It had started off small, the odd bit of pinched stationary here and there, a cable or two. Then Aaron found he could alter the stockroom details, just with a mouse click. Again it was only small stuff to start with, an i-pod, a mobile phone. But as is the way with these things, once you get going and more confident of not being detected, the items taken get more ambitious. Of course, you can’t just walk out of the warehouse with a sixty inch flat screen television under your coat. No, it needs to be delivered. That was handy when you could snatch the details of someone’s credit card whilst it was transmitted wirelessly around the unsecured network of the local Indian Restaurant. Then all he needed was a delivery address; why not somewhere that was due for demolition in a few short days? The control centre operative in China driving the automated delivery truck via web cam wouldn’t question the surroundings. They have the address, and the tramp signing for the delivery looks over eighteen. Aaron simply hauled the stuff into his own car and off he went with the traceless loot. After creating a cubical out of three high definition; 3D televisions, wiring them up to his games console, he was ready to go gaming.
Thirty-six hours. Two Thousand One hundred and sixty minutes or 129,600 seconds. Either way Aaron looked at it, this time it had been an epic session. And yet the screens he had surrounded himself with still taunted him with the question, “Continue? Yes / No.” It was just as well he’d been zapped by ‘Ming 239’ just then because he didn’t want a repeat of the trouser accident he’d had several hours ago, or was that yesterday? Still, gaming in the nude had been an interesting experience, especially since he’d twittered the fact and now had four new friends who’d like to meet him in a more exclusive chat room. He put down the laser gun and stood up, cracking his joints as the nachos fell off his lap onto the floor. About him were several empty Indian takeaway trays, empty cans of Red Bull, and his own soiled trousers. The place reeked, but not as much as his breath, his teeth felt as if they wore fur coats. After performing a bodily function that didn’t just evaporate, setting the coffee machine for triple espresso with two sugars, he sat back on his swivel chair lifted his gun and blasted at “Yes”.
After forty eight hours Mrs Elizabeth Victor, his landlady, had had enough. The noise pumping through the walls sounded like a warzone and the other residents were complaining just as loudly. She had been hammering on the door for a full ten minutes now and was convinced that she was being ignored. The time had come; she’d use her own key.
Aaron’s battle against the halitosis ridden monks of the Holy Order of Dawkinists had gone well. ‘Ming239’ had been blasted to pieces by a missile fired from one of his own drones and now combat had to be joined against the big boss of this sector. He was the only one with the XP high enough to go up against this evil bastard, the third incarnation of the Soviet Hitler. With energy packs charged, medi-kits on standby and the words of Grand Master Tim ringing in his ears, Aaron blasted ‘Yes’ to ye holy question of continuance. Pouring the last of the Red Bull over his head, Aaron made sure the salsa he’d been using as war paint hadn’t washed off, re-applying in places with curry sauce. Now fully camouflaged head to toe, Aaron blazed a whole magazine away on fifty of the Devotees of the Undecided Pilgrim, earning himself twelve ‘woops’ and four ‘lols’ from his fellow crusaders. But just then, the evil of the enemy showed a new skill. From behind him, emerging from and silhouetted by a portal of blinding light and hellish smoke, a new demon bellowed out “What the bloody hell is goin’ on ‘ere?!” Wasting no time, he swung around his weapon, selected the RPG launcher and let rip the awesome firepower. The demon screamed an ungodly scream as it was forced back into the hell dimension from whence it came, sealing the portal behind it. Reloading his weapon and facing front, a wave of pure joy swept over Aaron as the immortal line of “Congratulations Crusader, you have defeated the Atheist Bishops, Continue? Yes / No.” Knocking back a cold triple espresso with two sugars and a jalapeño garnish, Aaron screamed “Hell Yeah!” and got transported into the next level.
The landlady unlocked the door, opening it up in one full swing. She took a step inside, little expecting the scene that greeted her. Sunlight poured into the room, illuminating a naked tenant sat surrounded by his own filth, shooting away at the most disgusting things she had ever seen on a television set. “What the bloody hell is goin’ on ‘ere?!” she tried shouting over the noise. The tenant spun around in his chair, eyes wide and bulging; streaked in blood and gore. She took a step back in surprise, accidently pressing her hand against the over boiling coffee maker by the door. Screaming, grasping her burned hand, she fell back into the corridor, the door closing on its spring. Getting back to her office, she called the police. The automated answering machine measured the stress in her voice, picked up the flagged words ‘Blood’ ‘Gun’ ‘Screaming’ and determined from the rest that she had been forcefully ejected from her own property. Moments later, four police cruisers and a van spewed their armed occupants out into her driveway. She watched horrified through her net curtains as, after a crashing of boots and doors and shouts of “Armed Police”, several shots rang out. Later, when she managed to peek inside, all she could see was a glowing choice.
Continue? Yes / No