Twelve hours later, in the early hours of Sunday morning, Caleb was sat in an armchair by his son’s bedside, holding his hand. Claire sat on the other side, holding Jasper’s other hand. She was in a sleeping robe, her shoulder length black hair a mess and her eyes puffy from the tears she’d shed. Alex stood by a window, a cup of tea in hand as he watched dawn break.

  Jasper was lying on his bed, his helmet still on, plugged into a power supply backed up by two generators. The redundancy was needed. Alex had spared no expense to keep his stepson alive, paying for twenty-four-hour care and the medical equipment to sustain him.

  The king-sized bed had been moved to the centre of the large bedroom to make space for it all—the monitors for his heart and brain, the apparatus to help him breathe, the feeding tube, the IV, the catheter to help him pass urine. Several nurses had been moved into the house to help change Jasper’s nappy, keep him clean and to monitor his condition. There was even a doctor on call, able to respond within thirty minutes.

  Others hadn’t been so fortunate.

  In the initial aftermath of the crisis, some parents and spouses had tried to remove the helmets. It was a natural reaction, in truth. Trying to make them more comfortable while getting them the help they needed. Nobody could have foreseen the consequences.

  Now, those families had to live with the knowledge they had killed the very people they were trying to save.

  After the news had spread, the only thing people could do was call the emergency services and pray for their assistance. It wasn’t an easy thing. The players that had wireless helmets could—in theory—be transported to the hospitals and given the twenty-four-hour care they needed. In practice, it was much more complicated than that. Hospitals globally were scrambling to secure the right equipment. No country on earth was prepared for the millions of players that had suddenly fallen into comas.

  The rest—those with wired helmets or gaming rigs—couldn’t be moved and needed to be looked after at home, but if they didn’t have the money, good luck trying to get the right care. It was an unfortunate reality that the ones who couldn’t afford it were just waiting for their loved ones to die.

  Caleb wiped a tear from his eye as he gripped Jasper’s hand more firmly. He was just grateful Jasper was among the privileged ones.

  But even then, it might not be enough.

  “The people I spoke to agree with you,” Alex said, taking a sip of his tea. “Players are dying in the game.”

  On one of the walls, the tv was on, the news playing quietly. The situation had turned for the worse. Since the incident had occurred, they’d searched frantically for information. Searched for anything that would give them hope.

  There had been none.

  The authorities didn’t have a clue what had happened.

  The game’s developers could only say that a huge power surge had occurred at the moment all the players collapsed.

  Nobody knew what it was or why players were trapped and dying. The devs could no longer see inside Cytheria. Normally, they were always tracking various bits of information to help them adjust and balance the game. Maybe change a mob here, a raid asset there. Tweaking boss fights to ensure they were neither impossible nor too easy. Making sure players were playing the game in the spirit in which it was intended.

  Now, nothing, except that activity was happening on Cytheria.

  They just couldn’t see what.

  All anyone really knew was that if someone was logged into the game at the time of the surge, they would be trapped inside. There had been others—players who hadn’t had the helmets on at the time, but were still logged in and put them on after the surge. Either they hadn’t seen the warnings or they ignored them, but those had collapsed too.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Then players started dying.

  Alex knew some people close to the devs. He’d made some phone calls.

  “Could they tell you anything else?” Caleb asked.

  Alex shook his head. “Only that players are still logged into the game and there’ve been some in-game energy spikes now and again. That’s about it. They’re working on better information but yeah…they think players are dying in-game and it’s causing them to die here.”

  “Again, more breaking news on this rapidly developing situation,” the newscaster on the TV said. It had been playing for an hour now. The same statement.

  “Earlier reports that players who were still wearing their helmets are also dying have been confirmed to be true. Further reports suggest players are dying in hospitals, even after receiving medical care. They were said to be in stable conditions and passed away without any warning or deterioration in their circumstances.

