Five months into his janitorial tenure at Alluring Realms, the initial flicker of hopeful anticipation within Bennett had been all but extinguished, replaced by a simmering resentment. Eight failed transfer applications to the beta testing program lay like digital tombstones in his inbox, each rejection chipping away at his patience. The hum of the D.I.V.E. Units no longer sounded like a siren call to an exciting world, but a mocking reminder of the opportunities he was denied. He was tired of wiping down sticky consoles and picking up discarded energy drink cans left by individuals he was increasingly convinced he could outplay with ease, if only given the chance.
His routine had become a monotonous cycle. He arrived in the late afternoon, the tail end of the day shift overlapping with his start. He’d see the blue-banded omega testers filtering in, their faces alight with anticipation, and a bitter taste would rise in his throat. He’d overhear snippets of their excited chatter – tales of downing a Soohanan Mauler, narrowly escaping the gaze of an Emberfang Basilisk, or the intricate strategies required to navigate the political landscape of the Kingdom of Draggor. Their triumphs felt like personal affronts, highlighting his own forced confinement to the periphery.
During his mandated lunch breaks, Bennett’s research of the Ludere Online forums had taken on a different tone. Initially driven by genuine curiosity, it was now fueled by a need to prove to himself that he understood the game, that he possessed the knowledge and insight that these seemingly privileged testers did. He still read about new monster encounters, like the unsettling Lurking Banyan Horror in the ancient jungle ruins of Soohan, or the formidable Ironclad Centaur encountered in forgotten outposts. But now, his interest was often laced with a cynical critique. He’d scoff at a tester’s poorly conceived strategy for dealing with a pack of Wolves, muttering about the obvious need for crowd control that any seasoned gamer would recognize.
He found himself particularly irritated by the messes left behind in the omega testing labs. Crumpled snack wrappers, discarded notes filled with jargon he now understood – "mana bleed," "aggro management," "status effect: terror" – these were the remnants of their immersive experiences. As he swept around a vacated pod unit, he’d imagine the tester who had just logged out, perhaps BIGdaddy96024 in his full plate armor, bragging about his latest conquest while Bennett quietly cleaned up after him. He wondered if BIGdaddy96024, focused on improving his weapon mastery, had ever considered the strategic implications of the different factions, like the rigid hierarchy of Draggor or the volatile politics of the Lunar Empire.
One evening, while emptying a trash can in the main testing area, Bennett noticed a discarded character sheet. It belonged to a player named "ShadowStryker," a Rogue in the Silver Hand of the Lunar Empire. The sheet detailed their skills and equipment, including proficiency with daggers and short swords. Bennett couldn’t help but compare it to the information he had absorbed about the Shadowblade class used by FelineFine, the Altacian tester. He knew the Altaicians were the original inhabitants of what was now the Kingdom of Draggor, and their culture valued non-verbal communication. He doubted this "ShadowStryker," focused on the typical rogue activities of assassination and theft, had any understanding of the nuances of Altacian culture or their tense relationship with the humans in Draggor.
His frustration wasn't limited to the testers. He also felt a growing resentment towards the developers who he sometimes saw in the hallways, their black-striped white bands signifying their alpha testing status. They moved with an air of authority, often engrossed in hushed conversations that Bennett could only partially overhear. He’d catch snippets about "bug fixes," "class balancing," and the elusive "generational progression". He knew that this progression involved having a child with an NPC, a fact discovered accidentally by another tester. He often wondered if the developers truly understood the player experience as well as someone like him, who had meticulously studied the game from the outside.
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As he pushed his cleaning cart towards the server rooms, a strictly off-limits area for him, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was surrounded by a world he was capable of understanding and contributing to, yet perpetually barred from entry. The vibrant, pixelated worlds he had once dreamed of exploring now felt like a taunt, a constant reminder of his mundane reality. The jaded resignation settled deeper within him, a quiet bitterness festering beneath the surface of his diligently performed janitorial duties. He was cleaning up the remnants of a game he felt he was born to play, and the irony was a bitter pill he had to swallow day after day.
As Bennett pushed his cleaning cart down a less-trafficked hallway on the second floor, he noticed a door slightly ajar. He didn’t recognize the room’s number and vaguely recalled this section being used for storage. Frowning, he pushed the door open further to investigate. Instead of shelves piled high with unused equipment, the room now contained a single D.I.V.E. Pod. The sleek, black machine hummed softly, its indicator lights blinking in a steady rhythm.
Bennett’s breath hitched. A D.I.V.E. Unit outside of the designated testing labs was highly unusual. He instinctively reached for his brown-banded wrist, the color coding clearly marking him as a facilities worker with limited access. He knew this room, if it now housed such sensitive equipment, should have had its security protocols updated. The green light above the door indicated it was unlocked, a glaring oversight.
His first thought was to report it. He should immediately alert security to the misplacement of a pod and the lapse in security. It was his duty as an employee, and he prided himself on his reliability. He even started to turn away, his mind already formulating the report he would give.
But then, the familiar sting of rejection resurfaced. Eight times. Eight times he had poured his enthusiasm and carefully constructed arguments into those transfer requests, only to be met with silence or a generic denial. He thought of the omega testers he cleaned up after, their effortless access to the very experience he craved. He pictured BIGdaddy96024, the overly competitive human Armsman, or even the seemingly clueless gamingG0d, both with blue bands granting them entry into the virtual world while he remained on the outside, armed only with cleaning supplies.
A wave of spite washed over him, hot and sudden. Why should he be the responsible one? Why should he dutifully report this anomaly when his own ambitions were constantly dismissed? They didn’t see his passion, his knowledge gleaned from countless hours of forum research. They only saw the janitor.
A dangerous idea began to take root. The pod was here, unguarded. His wristband, meant to keep him out, hadn't even registered the change in security. It was a sign, perhaps? A twisted sense of entitlement bloomed within him. He deserved a shot. He deserved to experience what they so carelessly took for granted.
He glanced down the hallway. Empty. The late hour meant most of the administrative staff had left, and the testers were likely still immersed in the game. He wouldn't be missed for a little while.
His heart hammered against his ribs as he made his decision. He wasn't going to report it. Not yet. Instead, fueled by months of frustration and a sudden surge of defiance, Bennett reached for the door handle. He was going to give their precious game a shot. Out of sheer, unadulterated spite, he was going to log in. He didn't have a character, hadn't even gone through the proper onboarding. But he knew enough from his research. He knew about the factions, the classes, even the dangerous creatures lurking in the Soohan region.
With a shaky breath, Bennett slipped into the room and closed the door behind him. The soft hum of the D.I.V.E. Pod seemed to beckon him. The familiar scent of electronics and the faint undercurrent of something almost ozone-like filled the small space. For the first time in months, a flicker of something other than resentment sparked within him. It wasn't hope, not exactly. It was a raw, rebellious anticipation. He was finally going to see what all the fuss was about, even if it meant risking his job. He was done just cleaning up the mess; now, he was going to make some of his own.
