“—be careful,” I finish, turning back to her little screen. “I know, Beks. Don’t worry. Speaking of, have you heard anything else from Detective Watts?”
“Man, she is so cool,” Rebekah croons.
“I know.” I grin. “I’m glad we have someone like her in our corner.”
“Same. But no, nothing new. You okay?”
“Yeah. You?”
“Yeah.” There’s a short pause while Rebekah fusses over something on her keyboard and fiddles with her phone. She exhales and looks back at me, smiling. I know that smile. The soft, pained one that hides so much behind it. I know she isn’t okay. How could she be? It’s only been a week since Quarter Slice Crisis, and every single mention of the incident online seems to link back to the articles about Rebecca’s assault last year, rubbing salt into a wound that isn’t even close to healed yet.
I don’t know what to say to her half the time. So I try my best to be there to listen, on the rare moments she wants to say anything about it.
“So...you think I’ll like this guy,” Rebekah says, her eyes narrowing.
“I do. He’s—”
“Wait, is he male?”
“Well, yeah, he—”
“Then nope.”
I laugh and look back at the Reclaim the Sun start menu, flipping through my small friends list. A few members of the Angst Armada are online, the ones I’ve grown to trust, and of course there’s Rebekah and a handful of old acquaintances from high school, but no sign of Aaron yet. I wonder if I’ll meet any people I can game with once I start classes at the community college.
“How long are we going to wait for your boyfriend?” Rebekah asks, putting extra emphasis where it is certainly not needed.
“I am going to blow up your ship the second we get into the game if you say that word again,” I growl, playfully scowling at her. She’s right, though. It’s not like we have all night. Well, I kind of do, but Rebekah doesn’t—she has class tomorrow morning and can’t be streaming nonstop like me.
“Alright, alright,” Rebekah says, holding up her hands in surrender. “But seriously, if we’re going to do a bit of surprise streaming, we should really get on with it.” When I continue to hesitate, she adds, “Look, he can always join us later.”
“I know, but...” I trail off, looking at my friends list and the in-game messenger again. I pick up my phone to see if he’s sent me a text, then remember he doesn’t actually have my phone number. Even though he seems like a great guy, there’s no way I’m giving that out. Not yet, anyway.
I let out a sigh. “Okay. Let’s post on social and dive in.”
“You sure you’re ready?” Rebekah asks, not for the first time tonight. “For another public stream and co-op? I just... I worry.”
“Yeah, I’m ready. Fuck those guys.” I glance down at her screen. “Are you?”
“Probably not,” Rebekah says, her tone defeated. I wish I could reach through the screen and hug her. These trolls, their threats, the attack... I can’t even imagine what it’s like for her, how triggering it all is. But since it’s way too late to hop the PATH to Hoboken for a visit and some fried snacks, I decide I’ll do the next best thing.
Wreak havoc across the universe in her name.
“I got you,” I tell her, trying to project as much confidence as possible. “Let’s go.”
In less than a minute, we’ve alerted Twitter, our small but loyal Facebook group, and our Glitch stream subscribers. And in the minutes that follow, numerous blips appear in our multiplayer party channel. Familiar usernames from past excursions. My beloved Angst Armada, returning to the fold once more.
I wonder, if things go sideways, will they have my back this time? Will they leave me on the ground, to fall into the icy depths of an unknown planet, again? I get that they didn’t want to lose their ships and their experience points and all that...but it didn’t feel great, watching them leave.
Oh well.
As the people pop in, they burst into the party chat window quickly, but like popcorn in the microwave, the growing numbers start to peter down, from multiple bursts to just one or two every few seconds. With a little more time, alerting the streaming community that we’d be doing this or that on a given date or time, we’d probably have hundreds more.
But after everything that’s happened here, in the online space and whatever is going on outside, keeping it a little lower key feels right. I’m in no rush to have someone log on and kick my ass during my comeback.
“Looks like this is it,” I say to Rebekah in a private channel.
“It’ll make for a good video. D1V’s return!” Rebekah exclaims, though I still hear hints of heartbreak in her voice. The exclamation isn’t fooling me.
“Beks, we don’t have to—” I start.
“Nope,” she says, shaking her head in that little video window, and I think I catch her wiping at her eyes with her sleeve, but it happens too quickly for me to be sure. “Nope, we’re doing this. Recording in three...two...one...”
With a click, I can suddenly hear the entire channel. An array of voices, cheering and shouting. My people. My Armada.
“Why, hello, my dears,” I say into the microphone, summoning up all the energy I can. I flick on the streaming cam, and a live video of myself pops up in the corner of the screen, recording my every reaction as we play through the game. “I’m back. Did you all miss me?”
More cheering, louder and louder, and then suddenly several alerts and pings start popping up on my screen. Sounds and alerts I haven’t seen before.
I squint at the text, and it takes a while before I realize what’s happening.
You have a fund transfer from
THE NERDY NARWHAL
in the amount of 10,000 credits.
Do you wish to accept?
[YES] [NO]
My jaw drops as more and more pop up on the screen. 500 credits. 1,000 credits. 20,000 credits. 25 credits.
Transfers from users in the Armada.
My heart is hammering in my chest, and I can’t believe what’s happening right now, or that I ever doubted them.
“For you, our captain!” shouts one girl.
Another cheer: “‘O Captain! My Captain!’”
“We’ve been planning this!” I hear another young girl shout.
And so on.
It’s like that scene from Dead Poets Society, only in space. And instead of desks and chairs, we have planets and starships.