My heart races. I sit behind the table, the dark cherry wood is polished and pristine, unlike my reputation. To my right, my lawyer shuffles papers in a bored manner. He doesn’t give two shits about this case. I’m sure he’s ready to be out of here so he can meet his cronies for a beer or a game of golf. The swish of the paper is like a thousand papercuts to my eardrums. It must be how teachers feel when the whir of zippers crashes through their lecture like a tidal wave and there are still five minutes left in class. Except this is much worse. This is my future on the line.

I shouldn’t be here. I should be at home logged into my computer, slaying orcs and trolls and every other manner of foul creature.

The clock ticks by slowly on the wall. Tick. Tick. Tick. Who knew a second could be so long?

I sit back in my chair and straighten my tie. My hands shake slightly as I align it with the buttons on my shirt. It always seems to stay askew, no matter how many times I fix it. The action doesn’t waste nearly as much time as I want it to.

The judge should be coming out any minute now to announce my sentencing.

I know I’m toast. I screwed up big time. Being a professional gamer, I’m supposed to set the example. Set the culture. I screwed up and I lost my temper. If it had been the first time, I probably wouldn’t be here, but I’m a repeat offender. The sad thing is that I learned my lesson. Finally. I regretted what I said as soon as the match was over.

When they cuffed me and brought me into the station, that’s when I knew that I had really screwed up big time. The city wants to make an example out of me. If one of the top twenty-five players in League of Mythos can be punished, it’ll set a precedent for those below me. They hope to stamp this behavior out of esports entirely. Honestly, I don’t blame them. I’ve dealt with my fair share of bullying and name calling. I get trolls every time I stream. I’ve even gotten hate mail and death threats after important matches. The way the system works, it’s almost like you’re set up to fail. An entire community that hides behind a keyboard or an avatar. Some would call me a troll, but that’s not true. Not really. I’m a rager. Not that it’s any better. At least by punishing me they’ll finally show the world that no one is safe.

Sweat runs down the back of my shirt. I don’t know what they have planned. The maximum sentence for online griefing is one year in prison, though I don’t know anyone who has ever served that much time. Usually, even though it’s a crime, it’s often ignored. Much like jaywalking. Those that are brought to trial, they get community service, a fine, and a slap on the wrist, but ever since the mayor’s son offed himself because of online bullying by a rival guild, the city has been on a witchhunt.

I just happen to be the unlucky son of a bitch who lost his cool on a nationally televised event.

Apparently, telling your teammates they are worthless cockroaches who only have one brain cell between them and that they probably have to pass it back and forth in the middle of the fight is frowned upon. If I had stopped there, I’d probably be fine. But I didn’t stop there. I definitely should not have told Jordan to go kill herself for healing our tank instead of the DPS. Multiple times. I yelled at her so much that she had a mental breakdown right in the middle of the match. That was a dick move. I realize that now. And yes, using racial slurs is never a good idea. I had been breathing fire by the end of that match.

I lost my temper. Plain and simple. And now I’m about to pay for it.

Just please don’t send me to prison. I’m too pretty and too skinny to survive the ogres that are in there for real crimes. People go to prison for murder, for assault, for drugs. I am not made for that type of environment.

The click of the doorknob announces the judge’s return. Her face is stern, giving nothing away. The black robe she wears swishes when she walks, like some wizard of doom. The long black sleeves conceal a small envelope in her hand. I imagine that is the sentence she will be giving me. It’s almost like winning an award, except for the part where it’s not. There will be no afterparty once she reads its contents.

Anything but prison. I repeat the mantra in my mind like it will make a difference.

She takes a seat and bangs her gavel, bringing the courtroom to order. My lawyer sets down the papers he had been torturously shuffling and smiles. I want to punch him. Of course I was guilty, but he never even seemed interested in fighting for me or letting the judge know that I was remorseful. I bet the sorry sack of shit already has one foot out the door.

She clears her throat before passing judgment that may change my life forever.

“In the case of Jordan Olivia Smith vs Chadwick Bryan Johnson, based on video and audio evidence presented in court, I find the defendant guilty of online griefing.” She sits the envelope down and looks at me directly. “Mr. Johnson, this is not your first time being accused of griefing. Hell, this isn’t even your fifth. You are widely known as a toxic player throughout your community and I’m surprised it has taken this long for charges to be brought against you. Telling someone to kill themselves, hate speech, those are things that are no longer tolerated in League of Mythos or any other esports.”

The entire time she is talking, the only thing I can think is please not prison. I repeat it over and over. Anything but prison. Anything but prison.

“Is there anything you would like to say before I sentence you, Mr Johnson?” she asks.

