to us. No matter what defenses we put together someone always broke them during the gap periods when we were both gone.

When Rob said he was starting his own server, I rejoiced. I thought that would be the end of our troubles. Thing is, without the pressure from PVP our dynamic shifted. The feeling I wasn’t contributing enough became annoyance as, increasingly, I was the only person contributing at all. The more people who joined—Winston, Taco, Quiet, to name a few—the more hours I’d spend collecting and refining materials only to find those resources spent on someone else’s project. Within two months I’d gone off on my own, never to return.

Maybe that would change again with PVP being reintroduced. But I don’t know that I want it to change. I like being a solo player, for all that I’d never truly been alone.

The thought of my silent partner is enough to shake me. I hit mute until I can regain my composure.

“We gonna get started then?” says Lucy, shattering the silence.

Rob clears his throat. “I texted the marrieds,” he says, meaning Quiet and Babz. “But I guess they can always find us later.”

“Gimme a tick. Gotta catch the stream up,” announces Justin. He turns, putting me directly into view behind him as he begins his introductory spiel. Asshole.

I shoulder-check his avatar as I move out of view.

“Right then,” drawls Rob. He chuckles under his breath. “Let's get’er done.”