"No, Mr Secca," the teacher, Ms Cross said, with exaggerated patience and turned to rewrite the formula she had not long removed from the board. "Remember, the correct formula is [cosx dx] equals [sinx] plus [c] where c is a constant." The bell erupted indicating the end of the class. The students automatically began to pack away their things. Ms Cross rolled her eyes heavenward. In their last year of sixth form, but they still acted like brats the moment the last bell rang. "Alright, your homework is due tomorrow, no excuses. That means you Miss Greene, I don't care that your dog likes to eat pens, write in pencil if you must."

A bored looking youth watched his classmates hurrying before making any effort to stuff his pens into his pencil case and closing his books. As he reached for his bag, two shadows fell over him, causing him to glance upward. Charlotte Hughes, a busty false blond and Lizzie Hayward, a skinny girl flaunting her Jackson and Miller branded earrings, stood before his desk. He inwardly sighed. "Hey there," he said, leaning back in his chair as if he had all the time in the world.

"Hey, Owen," Charlotte smiled, her lips painted red. "We were wondering if you were busy next weekend?"

Owen Miller hid a sneer. Ever since someone had figured out that he was the Miller in Jackson and Miller, he had gained unwanted attention. Not that the brand really had anything to do with him. "Yes, I am," he replied. He picked up his bag and threw his things inside.

"That's a shame," Lizzie said, softly, while Charlotte pouted.

"Isn't it?" The boy replied, lifting the back over his shoulder as he rose to his feet. These girls had a couple of inches height on him thanks to their six inch heels meaning when they weren't wearing such stupid shoes, they weren't much shorter than him. He had wild wavy blond hair that did not remain styled no matter which hair products he used. His facial structure was soft, with no strong features and he had a few freckles scattered over the bridge of his nose. His eyes were the only unusual thing about him as they were large with iris's of pale blue. This was a private school, so everyone here had some degree of wealth. The only thing these girls saw in him was background and that link was looser than they realised, otherwise they would not bother with him now.

"Well maybe another time?" Lizzie suggested, but before he could agree or refuse (he was undecided which choice to make), a face that didn't bother him so much appeared in the classroom doorway.

"Owen, I want to return the pen I borrowed," Alexandria Hamilton, his childhood friend called out.

Owen sighed and walked towards her. "Keep it," he told her.

Her eyes widened. "Are you stupid?" She blinked, glancing at the pen, tiny crystals embedded in the black enamel handle. "Isn't this from your brother's new collection?"

"Not my brother, but yes." Branded stationary, Owen thought the idea was ridiculous, but there were obviously people who liked it, otherwise it wouldn't be sold. He laughed at himself, who was he to mock their buying habits when he wasted money on things that could only be used in a game? Not that he regretted purchasing those things though. They looked cool on his avatar.

Alexandria rolled her eyes. "Step-brother then," she corrected herself. She looked at the pen once more and noticed the glances of sheer envy from the two girls behind Owen in the classroom. A slight smile appeared on her face. "I can keep it? Are you sure you don't want it back?" She held out her hand, which was pushed back into her chest. His fingers were long and pale, but warm. A slight blush rose upon her cheeks.

"I'm leaving now," Owen told her and she nodded and watched him walk down the school corridor.

*****

Owen's driver dropped him off outside his house. It was a six bedroom townhouse with state of the art kitchen and appliances, sparkling white bathroom suites, plush carpets and furnishings and commissioned artwork adorning the cream walls in select places. The cleaners had been and gone while he was at school and there was scent of polish and bleach remaining in their wake. He dumped his bag in the hallway with his shoes and coat and went to raid the kitchen fridge. However the left over pizza had been removed and several dishes tailored for nutritional value replaced them. He grimaced and shut the fridge door on these meals of doom, withdrawing the credit card his old man had left behind and ordered Chinese.

He went to his room and unlocked the door. He refused to let his father's hired minions into his space. He'd rather clean the room and ensuite himself than let them touch his stuff. However, it was still a boy's room. The double bed was unmade. There were empty cans of cola on the chest of drawers, windowsill and entertainment unit. His clothes were half heartedly folded on the drawers rather than in them and another pile was on the chair where he had dumped them after collecting them from the laundry room.

He stripped off his clothes and left them beside the laundry basket before having a quick shower and slipping into old sweatpants and a oversized hoodie, which had belonged to his ex. 

The Shadow Sergeant is what his character had been called when he had introduced Owen to the game.  Owen had been intrigued, he normally wasn't into post apocalyptic stuff as his knowledge of the genre included zombies and he hated horror.  But Our Final Hour didn't have zombies.  Instead, the end of the world had been brought on by scientists trying to create dimensional rifts into other places, but they lost control of the experiment.  Rifts opened all over the globe, ripping the fabric of time and space, causing destruction and mayhem in their wake.  The game was set sometime after this occurrence.  Rifts still occurred, which opened up into various types of dungeons, raids and battlegrounds and characters were scavengers and killers trying to survive.

After playing a guest character with his ex-boyfriend for a while, he was hooked. So when his father had visited the house, a few weekends later, he had asked the old man if he could get the game.  The old man hadn't asked any questions, simply handed over his credit card and warned him what would happen if his grades dropped again.  Owen had wanted to roll his eyes heavenward. 

