Gamer's End
The Game Didn’t Kill Him — It Only Took His Life
The Premise: A father’s obsession with an immersive augmented reality game spirals from harmless distraction into a deadly cycle of neglect, proving that the ultimate cost of "winning" might be the only life that actually matters. For Fans Of: Black Mirror meets Beautiful Boy (or Uncut Gems for the sheer anxiety). The Context: While the setting is a near-future techno-dystopia, the mechanism here is timeless: dissociation. This story acts as a visceral metaphor for the loops we get stuck in to avoid pain, and explicitly illustrates "generational trauma"—how we inadvertently teach our children our own dangerous coping mechanisms. Why Read: If you have ever caught yourself doom-scrolling to numb out, or worry about the habits you are modeling for your children, this story is a necessary, dark mirror. The Runtime: 6 min.
I haven’t eaten in days. Over the weekend I stopped and scarfed a bag of burgers, but that only happened because my phone died. When I plug it in it takes a few. So I ate.
On Monday I dipped into my shrinking cash reserves for extra battery packs. But my heart still thunked into my ribcage at the thought of going dark again, so I got another phone, too. Plus I can use the second one as a tracker, so I don’t have to take my eyes off the first.
Anyway, haven’t eaten since then. Honestly not sure if I drank water either, although I must have, I think, during a bathroom break sometime. Swigged some when I splashed my face. My brain’s somewhere else the whole time—no recall. But yeah, I probably did. Or else I just don’t get thirsty anymore. Maybe that’s what true dehydration feels like? Would I even know?
I have managed to take care of my hygiene, mostly, though I can feel that slipping as well. Sometimes I’m too exhausted, so I flop into bed a sweaty mess. If I keep going, I’ll stop bathing soon. I haven’t brushed my teeth much—once every few days. I’ve considered cutting back on bathroom breaks by getting waterproof gear. The thought crossed my mind, and didn’t even sicken me. Except that would tap me out, and I need every last nickel to feed my addiction. So I have to.
I’ve caused accidents more and more lately. Poles and pedestrians, even a few cars. The sidewalk scrapes were bump and bruise, but what happened on the street was near-fatal. Altercations, too, some that I barely got out of with my face intact. Quick to aggression at the start, I’d come to and back down when things got thorny, so I never got into any outright brawls—but one of these days...anything, when it comes to furthering the game.
Then there were the run-ins with cops. Not only did I fail to notice them when I should’ve—when they’d call for my attention I’d keep ignoring them, hoping they’d go away.
You can see how jacked my state of mind is, that I’d even think such a thing was possible.
Once they had me, there wasn’t much I could do. I had to look up and pretend to pay attention, even with my mind a million miles away. They could tell, and it pissed them off, but I also came off a little batshit, so they went easier than they could’ve. Probably the only thing that saved me from jail.
My tightest escape involved a harrowing few minutes when a cop tried to flag me down. I sped up to avoid him, but he made a run at me and nearly took me out. There might’ve been a gun, too. I remember a glint. He would’ve been within his rights, too—I was flat-out resisting arrest.
The danger didn’t even cross my mind. I had to keep playing, that was all my mind was looping on. On pure instinct, I was trying to get away before he had a chance to stop the game.
It took a few minutes to realize what I’d done, and with that cold recognition of danger came enough fear to stop me. I went home, my chest pounding. The one-and-only time I put a stop to my own madness.
I can’t say for sure how long I’d been at it when that happened. Felt like years, but it can’t have been more than a few months. I know this because of the news reports, how the game was soon to become available for wide release after a successful beta, and how any interested players had better log on early and get a codename—the good ones were going fast.
Just months, from entertaining distraction to death-by-cop flirtations. Because at first it was a blast. I was advancing fast and having fun.
I bested my neighbors, then my whole town. Soon I was regional champ, riding high.
It’s strictly a game of chance, so it wasn’t like there was any strategy involved. Just like a casino, the only ones really in control are the owners. But that didn’t matter. I was playing so much I had a winning percentage, better than most, and that was enough.
Those were heady times, before the obsession took hold. I felt confident in my ability to play without difficulty. Despite the breathless reports of early adopters, those lucky few selected to beta-test, along with some who cheated their way in, I wasn’t convinced. Far from the fear of a relentless addiction taking hold, I wasn’t even sure if I’d like the damned thing.
With a history of obsessive gaming that landed me in Gamblers Anonymous, you’d be right in wondering why I started at all. It seems insane, looking back, but this wasn’t a casino. There was no money involved. Not exactly. They suck you in in other ways.
I created my own downsides, though, completely foreign to most normal, casual gamers. Even the obsessive ones would cringe at my lunacy.
For one, I’m deathly afraid of losing my place, of having my scores and winnings erased by some server glitch or cyberattack. So I take it to extremes. I’ve even gone to the point of date-stamping my progress on a daily basis, screen-capturing my status and backing it up to multiple servers. All so I’ll have proof to send in if the worst should happen.
