“Ever since that fateful day,” the stranger concludes his story, “I’ve been a lone-wolf. It’s a curse only a man like me has to bear. It’s not because I’m brave or selfless or even duty-bound to humanity. It’s simply because, well, it’s fun.”

No other sound responds to him besides the flickering embers from the hearth. His eyes scan the silent family who have their jaws wide open in terror.

“You three look like you’ve seen a ghost do a belly dance. What gives?”

The statement snaps them from their stupor. They struggle to put their feelings into words, but as their tongues stumble it seems obvious they have a hundred questions on their minds.

“Pardon me, stranger, but are you telling us,” the mother asks with utmost bravery, “that you can hear the voices of the dead inside your head?!”

“Uhh… that’s not–”

“How could you kill your own comrades in cold blood like that, especially after you’ve forgiven them?” The father interrupts him before he can finish. “What is wrong with you? Did you not consider that they might have families?”

“Hey, it’s not like–”

Next, the son interrupts him. “What are guns?”

The stranger happily responds with, “Oh, those are fascinating stuff! They’re like magic wands, but rather than magic they are pure machine. You use them like my bow, but instead of arrows you shoot fire and death the size of your thumb, neatly packaged in single–”

“Stranger, as morbidly fascinating that is,” the father struggles to cope with this new information, “don’t ignore our questions. Why did you do it?”

“Relax, they’re not really dead. It’s all just Tuesday for us.”

“So what I’ve heard is true then?” The mother ponders to herself, “That death is unknown to off-worlders?”

“You got that right,” the stranger pats the child’s head and reassures his mother. “Unlike you lovely beings, we’re just a bunch of gamers. We don’t die. We simply respawn. If you ask me, those clowns are probably still playing the same game over and over again, sucking their thumb every time they lose.”

“Will you ever play with them again?”

As talkative as the stranger is, this one question by the son makes him pause, realizing he has no answer for it.

Sensing his hesitation, the mother breaks his silence instead by asking him, “You’ve mentioned that the things you do is… fun to you. What does fun mean to you?”

The stranger smiles sadly and strokes his chin, struggling to find the right words.

“You know… that’s a good question. You’re the first to ask me that. See… Gamers like me aren’t so good at asking about the weather. So unlike the few with their golden yachts and filet mignons, we aren’t so picky with our adventures, but we yearn for larger-than-life experiences all the same. It could be something as easy as fighting a dragon with your bare hands, or as impossible as asking a local lass out for coffee. So we gamers, even inside a world like this where we pretend to have some semblance of control over our lives, still do what others don’t often think about: We embark on journeys without knowing where the road will take us.

“Boy, does it take us strange places! At first you’d think it’s all about overcoming every obstacle in our path, but in that never-ending cycle we’re playing cards with someone we never know might become an enemy one day, or traverse through treacherous dungeons with our homies without so much as a shimmer of gold only to realize that the real treasure is the friends we’ve made along the way. Hah! That’s a classic one, isn’t it?

“This hurricane of twists and turns, trust and betrayal, contracts and conspiracies, the desire to protect and the fervor of revolt, the rise and fall of civilizations engulfs us. By the time we find our footing in these unraveling of stories, we’ve undergone a metamorphosis and yet we yearn for more, knowing there is no limit to what we can experience. Curiosity gets the better of us, and before we know it, we’re attached to ones-and-zeros that initially held no value to us, and in that irrationality… we forget what is real and what is fiction.

“As sad as that might sound, would I ever be satisfied with the alternative? It’s hard to explain. I guess what I’m trying to say is… Everyone fears leaving with regrets, and I’d rather be too busy to play chicken with the sun to see whose light burns out first.”

The family is unable to process what was just said to them, however the hints of sorrow in his voice did not escape them.

“Speaking of moving, would you look at the time!” The stranger looks at his bare wrist and gets up to leave. “I have something of an appointment with fate. It was absolutely lovely meeting you three,” he thanked them truthfully. “Those snails… uh… were delicious too!” And then he lied. “I’ve got a long way to go. Take care of yourselves.”

