MMORPG: How a Computer Game Becomes Deadly Serious (46 page)

Eight police officers of the Special Arrest Team exploded into the gallery with their guns drawn. Their leader surveyed the scene. He saw three men down. He knew at a glance that they were dead. A Steward was down on his knees next to one of the fallen, cradling his head in his arms, a bewildered look in his eyes. There was a blood smear on his distinctive yellow tricot. He pointed a trembling finger in the direction of the stands, which erupted in a deafening cheer just at that moment.

The commander motioned for his men to follow him outside and ordered the Steward to leave the scene. The man scrambled clumsily to his feet and backed away.

Robert and Rebecca were watching alongside the crew in the truck. They saw the gun being aimed at the camera and the monitor go blank. There was a stunned silence in the truck. It had been like watching a movie, only this time the blood had been real.

On two of the other screens, the movie continued. Even though the cameras were covering areas over a hundred yards apart, the images showed more or less the same scene. It was like a perfectly choreographed play, the same events in both screens happening almost exactly simultaneously. It all unfolded so fast, they didn’t even have time to avert their eyes at the horror of it.

A man walking casually away toward the stairs that led to the exit. A man doing his job. A man in the bright yellow outfit of a Steward. A man reaching the stairs. A man walking down. A man walking out of the view of the camera, but being picked up by another without a flaw.

A man reaching the landing below. A man unaware of other cameras that showed uniformed men with automatic weapons coming purposefully down a corridor. A man who turned a corner. A man who halted suddenly. A man who jumped to the side, rolled once and came up in a crouch. A man with a gun! A man was shooting! A man was hit! A man was thrown backward by multiple impacts. A man who slumped down, leaving bloody smears on a white wall. Two dead men who had their guns kicked away from them.

Khalid fingered the grenade, preparing himself. He had two explosive devices with him, one heavy grenade and one smoke bomb. The latter had been meant to add to the panic, by making it look like the first explosion was much more serious than it actually was. But he was about to use it for what it was originally designed, to provide cover. His gut told him that he didn’t have much time left. It was a miracle that no one else had come to use the facilities by now.

He crouched next to the door with his back against the wall and threw the grenade around the corner of the doorway into the hallway beyond. There was an immediate reaction. People started yelling and screaming. It must be a lot busier in the hallway now. He counted to five and started moving.

Covering his face, he walked right through the smoke in the direction of the stairway that led to the exits. Halfway down, he met a team of some kind of paramilitary forces. They noted his police uniform and one actually smiled at him. He stepped aside to let them through.

He came to the corridor that led outside. The police were everywhere, but he also saw some soldiers. He set a quick and decisive pace, his face in a determined expression, trying to convey the impression he was under orders and going somewhere specific. Nobody took any notice of him. There were so many uniformed people around that he blended nicely into the background.

***

The Steward who had been so helpful emerged from the toilets at ground level shortly after he had been dismissed. Only now, he wasn’t wearing his distinctive yellow anymore, but only the police uniform that had been underneath all the time. Without anyone challenging him, he left the stadium, and now he was moving away from it. He quickly sized up the situation. It was apparent that his police uniform wasn’t going to get him out of here. The perimeter was guarded by soldiers only, and they were challenging anyone who wanted to get in or out.

He looked around and saw what he was looking for. Luck was still with him. Not far away, a single soldier was lounging against a vehicle.

***

Double doors led out of the building. Khalid stepped through without hesitation and turned right. He pictured the surroundings of the stadium in his mind. It was actually situated in the middle of large business park, but the nearest office buildings were quite a distance away. On the other side of the railway was an urban area. He decided he should be going there.

The open area around the stadium was crawling with uniforms, a mix of soldiers and police, but farther away it was all military. He even saw some green armored vehicles. He started walking in the direction of the train station, down the ArenA Boulevard. He forced himself to walk erect and keep his head up, to appear like he belonged. He met the eyes of a police officer going in the other direction, and he answered the man’s nod. Ahead, he saw a large truck of a TV station. Two people were standing outside. Civilians.

Robert couldn’t stand it anymore. He felt like vomiting, and the fresh air didn’t lessen the feeling. Still, he was glad to be out of the truck. He also didn’t want to look at those screens anymore.

“Will they catch them?” he asked of Rebecca.

“Khalid and his boss, Drimm and Pharad?,” she asked. “Yes, they’ll never get out of here.”

