Ryley Dyke stared at the stagnant number of viewers on his live stream—a double-digit ghost town where a thriving city used to be. At twenty-two, he was a living cautionary tale in the gaming world: the man who peaked too young. The cheers of his past victories were now just echoes in the silent, messy room that had once felt like a throne room. It was his parents' old house, a place filled with the memory of their lives, now occupied by the ghost of his former success. He was adrift, a ship without a port, clueless about the path ahead.
Then, like a lighthouse in a fog, Sovereign of Rust emerged. It wasn't just another game; it was a new reality. A virtual world where you could feel the wind bite your skin, taste the strange fruit of fantasy realms, and experience the one thing every human secretly yearns for: the freedom of flight. The promise was intoxicating. The mind is the limit. For Ryley, whose mind felt like his only remaining asset, it was a siren's call. He saw it not as escapism, but as a conquest. With his gamer's instinct, he believed he could scale its heights, reclaim his glory, and prove he wasn't just a has-been.
But ambition crashed against the hard wall of reality. The price of a full-immersion capsule was a small fortune, a mountain of debt he couldn't afford to climb. His only family, his elder sister, had been his anchor for two years after their parents passed, sending money like clockwork. Then, seven years ago, her communications stopped. The monthly deposits ceased, and she vanished into the wide world, leaving behind a silence that was louder than any scream. The house their parents left felt emptier without her. Now, he survived on the meager scraps from side jobs and a dying stream. Buying the game would clean out his savings, leaving him with a choice between a virtual future and very real, empty cupboards. Yet, he made the wager. He told himself it was an investment, the only one he could make in himself. The company's white-glove setup service felt like a final, reassuring pat on the back before he jumped off the cliff.
---
In a sun-drenched living room that smelled of lemon polish and money, a different negotiation was underway.
"Daddy, buy me the new V.R. game capsule that just came out," Cara said, not looking up from her phone. Her voice was a smooth, practiced instrument of persuasion. "Some of my friends have already bought their own. I can't be the only one that doesn't have it yet."
"Cara, I understand, sweetheart," her father replied, his voice weary. He was a man who had learned to pick his battles, and this was one he knew he'd likely lose. "But the V.R. game was out of stock immediately after it was released. I don't know where I am going to find one."
The silence that followed was heavy and tactical. Cara finally looked up, a sweet, dangerous smile playing on her lips. "Oh, Dad, you'll find one. After all, if you can't, I'll have to tell Mum about your little... adventure with my English teacher." The pause was a masterstroke, letting the threat hang in the air between them.
His shoulders slumped in defeat. "But where am I supposed to find one?"
"Dad, use your brain," she sighed, as if explaining something simple to a child. "You work for one of the richest and most influential men in our town. So, use the brain you used to get into my English teacher's pants to get me that V.R. capsule." She let the crudity hang in the air, a weapon she wielded with precision. "Do you understand?"
He grumbled, the sound swallowed by the plush carpet.
Her voice sharpened to a point. "I said, do you understand, 'Daddy'?"
The capitulation was immediate. "Yes," he sighed, the word tasting like ash. "I understand, my lovely and understanding daughter."
"Now, go along and get me the capsule," she said, her attention already back to the glowing screen in her hand, the conversation already a forgotten transaction.
---
The air in another house was thick with the scent of stale disappointment and unspoken regrets.
"You are just a useless and foolish man!" The father's voice was a whip-crack, shredding the quiet of the home. "Look at yourself, lying and hanging all over the house. After all the money I spent on your education, you still turned out to be nothing! If we had known, we would have spent that money on your siblings or even given it to charity, instead of wasting it on a useless fool like you!"
Daryn flinched, but held his ground. "But Dad, you don't understand. I really tried. There's no work in this economy, and you know I was let go from my job unjustly. Just because I refused to collect a bribe, I was accused of theft." The injustice of it was a fresh wound he was tired of reopening.
"You stupid fool!" his father roared, his face purpling. "You refused to collect a bribe, and now look at you! Are you successful? Hmm? No! All you have is the 'peace' in your stupid conscience!" He spat the word 'peace' like a curse.
"But Dad—"
The slap came fast and hard, a stinging explosion of sound that left Daryn's ear ringing. The physical pain was nothing compared to the shattering feeling in his chest.
"But Dad, what?!" his father mocked, looming over him. "Look at your friend Tracy! She is successful now! Everywhere I go, it's 'Tracy this, Tracy that'! I am tired of hearing her name! I have never heard a single good thing about you! Even my so-called friends talk about you, phrasing their insults politely, thinking I'm too dumb to notice! 'You know that man's son who was fired for refusing a bribe?' They call you stupid! They say I didn't raise you right!"
A cold clarity washed over Daryn, freezing his tears. "Hmph. So that's what this is about," he said, his voice dangerously quiet. "You hear praise for Tracy, and you hear a couple of idiots talking trash about me. Very interesting. Instead of supporting your own flesh and blood, instead of telling me that not taking a bribe was the right thing to do... you're here screaming at my head, telling me I should have been corrupt."
He shook his head, a profound sadness settling in his bones. "I don't know where I went wrong in raising you," his father seethed, his voice dropping to a venomous whisper. "It's the fault of your mother who died. If not for her coddling, you wouldn't be like this. I would rather not have you as a child. A girl would have been better; at least I know I could still gain something from her."
The words were the final, unforgivable blow. "Well, lucky you," Daryn whispered, the last of his familial bonds snapping. "You only have the twin. I am not your child anymore. I would rather be on the side of good—the side my mum told me to always be on—than follow your path. So I'll spare you the weight of having me as your child. I'm leaving."
"Yeah, that's funny," his father sneered, a hollow sound. "Like you have anywhere to go. How will you survive, you useless piece of shit?"
"Goodbye." Daryn didn't look back. He walked out, closing the door on the house, on the man, on the life that was never his. The moment the latch clicked, the house was plunged into a silence so deep and absolute it was deafening, broken only by the sound of one man's shallow, ragged breaths in the sudden, suffocating quiet.