I even considered delving into the proprietary code, data-mining my account so the raw numbers would be there for me to provide them, should the need occur. Once I started looking into that idea, though, the legal ramifications smacked me in the face, causing such a panic attack that I didn’t dare log in with my primary account for a full two hours, just to make sure they weren’t monitoring my online activities side-by-side.
The first time I stumbled onto a game hack, I was crushed. It was like finding all your presents ten days before Christmas, tucked in the corner of your Dad’s study. And worse than that, you’re sure there are a few too many to be just from Mom and Dad. But you hope beyond hope that you’re wrong, because if you’re right, it ruins everything.
That’s what the hack represented. It ruined everything. Any remaining fun I might’ve had would be ruined. It would be too easy. There would be no challenge. The thrill of the hunt was gone.
Addict that I was, I bounced back quickly and with a vengeance. So what if I cheat? I can win that much more quickly, right? I can score higher, advance faster, and beat the game like no one ever before. I threw myself back into the obsession full bore, and things got even worse.
It got so that when the hack was patched, I was pissed. Upset when it turned up, upset when it was taken away. By then I was, literally, never satisfied. Right around that time I started having serious issues with hyperventilating. That sense of panic when you don’t have enough time? That was me, every minute. I couldn’t even sit, I stood up most of the time, like I had somewhere to go.
It’s amazing I can write this at all, given that I’ve still got the bug real bad. I guess writing about it is sort of connected to being there, so my brain halfway accepts it. I can’t explain why, but it works like that.
Somewhere along the line, I lost touch with humanity. The real world encroachment happened first. Either people would try and help to the point where I lashed out, at which point they would withdraw, or else I’d simply cease communicating with them. Friends first, then family.
Last to go were my allies in the game. Either I ignored them until they went away, or else my obsession soured them. I can’t say as I blame them. I was in it for myself, and I was sacrificing them left and right to suit my ends. I was constantly switching sides, lining up with those I thought would best suit my goals. They were good natured about it for a while, but it grew old. Finally I was left to hunt my whale alone.
My immediate family, my boy and my wife, were still around, but I wasn’t in a space to acknowledge their presence, let alone act as father or husband. The really crazy thing is, they were playing with me for a while. Those allies I talked about? My wife and kid were among them. We even had a good time of it for a while. They seemed as into it as I was, or at least somewhat close. They even played when I was out doing other things—back when I did other things. And we’d get together and compare notes, praised each other for good moves and for advancing the cause. And we even did other things in between the gameplay, just like a regular family. Out and about and having a good time. Getting some sun, exercising, exploring. It was great.
But they dropped off eventually, just like everyone else. First physically, when they tired of the game, and then emotionally when they tired of me still playing it.
I wasn’t worth talking to anymore, so they stopped trying. At some point we were just ignoring each other, a trio of strangers sharing a room. They stayed connected with each other for a time, ignoring me, but even that grew strained—I made things untenable for anyone trying to live in that house.
They finally left. I knew it was final when they said their goodbyes in the virtual space, too. Even after I tuned out the real world, I was still reachable in there, until the family was gone. After that, even virtual interaction became untenable for me. The game took over completely.
I started ignoring messages from people I used to enjoy responding to, and when even the alerts started interfering, I tuned those out too. All but the vital ones. For that, I used a specially designed filter—only strictly game-related messages were allowed in. Nobody could reach me. I was lost to the world. And still I played, even if I didn’t know why anymore. Nothing mattered but the game.
Post Script
They say you learn your lesson when the pain gets great enough. That’s a hard false. Even the death of my girl didn’t knock any sense into me.
Not even that.
It was my fault, too. She, like me, had taken to the game, then taken it to an obsessive end. I thought she hadn’t gone to my extremes. That she wouldn’t. I wasn’t worried about her, more knotted up in my own issues, my own pain. But I should’ve known. Should’ve seen it coming. She was so much like me.
She was using one of my techniques, a dangerous maneuver that I never should’ve been doing, never mind showing my kid. She copied her old man and paid the price. Now tell me how you live with that.
And you know the real kicker? I still haven’t quit. That’s how powerless I am. Oh, I did for a while. Swore off. Stayed away. Even started to build an existence back for a few months after the funeral. But I couldn’t stay away, not in the end. And if losing her didn’t stop me, nothing will. It’s exacted such a price already, I’ll be playing catch-up forever. The pleasure’s gone, obsession is all that remains.
It owns me now.
She deserved the life I robbed her of, so now I rob myself of life to make up for it. Not with a quick suicide, no—much as I’d thought about it. That’d be too easy. Instead I waste away, endlessly absorbed, till it drains me dry.
But only if I don’t win first.
Very sad, and the scariest part is this could easily happen to anyone and it probably already has.
Good story 🔥👍🏼