  “We’re still waiting for authorities to provide updates but so far, no-one has been willing to speculate on the nature of the problem or confirm why the players are dying.

  “The death toll is unprecedented with some reports suggesting that as many as six million players may have passed away in the past thirteen hours and that number continues to grow. These are unofficial estimates…”

  Caleb drowned out the reporter’s voice. It didn’t make sense. Whatever had happened, keeping the helmet on was meant to keep them alive, even if comatose. He had thought it would buy them time until a solution was found. He glanced at the screen again, as the news anchor continued to reiterate that the players could die even with all their equipment intact.

  Why were people still dying? What was happening on Cytheria?

  After all these years, he was scared he was going to lose his son again. This time permanently.

  He couldn’t allow that to happen.

  “And they’re in the game?” Claire asked.

  “As far as they know, yes,” Alex replied.

  “I don’t like it,” Claire whispered across the bed, her eyes on Caleb.

  “I have to go.” He’d thought about it since the news broke. His helmet was still logged in, left on his PC desk since yesterday, plugged into the power supply. With everything that had happened, logging out was far from his mind. And now, it was the only hope he had.

  “Even if you go in,” Claire said, “there’s no guarantee you can find him.”

  “I’ll find him. There’ll be others there—members from the guild. Friends. People who can help.”

  “But say if you don’t find him? God forbid, what if something happens to him before you find him? Or to you?”

  “So, should I just wait here?” he snapped back. “Wait for him to die?”

  He’d rather be inside and die than be outside and watch his son die having not even tried.

  “That’s not what I’m saying and you know that,” Claire said firmly. “Going in blind. There’s no guarantees that you’ll even end up in the same place as him.”

  “I’m with Claire on this,” Alex said. “It’s very risky. I understand how you’re feeling but there’s a real chance that the only thing you’ll achieve is getting trapped yourself.”

  Caleb remained silent before responding. “It’s a risk I have to take,” he said finally.

  He had his eyes on Claire, then turned to Alex. “Look. You’ve got each other. You’ve got your two girls. As much as it might hurt to lose Jasper for you, you’ve both got others to live for. I don’t. Jasper is the only good thing I’ve done in my life and I lost him once already. I’m not going to lose him again. Abandon him again. I can’t just sit here and wait for him to die or wait for a solution that might not come. At least inside, I can try to find him. Before anything happens to either of us.”

  He hoped to find Jasper before it was too late. He needed him to know that his father had been there for him.

  Claire pressed her lips together. She wasn’t entirely convinced. “And if you do find him and there’s no way out?”

  “Then at least we’ll be together. At least our son won’t be alone.” He said pointedly, his eyes on Claire’s. “Now, will you help me?”

  Claire held his gaze a moment, a tear streaking down her puffy cheek. She looked at Jasper and Caleb could see that she wanted the same thing as he did. For her son to have someone with him. It didn’t matter that he was almost twenty. He would be inside, scared, worried, praying for a way out. Hoping his parents would be working on getting to him. Caleb knew it and he wasn’t about to let Jasper down.

  Claire turned to Alex. He gave a slight nod.

  “Bring your gear here,” Alex said. “We’ll set you up in one of the guest bedrooms.”

  Three hours later, Caleb was lying in a bed in the middle of a guest bedroom. Alex had made some calls and had more equipment brought in, the nurses nearby ready to hook Caleb up to the machines. Caleb’s helmet was in his hand, plugged into a power supply supported by two more generators.

  Claire and Alex stood at the side of the bed. Claire held his hand and pressed it firmly.

  “Find our son,” she whispered. “Tell him I love him. Tell him I’m waiting for him to come back.”

  Alex shook Caleb’s hand. “We’re still going to yours for Christmas dinner.”

  Caleb smiled. Christmas was only three weeks away. But he knew what Alex was saying. Make sure you’re back.

  He looked at the helmet in his hands and lifted it to his head.

  “Wish me luck,” he said, with a wink to the both of them.

  He put the helmet on.