A guy in his early twenties sat in front of his PC, eyes fixed on the esports match about to start. The monitor's glow lit his face as he reached into a bag of chips, eating absentmindedly.
Crumbs rested on the desk near the keyboard. The host's voice filled the quiet room while he watched in silence.
"Ladies and gents, I welcome you to the Season Four World Championship Grand Finale! ARE YOU READYYY!?"
The host's voice boomed across the arena. For a heartbeat, there was silence then the crowd erupted. Cheers rolled through the stands like a wave, lights flared, and the air vibrated with excitement as the championship began.
He cracked open a can of soda, the sharp pop followed by a hiss of fizz escaping into the air. He took a quick sip, and let out a small burp.
After the brief player introductions, the drafting phase started. Coaches and players studied the screen in silence, each pick made with care as both sides tried to predict their lineups.
"Of course..."
He let out a disappointed sigh when both teams locked in the same comp. Two supports, two bruisers, and a single assassin.
This year's been dry, he thought. Marksmen and mages had vanished from the stage, replaced by nonstop brawling. Strategy gave way to chaos, and the game had become less about planning and skill, and more about who could clash longer. It was boring to watch.
He minimized the stream and let it play in the background, he booted up the game "Edolon: The First Sin" an MMORPG built around hunting demons, or "Nightmares" as the game called them. Vile creatures made to be erased.
The first part of the game is set on academy. You live as a student, train, learn, and shape yourself day by day, all in quiet preparation for the war waiting after graduating.
On paper, the story looked simple, your typical weak-to-strong hero, a tale of saving the world. In reality, it was anything but.
The path forward was brutal, soaked in misery. Combat showed no mercy. Death meant losing everything, equipment, inventory, even hard-earned experience points. One mistake could drag you five levels back, the game was unforgiving.
Hyped cheers echoed across the stage, the sound bleeding through his speakers. Curious, he switched back to the stream to see what was happening, leaving the game running in the background. Now it was the game's turn to wait.
He was halfway through a quest but had forgotten about it entirely. The match had shifted, both teams returning to the game's roots, playing it the way it was meant to be played. What had been the previous boring gameplay turned heated, and electric, as outplays after outplays shocks the crowd. Players taunting each other after every exchange.
The replay broke it down in slow motion. Cyrus, the marksman, set the bait perfectly, drawing in two opponents and shooting them down before slipping away. He repositioned with intent, pushing deeper into enemy territory.
They never noticed. One by one, they fell. Another body added to the respawn list.
"Wow, this Nero guy is so boosted. How do you go zero and twelve on marksman? in a competitive match no less"
He voiced his disdain as he reached for the can without looking. It tipped, spilling its sweet contents across his setup. The liquid soaking his keyboard and mouse pad first, then crept along the cables, clinging to them as it ran down and seeped into the plugs.
Smoke curled from his PC, followed by the sharp smell of something burning. A spark flashed then the power cut out, the system shutting down instantly.
Heart racing, he stumbled back, afraid it might explode. His back hit the open window, knocking into a few plants. They swayed but didn't fall.
"For fuck's sake… where's my phone? Where is it, where the hell is it…"
He moved cautiously back to his desk, hands sweeping over the surface in the pitch black. Minutes passed before his fingers finally brushed against smooth glass.
"There it is" he thought, closing his grip around it.
He unlocked his phone, opening the flashlight and stepped out of the house. Outside, he leaned his back against the wall, a "floor" outside his room. He opened his messages, then looked for the maintenance contact, and sent a text before following it up with a call.
It seems they weren't busy. His message was seen almost instantly, followed by a reply that someone would be sent to check the problem and see if it could be fixed tonight.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
His name is Robert. He'd worked maintenance for the community for nearly a decade. The job was simple, get called, fix this and fix that.
He liked it. Liked being useful, loves helping people. But that night felt different.
He arrived at the address and rang the doorbell. No answer. He tried again, nothing. Then he called the number he'd been given. Still nothing. Unease crept in. After a moment's hesitation, Robert decided to climb the low wall to take a look inside.
The moment he pulled himself up, he froze.
A young man lay on the floor, motionless. Blood seeped from his head, painting the ground. Beside him was a shattered pot, soil scattered everywhere. The plant it once held now rested against the man's head.
He fumbled for his phone and quickly dialed the police, then an ambulance, forcing himself to breathe as he spoke. His hands shaking.
When the first responders arrived, the man was pronounced dead at the scene, death instantaneous from the impact.
The police brought Robert back to the station to ask a few questions. With nothing suspicious found, it only took five minutes for the case to be ruled an accident, and he was released soon after.
The incident made its way onto the local news. The death was unfortunate, yet some couldn't help but laugh at the sheer absurdity of it. After all, it was the first time they had heard of someone dying that way.