MMORPG: How a Computer Game Becomes Deadly Serious (2 page)

In the box with the blue text, the same message was repeated four times, on four different lines:

[Party] [Pharad]: drimm, are you there?

Khalid stole a glance at Robert, seemed about to say something, but didn’t. Instead, he quickly hit the Enter key. Immediately, an extra text box appeared on the underside of the screen. He hunched over his keyboard and quickly typed a few words. Robert saw them appear on the screen:

[Party] [Drimm]: yes was afk for a few sec.

Khalid turned back to Robert, rolling his chair a bit to the left as if to block Robert’s view of the computer screen. He wasn’t successful, because Robert could still see and read everything. He gave something that even approached a smile.

“I apologize, but I’m playing with some people. Would you mind coming back another time?”

“No, of course not!” Robert replied. “Sorry to disturb you. I just wanted to say hello.”

At that moment a new message appeared in the box. Khalid didn’t see it, as he had his back to his computer. But Robert did. It was in capitals, so he could read it easily:

[Party] [Pharad]: WE MEET AGAIN IN TEN DAYS AND THEN WE STRIKE! THE WORLD WILL TREMBLE FOR THE HAMMER OF RIGHTEOUS JUSTICE!

Robert read the message twice and decided that this was a strange game indeed. He focussed on Khalid again.

“You know, I live right across from your room. Drop by whenever you want. How about that?”

Khalid nodded. “Yes, we’ll see each other again. Now I have to go back to my game. See you later!”

~~~

CHAPTER II

The
bomb at The Hague Station Hollands Spoor went off exactly at the moment that the doors of the Intercity to Amsterdam hissed closed. The people who had just disembarked were hurrying down escalators and stairs to the tunnels below the tracks, eager to be home after a long day at work.

There was no immediate fire, or smoke. People later told that it was just a loud noise like heavy thunder. What people did feel, was a sudden wall of hot air, that came rushing out of nowhere and that threw hordes of unsuspecting people around in the traversing tunnel under the train station. The blast was followed by a thick cloak of grey smoke trying to find its way up to the tracks above.

In the first moments after the explosion, maybe even minutes, everybody was in blind panic. People were frantically trying to get out of the tunnel, out of the station, away from the source of the destruction. Even though the tunnels and exits were quite wide they quickly became jammed.

Now a different kind of fright settled over the writhing mass of people. Having survived the explosion, it seemed as if the most basic survival instincts took over. People started clawing at each other, fighting, tearing and pushing to get outside. Some inevitably fell and were in danger of being trampled to death.

Suddenly the resistance gave. Like a cork plopping out of a bottle, people poured out of the station. The people who had fallen down clambered to their feet and followed. Some were injured, and had to drag themselves outside.

It was only after the initial shock was over that people started to notice the dead in the middle of the tunnel, between the stairs that led up to tracks five and six. There were twelve of them lying haphazardly on the ground, all in a heap against the base of the same wall. Later, the official investigation would reveal that they didn’t die from the bomb blast itself, but from the force with which they were slammed against the concrete wall. They died from head injuries and massive internal bleedings, even though the official report also stated that most victims suffered extreme suffocation as well. The blast had sucked away nearly all oxygen from the tunnel.

Within ten minutes of the blast, five ambulances were at the scene. Another five minutes later that number had grown to fifteen. Teams of medical personnel were attending to the wounded, taking them gently away to a secluded emergency pavilion that had been erected.

The first police officers on the scene were the two pairs who had been patrolling the train station. They had been relatively far away from the explosion. The first patrol was down in the main hall, talking to a backpacking tourist from Australia who had just been relieved of his wallet by a pickpocket. The second team was on the ramp of track three when it happened. They saw the smoke billowing out of the stairway right after the explosion and radioed for assistance only twenty seconds after the blast.

It was a credit to the police of The Hague that they had so many police officers on the scene so quickly. Only fifteen minutes after the disaster happened, they had cordoned off the area and had cleared a corridor for the ambulances and the fire brigade. Hastily erected fences forced the crowd of sensation-seeking onlookers back from the scene. Every twenty feet a police officer stood guard in front of the fence to make sure that nobody tried to climb over.

Suddenly, a young man at the front of the crowd noticed a large oblong parcel leaning against a traffic sign. It was wrapped in dark gray plastic, resembling a garbage bag. Frightened, he alerted a nearby police officer. Maybe it was another explosive? It looked suspicious.

The authorities weren’t taking any risks. They immediately cleared the area around the parcel. Most spectators hastily left the scene, not wanting to witness another explosion. After that, a bomb-demolishing squad moved in.

When two men wearing protective suits finally opened the parcel, after what seemed to have taken hours, they didn’t find a bomb, but a painting fixed to an easel. It depicted the magnificent historic train station from exactly the point of view where the painting was found. It was as if an artist had been standing there to paint the station and had forgotten to take his painting home. The only difference was that the artist had painted the station engulfed in flames. They were leaping out of the huge glass domes that shrouded the tracks. Thick smoke was rolling out of the entrance.

At the bottom of the painting was a signature. In neat calligraphed letters it said:
The world will tremble for the Hammer of Righteous Justice
.

~~~

CHAPTER III

Robert
drew a thick line under the last scribbling in his notebook. He stood and made ready to leave the class room.

“Are you coming for a drink with us?”

He turned around and saw Andy, one of the first students he’d made contact with. Andy was twenty-one and Dutch, although he usually looked like a Hawaiian surf boy. His full name was Andries van Eck van den Berghe. Such a distinguished name didn’t fit his image at all. Today he was dressed in a flowery shirt of an incredibly bright hue of orange.