I had a speech planned before we came in today, but now that the moment is here, all I can think is the mantra running through my mind. My throat is suddenly parched. I open my mouth to speak but only a croak comes out.

“Mr. Johnson?” she asks again.

“I—I’m sorry,” is all I’m able to get out. This was my moment to at least show some remorse and maybe convince the judge to give me a lighter sentence and all I can do is croak like a frog.

“Very well. The law states that one year in prison is the maximum allowed for offenses such as yours. Prison may very well be where you end up if you don’t change your ways, but in your case, I feel it may do more harm than good.”

I let out a breath of relief. I’m not going to prison. I have to fight to keep the smile that dances at the edge of my lips from taking over entirely.

“It is not my goal to punish you, Mr. Johnson, but to make you better understand the seriousness of your actions. Yes, they may just be words in an online game, but let me assure you, words do have power. If Ms. Jordan had indeed acted on your words, you would be sentenced for murder right now. Let that sink in for a minute.” She pauses and looks back down at the envelope. I’m on the edge of my seat, wondering what is in store for me. Prison is off the table, but I can tell by the look in her eyes that she has something bigger planned than community service. “Mr. Johnson, you have been, for lack of a better word, a troll. A bully. Ms. Jordan doesn’t wish to hurt you or your ability to play online games. She wishes that you treat herself and other players with respect, both your teammates and players on the other team. To help you learn what it feels like to be constantly attacked and berated, I think it is only fitting that you become the very thing you already are. You have therefore been sentenced to one month of full-immersion gameplay in Mythos Games newest development, Isle of Mythos. You will be forced to play as a Troll, the most hated faction on the island and for the next month you will experience the same degree of verbal assault and backlash you have dealt out on so many occasions. I hope you learn from this experience.”

I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. That’s it? My punishment is to play a game for a month? If I’d known that was an option I wouldn’t have been so worried.

“Guards, please take Mr. Johnson to his holding cell while he awaits transport to Mythos Games headquarters.

The guards grab me by the arms and my lawyer is already out of the courtroom before they even have my hands cuffed.

As they walk me out the back of the courtroom, I scan the room, hoping to see my mother or father. They were in Japan on business. Business that was more important than seeing their only child before he was potentially shipped off to prison. That’s the story of my life though. Their business was always their favorite baby. I honestly don’t even know why they had a child. Maybe it saved their marriage by giving them something to ignore together.

The guards lead me to the holding cell where a man in a black suit waits inside. He looks like some kind of special agent with the way the suit fits him perfectly at every angle. You can tell he’s well built underneath and could probably kick my ass in a hundred different ways. I wonder if he’s here to make sure I don’t escape. Not that I could.

I step inside and take a seat on one of the metal benches. It’s cold and hard against my backside, a far cry from my ergonomic gaming chair I use when playing games.

“Feeling sorry yet, kid?” he asks. His voice is deep and gravelly. There’s more manliness in those four words than I have in my entire body.

I nod. Now that I’m out of the courtroom, I wonder what kind of game I’m about to be logged into. I know full-immersion has existed for a few years now, but it’s so expensive to produce that it hasn’t been marketed on a mass level yet. With Mythos Games being the biggest name in virtual reality gaming, it only makes sense that they would have something running on the down low.

Thirty days of full immersion. How is that even possible? That can’t be healthy for a human to be still for so long.

We sit in silence. Mr. Secret Agent is content to let me sit and brood with my own thoughts. A few minutes later, his cell phone rings. He answers it, but doesn’t say a word. When the call ends, he taps on the bar of the jail cell and a guard comes over to unlock the door.

“Our ride is here. Don’t try anything stupid and I won’t have to hurt you,” he says. He nods to the guards as we exit through a door into an alley where a black SUV awaits with one door open.

Mr. Secret Agent guides me into the SUV and takes a seat next to me. Two other men, both dressed in similar black suits sit up front. As soon as the door shuts, we’re on the move.

All of this makes me feel more important than I am.

“Where are we going?” I ask.

“Mythos Games headquarters,” says Mr. Secret Agent. He pulls out his phone and sends a quick message to someone. “They take their security very seriously.”

“What, do you think I’m going to escape?” I ask.

“Don’t flatter yourself. This isn’t for you. We’re here to make sure you aren’t followed. There are a lot of people who would love to get their hands on the technology you are about to experience.”

Consider me intrigued.

We drive through downtown. The driver takes turn after turn and I wonder if it’s necessary or if it’s all an attempt to lose anyone who might be following us? I don’t understand what the big deal is. Everyone knows where Mythos Games headquarters is. It’s the biggest building downtown, dwarfing all the others. The architecture makes the building look like a giant wizards tower and at night, it glows and smoke billows out the top. I’ve done several press events there with my team.