He nodded. He just wanted it to be over. Ahead, a police officer was coming their way.

~~~

Chapter XLI

Khalid
couldn’t believe it. What were Robert and Rebecca doing here? But he knew it in his heart: they were the reason for this disaster. Since that Englishman had come into his life, things had started to fall apart. His stomach contracted at the thought of how he had been led to believe that he had been introducing him to World of Warcraft, while he was being led by the nose all the time.

He suppressed his anger and veered away from the truck, letting his feet carry him back toward the stadium. He couldn’t risk an escape on this side, now that the only people who could recognize him were there. Involuntarily, his head had gone down with worry. He jerked his posture erect again only to find himself looking straight into the eyes of Muhammad al-Moutti.

The leader of the Hammer of Righteous Justice was in the uniform of a corporal of the Dutch Army. If he was surprised to see him, he didn’t show it.

“Come with me,” he ordered.

They walked away together, just two of many uniformed young men around. Khalid suddenly noticed that the buzz of the stadium had changed. The constant roaring and whistling had taken on a distinctively different quality. The stadium speaker was addressing the crowd at length.

“You disobeyed my order,” Muhammad stated in an even tone.

Khalid didn’t answer. He could think of nothing other than to just keep walking.

“What do you have to say?”

He shrugged. “Robert and Rebecca are here,” he said, motioning in the direction of the television truck. “I nearly ran into them.”

There was a gleam in Muhammad’s eye. “They are not to blame,” he answered. “You are. You’re responsible for everything they found out about us.”

They reached two large vans with the reflective striping of police vehicles parked back-to-back at an angle. The cars were deserted. For a second, he guessed Muhammad wanted to hijack one of them. But the man took him by the arm and drew him with sudden and violent force into the secluded space between the two vans. Khalid felt the cold touch of the nuzzle of a gun against the back of his head. Muhammad’s lips touched his ear, almost like they were lovers. His whisper was far from a caress though.

“You know the price of failure. I gave you a chance to redeem yourself today, but you failed even at that.”

Khalid wanted to protest, to swear that he was still loyal to the cause, that he wasn’t to blame for what had happened, but that he would make amends anyway. Before he could utter a single word a bullet ripped right through his head, shattering his skull and taking away half of his face when it exited in a spray of blood and brain tissue. He body slumped to the ground, and what was left of his head came to rest in the middle of a growing pool of fluids.

“Goodbye Drimm,” Pharad said. “Resurrection is on cooldown. Try the Spirit healer.”

“Let’s take a little walk,” Rebecca suggested. “I can’t stand the tension standing still like this.”

He agreed by taking her hand. They walked with their heads down in the opposite direction of the stadium, toward the train station. There were many soldiers there, keeping watch with guns at the ready. They veered to the left, following the railway tracks. It was quieter here. They saw only one soldier, coming in their direction. When they were at the point of passing each other, Robert heard a mumbled greeting. He greeted back, still not looking up. But he felt Rebecca’s hand suddenly tense in his own. She took a sharp breath. He finally looked up, straight into the barrel of a handgun.

“Good evening Robert and Rebecca,” Muhammad al-Moutti said. “Or should I call you Gunslinger and Killermage?”

Robert felt remarkably calm. It was as if he had always known it would come to this. He wasn’t even surprised that his mind seemed at peace with the thought that he would die here, tonight.

“Pharad.”

The eyes above the gun swiveled to Rebecca. She acknowledged him in her turn with a nod. Robert had no idea how she was feeling. Was she scared? Was she calm and resigned, like him?

“I must commend you on your achievement,” Pharad said. “In WoW, it would have been worth a hundred Achievement Points. But this is no game. This is the real world.”

They both didn’t answer. There seemed to be no point.

“Are you scared to die?”

“Yes,” Rebecca said, her voice trembling.

“Good. Because I want you to know that I bested you after all. You’re good, very good, so good even that I didn’t think it possible. I never thought I’d meet someone who was as good as I am.”

He paused, looking around. They were still alone. “You infiltrated my guild and thwarted my plans. For that, you deserve to die. It should never have been possible. But the one responsible, the one who failed me, has already paid the price.”

Pharad lowered his gun a little and laughed softly. He seemed to be thinking, contemplating something only he understood. Robert stole a glance at Rebecca, but she was staring at the terrorist, mesmerized by the moment.

“I’ll let you live,” the man suddenly announced. “Only to let you feel the bitter taste of defeat for the rest of your lives. Whenever you think of me, remember this moment. Remember that I could have killed you if I wanted to. Remember that you didn’t win!”

With these words, he turned and sprinted away. He was fifty yards away before their paralysis was broken. They saw him weave between several vehicles, then he was gone.

~~~

EPILOGUE

The level one Worgen named Phloyd sat on the ground immediately after being born into the world. Gilneas was one of the new zones that had been added with Cataclysm, behind the Greymane Wall that had always been impregnable until now.

Being reborn out of a new untraceable account, as the member of a new race, in a world made anew, was fitting. Being born in a new zone, out of sync with the rest of the virtual world, was even better. To him, this city was populated and filled with characters he could interact with. To other players, the streets would appear deserted and he himself was invisible.

He would be reborn again, in other worlds, more realistic worlds, ever more violent worlds even. But for now, World of Warcraft would do.

Phloyd realized he had become nearly unglued recently. He knew he had acted irrationally and thereby, irresponsibly. For much of what had gone wrong, he had to blame himself as well.

He wouldn’t make that same mistake again.

He contemplated the virtual world. He was proud of the fact that he had been the first to apply its endless possibilities to the goal of making the world a better place. He knew that most people wouldn’t agree with him, but as long as his conviction and dedication were strong, he would be victorious.

He was convinced that computer games would play an increasingly important role to people like him. Already, he had been approached to share his experiences and give advice on how to set up an operation like he had. He had no problem with others adopting computer games in the same way. It would only make it harder for the opposition to pin down one specific organization.

The more realistic the virtual worlds would become, and the more facilities the gaming industry provided for in-game communication, the more useful and important this medium would become. Blizzard had recently introduced a feature that allowed players to interact across different games on their platform.

This was the future. He would be like the captain of a fighter plane, rehearsing his strikes on the flight simulator as often as he liked.

He decided against playing with this new character now. Its birth was enough for the moment.

Phloyd shimmered, became transparent for an instant, and disappeared.

END

~~~

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