Robert had liked him from the moment Andy had come up to him on his first day at the university. Andy had seated himself next to Robert in class, and they had fallen into easy conversation. After hearing that Robert was English and a fresh arrival, Andy had made it a point to introduce him to some of the people around, which was a great help in getting established. Andy seemed to know everybody, and even more people seemed to know him.

“Sure. No, great! Where are we going?”

Andy shrugged, as if to apologize. “They want to go to Barrera.”

Of course, Robert had never even heard of the place. But he was simply glad to be invited. “Fine with me. Who’s coming?”

“Just some friends. They study law, so they probably need a few drinks to flush away the boredom of today.”

Talking, they exited the building and started to walk down a narrow street toward the canal. Suddenly Robert realized that he did know where Barrera was. It was close to his house, actually right around the corner of the Rapenburg.

For a history student like Robert, Leiden was a marvellous city to stay. If it weren’t for the cars parked nearly everywhere, large parts of the inner city were almost completely unchanged from the Golden Age. The Rapenburg, running through the city centre, was still the same majestic
gracht
as hundreds of years ago, with stately and costly houses of successful merchants dating from the sixteenth and seventeenth century lining the canal. Today, many of the priceless antique buildings were converted to expensive offices or were, curiously enough, inhabited by penniless students.

“Damn, we have to sit inside,” said Andy as they approached the bridge near the café. He pointed at the small sunny terrace completely packed with people. Some people were standing, making the terrace overflow onto the narrow street. There was absolutely no chance of them getting seats outside.

As they came near, someone called out to Andy and engaged him in conversation. They were talking in Dutch, so Robert took a moment to look around. It was a fantastic day for late September, and most people were walking around in short sleeves. Several boats were floating idly on the canal, most filled with students drinking beer and shouting at each other. There was a bright and careless atmosphere in the air. He inhaled deeply and leaned against the railing of the bridge. Closing his eyes for a moment, he simply savoured the moment.

He felt a tug at his elbow. It was Andy. “Are you coming?”

They entered the café and walked up to the bar.

“
Mag ik twee bier?”
Andy asked of one of the girls behind the counter.

She drew the beers and handed them over. “Five Euros please,” she answered in English.

Robert looked up. “Hey, where are you from?”

She looked at him and smiled. “From Scotland, Englishman.”

Robert grinned back. “I hope that doesn’t offend you too much. Are you studying here?”

She threw the towel she had been using to clean the bar over her shoulder and leaned against the woodwork. “I was. I finished last semester, but I could stay on working here during the summer. I have to go back now and finish my thesis, so in ten days it’s over. I booked my ticket today, so this is a sad day indeed!”

Smiling, he raised his glass to her. “I just got here two weeks ago. Maybe you can tell me some of the things I need to know to survive in Holland as a foreigner?”

She was about to respond when a small group of people came running inside shouting and yelling in Dutch. There was some heated discussion with a man whom Robert perceived to be the owner of the café, then the large TV screen in the corner was switched on. More and more people ran in to watch, talking agitatedly. Many were using their phones to access Internet at the same time. Robert noted a lot of upset expressions.

“My God, there’s been a terrorist attack in The Hague!”, Andy shouted. He turned around and pushed his way through the growing crowd toward the screen, on which Robert could now see a scene with a lot of police cars and ambulances.

“Go!” the girl said. “We’ll see each other again. I work here, remember?”

“Right, I will remember!” said Robert.

He joined Andy at the agitated crowd around the television at the moment that the law students they were to meet arrived. Andy made short introductions, briefing the others at the same time about what was happening on the television.

Soon, Robert found himself standing alone at the back of the crowd. People were watching and listening intently, discussing with each other in Dutch. He didn’t understand a word of what was being said. Judging from what he could see on the screen, there had been a serious terrorist attack. There were images of a historic train station with a lot of smoke, a lot of people and a lot of police. Some anchorwoman was on the scene, talking all the time.

He felt a vibration in his pocket and checked his phone; his parents’ number. He answered, walking outside to escape the loud noise. It was his mother.

“Robert, you should turn on the telly. There’s been a terrorist attack in Holland!”

“Yes, mum, I just heard. The thing is, I don’t understand a word of what everyone is saying.”

Robert smiled, as his anxious mother started to tell him exactly what he expected her to say. “Will you be careful? You never know what can happen. Why don’t you come back home? I don’t like it a bit that you’re there when bombs are going off. Will you stay out of buses and trains?”

Assuring her that he would do all of those things, he started to walk home. She was still giving him advice when he opened the front door and stepped into the shady hall.

“Mum, I’m home now, and I’m going to watch the tube. I’ll call you back tomorrow. Will that be fine?”

Trying to end the conversation, he started to walk upstairs. Just as he reached his door, his mother finally hung up. He heard a noise behind him and turned around. It was Khalid. He hadn’t seen him for a few days, not that they talked regularly. When they met, their conversation was limited to the exchange of greetings.

“Hi. Have you heard about the bombs?”

Khalid made an undistinguishable sound and started to put his key in the lock. He was wearing a large backpack, so Robert had to step aside to avoid being squashed against the wall.

“Well, see you later!” Robert said to the backpack, as Khalid disappeared into his room.

“Yes, see you later,” came the answer, and the door was shut. Robert heard the key turn. All efforts on this man were wasted.

Once inside, he turned on the small television and switched to BBC World. Some expert was talking about the likelihood of the Netherlands as the target of a terrorist attack, assuming that it was done by Muslim extremists. He was expanding broadly on the Dutch support for the US invasion of Iraq, and their troops in Afghanistan.