It had only happened the once.  The younger him had desperately wanted his father's attention, but it was all reserved for his other 'sons' and his precious little princess.  So he had purposefully failed tests so his grades dropped as the high grades never resulted in anything.  His father had not come to see him.  Tutors had shown up at the door instead.  It had taken months to get rid of them.  He hadn't bothered to get his father's attention again.  Better to stay quiet in this empty house with the nanny and just accept the money instead.

So upon being handed the credit card, he had purchased a new console, the game and a limited edition controller specifically for the game.  The game was rated 16+, but he doubted he was the only underage player to sign up.  He'd spent hours on his avatar, unlocking some custom content with the credit card to give the character a unique style.  Finally satisfied, he had named the character, another challenge as it was hard to find names that had not been used already.  Requiem Knife was the name he had finally settled on and began to play as. 

The first few hours were harsh, he had stood out in his custom form, it was obvious he had spent extra money on it.  But another guy, One Fine Day, had shooed the haters away pointing out that they were just jealous and they could unlock some of the same content through certain conditions if they wanted.  Owen had found out later, though, that their luck would have to be amazing for that to happen in game.  Unzipping their wallets was definitely the more sure route.  One Fine Day had invited him to his faction Thirteen Levels of Purgatory, which for certain reasons, he had ended up taking over a year later.  One Fine Day was still in the guild logs as being a member, but he had not been online since handing over the reigns.

In his comfort clothes, Owen sank into a bean bag at the bottom of his bed before using various remotes to load up the wide screen television and console.  He fished out a slightly warm can of cola from beneath the bed.  He should purchase a fridge to hide his junk food in, he decided.  He entered his password into the game as he chugged down the fizzy beverage.

"Hey Requiem!" he was messaged from several faction members. 

"Hey," he responded in the faction chat window, before he jumped in his custom ride and headed to the Abandoned Factories to level by killing mutated rodents.  He'd purchased a new sword from the game shop the other day, his dad had left the credit card lying around and he'd been pissed off that it had spread around school that he was related to the C.E.O of Jackson and Miller, so he treated himself.

He only paused in levelling to answer the front door.  His dinner had arrived.  Spreading out his feast of egg fried rice, sweet and sour chicken, pork balls, spring rolls and wan ton noodle soup, he watched as the monsters respawned around him.  His avatar was in a one use safe zone, which used four refractors stuck in the ground around him, to keep monsters away.  He chatted lightly with his faction mates as he ate until satisfied.

"Hey, the Rift in Parched Borderlands should be reopening soon, want to go find it?" Fortune Favours the Foolish asked him.

"Sure."  He was invited to be leader of the five man party that was quickly arranged and they met up and headed out.  Unfortunately, they were not the first to find the Rift.  Rifts were essential for any faction, but a little annoying.  A player could only visit a number of rifts a day, some excuse about their in game bodies tearing up in the fabric of space and time or something.  There were differing restrictions on Rifts, such as this Rift that would only accept a team of five people entering it.  Others would accept six people or less or need more than ten people.  And once a team entered, the Rift opening would vanish and reappear elsewhere in the same zone, unless it was for a battleground. This one was not.

"Dammit," Fortune complained.  "That's Last Surviving Fortress."

"Again?" Complained Unholy Moon.

"I only count four," Giant Pain in the $$$ said.

"Well then, let's politely ask them to move," Fortune suggested.  Apparently they were not polite enough.  Unholy Moon admittedly was the first to let loose a strike, but Last Surviving Fortress were being unfair, their fifth player hadn't arrived yet, why should Thirteen Levels have to not only wait on that person, but then go search for the Rift again after they showed up?

Owen's Knife was about to slice Fortress's Lefty Righty a new smile when the fifth showed up.  It was the faction leader, Black Zeus.  Owen hated this guy.  He let pretty much anyone in his faction then used numbers to surpress the other guilds.

"Nice toy," Zeus said, sarcastically. "Another acquisition from the Shop?"

"Jealous much?" came Owen's retort. He swung using a sword skill, which Zeus barely dodged.

"Pretty weapons don't amount to much when the skills are still so weak," Zeus taunted.

"Ugh, you Last Fortress scum are so full of yourselves!" Owen responded, threw out a few random moves, losing his flow to his anger. "Just because you have the largest faction, doesn't mean you get rights to all the rifts!"

"Hmm, I thought it was first come, first serve," Zeus pointed out, ducking and dodging like a fairy.

"Bollocks! We made a team of five first and your team mates blocked us!" Owen pointed out.

"Still here first," Zeus's pipe struck away the katana and he then shot him, depleting his hitpoints. It was pretty much down hill from there. Other players from Fortress showed up and wiped the floor with them before they could call in their own reinforcements. Owen tossed his controller to one side and cursed.

"Bastard!"

Definitions;

Custom Content and Online Shop; I am sure anyone with a tablet or iPhone or android phone knows about 'in-game purchases' and stuff that can only be unlocked using real money. Same concept.

Zone; A named area/landscape in the game.

Safe Zone; a place where you can't be attacked and die. Something fictional!