The SUV makes a sharp turn, slamming me into the wall and we enter an underground parking garage. A metal gate closes behind us and we go down three levels before stopping before another gate. The driver rolls down his window and scans his badge. The gate opens and we drive through. This far down, all the levels are empty. We descend three more levels before coming to a stop in a parking space far against the back wall in a dimly lit parking deck. We’re so far down that this is practically a dungeon.

I can see an elevator tucked into the wall near where we park.

Mr. Secret Agent opens his door and I attempt to do the same. It doesn’t budge. The child-proofed me.

“This way,” he orders.

Surrounded by the three men, I feel like someone important, a president or a celebrity. For a moment, I forget that I’m a criminal.

They guide me towards the elevator, but when I stop in front of it, Mr. Secret Agent nudges me in the back to keep walking. There is nothing ahead of us but a brick wall and a flickering light attached to it.

A thought runs across my mind and I stiffen. Are they going to kill me?

Mr. Secret Agent must sense my nervousness, because he says, “Relax, kid. Nobody is going to kill you today. Now get moving.”

For whatever reason, I believe him.

I do as I’m told and we walk to the corner of the parking deck. One of the other men faces the brick wall, searching for something. I try to see what he is staring at but can’t see anything other than brick and mortar.

He runs his fingers along the bricks and then they abruptly stop. He presses against a single brick and it goes deeper into the wall.

A secret entrance!

The brick recedes and then a door seems to form in the wall, it opens into another dimly lit cavern. The hidden entrance closes behind us as we step through.

Old Edison bulbs radiate softly from the ceiling, their filament casting the tunnel in an eerie glow. I follow the two men in suits through a labyrinth of brick tunnels for what seems like forever. We could be anywhere under the city by now. Eventually, the dungeonlike atmosphere morphs into something more industrial. The concrete floors smooth out, the old bulbs are replaced by white neon lights, and the aged brick walls become painted cinderblocks. At the end of the hall, a set of metal stairs winds upwards next to an elevator.

The two men stop in front of it. It looks like we might actually be able to use this one. One of the men swipes his ID card in front of a laser next to the elevator and the doors woosh open.

What could possibly be so important to go through this much secrecy?

We step into the elevator and the doors close rapidly. There are no floor numbers for the men to press, but the elevator begins to move all the same. My legs give way slightly as we ascend at a rapid pace and then just as suddenly, we stop moving.

The doors open and I find myself looking into a pristine laboratory. Whiteness engulfs the room. The floors, the walls, even the lighting is white. The four of us are like specks of pepper in a salty landscape.

Men and women in white lab coats shuffle about the room. They carry digital pads, making notes and checking figures. One lady bends down, inspecting one of several pods in the center of the lab.

I suddenly notice that there is a person inside.

Full immersion.

Ignoring the three men who brought me here, I step further into the lab. They don’t try to stop me. There must be two dozen pods, each one occupied. They wear masks and a blue liquid surrounds them. They look peaceful, asleep almost.

“Mr. Johnson,” says a silky smooth female voice. A brunette woman in a tight high-necked blue dress appears to my right. It’s modest, but leaves nothing to the imagination. She can’t be older than thirty. Much too young to be running an operation like this. “Welcome to Mythos Games. The part we don’t show the public.” She winks at me and then turns to the men who brought me here. “Adams, Franklin, Roosevelt, I think I can handle it from here.”

I wonder which one is Mr. Secret Agent.

“What is this place?” I ask.

She flashes me a smile. I’m sure her pearly white teeth have been the downfall of many men.

“This is R and D.” She waves her hand through the air, putting the laboratory on display. “Research and Development. The next wave of Mythos Games.”

“And why exactly am I here?” It doesn’t make sense why I am in some highly secret technohub for a crime that would land me a year in prison max. There has to be more to it.

“Follow me,” she instructs, taking me across the lab to a white desk near the wall. It’s oddly neat for a research department, with only a computer and keyboard. “Have a seat.”

I take a seat and she sits across from me.

“You’re here because you were a bad boy,” the way she says has me feeling like she is toying with me. She bites her lip and I feel blood rushing to my face.

“And them?” I point to the other pods in the center of the lab.

“They’re even worse than you.”

“Worse than me?” Who is this woman?

She leans forward, her dark brown eyes gazing into me. “Each of those men, all twenty-four of them, are in prison for violent crimes. We have an agreement with the state of New York that allows us to use prisoners to test out the effects of rehabilitative gameplay while in full immersion. Each of them volunteered to play Isle of Mythos as a hero to see if it would cure there violent tendencies.”

“Has it?” Nobody mentioned anything about other prisoners. I mean it’s not like they could actually hurt me, could they?

Her smirk has me on edge.

“It looks like you’re about to find out.”