“All alone? Have you no companions?” The father asks him, before noding to his wife in a way only she understood.

“Well, I… did, but… They’re all pissed off at me. I’ve made far too many enemies, I’m afraid. So I’m back to square one.”

Somehow, nobody in the family is surprised at this revelation.

The mother approaches the stranger with a bag of Perigen walnuts and offers it to him for his journey ahead.

“Weren’t you guys saving this for a special someone meant to be passing by?”

The father explains, “These nuts–” The stranger’s guffaw at those words interrupts him. Despite being annoyed, he wills himself to calm down and continues. “The Perigen walnuts have a special rejuvinating property that is revealed upon their processing, healing you from serious wounds and ailments as well as energizing you for your travels.”

“I can tell. I’ve noticed my mana replenishing, so I assume you sprinkled these into those snails too.”

“Indeed,” the father smiles proudly. “They fetch a hefty price in the city and merchants from abroad alike, being quite popular among the elites. Also, my son is correct about the pod skins, and these may be of use to you.”

“That’s super neato. Are you sure I can have… deez–?”

The father coughs aloud. Intentionally too.

“There’s a saying in this nation that the worth of a life can’t be measured; incidentally, the saying comes from a heroic mage centuries in the past. You saved our son, and there’s nothing we can do to repay your kindness. Judging by your face, I can tell you’re heading for the Valley of Despair. We are unaware of where this appointment with fate may lead you, but at the very least we would like you to have a safe and happy journey in return. For that reason, I hope you can accept this as our token of gratitude.”

The stranger smiles, but this time it is not a mischeivous smile. Though it was a sad smile, it was also a warm one. It emerged from a feeling he could not describe, nor had any intention to. He accepts the gift and hugs the family for reasons he himself did not know, and while this surprised the family they accept it too.

“Stranger,” finally, the boy opened up about something the entire family had been feeling, “you’re the Hero, aren’t you?”

The stranger chuckles and pats the boy’s head for one last time before opening the door to leave.

“Nah. I’ve been called many things in both worlds, but if you ask me, I’m nobody special. I’m just a rando invading somebody else’s game. But I accept your blessing, and I hope fortune favors you guys too.”

Waving at them one last time, he turns and walks away. The child sees the stranger disappear cheerfully, with his head held high, into the night. Yet, despite knowing that every Off-Worlder is capable of resurrection, the child had a sinking feeling that this may be the one adventure, one veil of darkness from which the stranger may not return from.

–

If it’s true, that you are what you do, then it should surprise no one that the entire game-server would be in an uproar seeing a single name joining a team: Rando. The word suggests a random person, used in gaming communities to imply someone whom one may be unfamiliar with, someone suspicious and with the propensity for mischief or causing trouble. Such trolls and troublemakers may not always advertise themselves in so blatantly, so there is no better announcement to the world that one seeks nothing but merriment in chaos than simply calling one’s self Rando.

Expecting anything different may be a fool’s errand for some, and often those cautious of such an individual would be validated, sometimes to the point it becomes a self-fulfiling prophecy too. Such was the case in this round of Sleeper Cells, where Rando blew himself up, causing his team to lose the match, just because he found it funny.

He laughs heartily while his team-mates curse at him without hesitation, and dispells the potential of any of their anger or frustration from sticking to his being. His laughter, though mischeivous, has no signs of ill-will or resentment. It is akin to a 10-year-old pulling a prank on his father, whom he loves dearly.

“That was such a fun game! How about a second round?”

The only response he gets in return is a notification that his team has permanently blocked him. None of them wanted to interact with him from this point forth. So he swivels his chair around and sips on his cola in thought.

“They really take these games seriously, don’t they? It’s like they are preparing for an eSports tournament or something. With skills like those, I hope they spare themselves the embarrassment.”

A ringing through his headphones pierces his thought. He turns back to the monitor screen and notices a new notification.

Someone wants to chat.