I stole some shoes.

So, context, this takes place in a Multi-User Dimension, or MUD. These are text-based multiplayer worlds. They feature a room structure, and are navigated by typing commands like ‘go north,’ or even just ‘n’ for short. It might sound like I am embellishing this story -- after all, it’s purely text, how could such detail happen -- but I promise, I’m not. This is merely how I remember it. You sorta have to be a MUD player to understand. You don’t remember the text -- you remember entering the room, and having the floor drop out from under you as you fall into the waiting clutches of the rancor (or in this case, cave troll). You remember the utter panic when a roleplaying Poleepkwa tosses a grenade towards you and some socializing friends. You remember the heat from the sun in the vast hidden menagerie, where balrogs, sheep, and centaurs peacefully walked side by side. You remember watching as that same Poleepkwa stomps into the center of town riding a mecha, grabbing statues of AFK players and hurling them into the ocean. You remember the glint in the eye of your brother-in-mischief as he details his latest plan to become to richest players on the server. 

I digress. There’s a lot of memories associated with that world. Rire Makar, my half-elven persona that carried a couch everywhere in case of spontaneous parties. Rae, my friend, ally, and one of the most powerful players on the server, eventually becoming a creator herself. Jurasskick-Park, my brother-in-mischief who broke the economy with me twice, the first involving a refilling coin purse and the second a cave troll’s dirty loincloth. Grexxiataag, the terrorist Poleepkwa… and alternate account of mine, which I used to make all of our lives a little more exciting. 

The guilt, though, lies in the story of a new player on the server. One named Bilbo (creative, right?). He was a halfling, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, and he had something I wanted. 

Fun fact about this server: playerkilling was entirely disabled. All the shenanigans I did with Grexxiataag were carefully considered to get around the rules, and each exploit was patched when the admin saw me do it. So, to kill, I had to get creative, and use a method that still worked and wouldn’t get me caught.

There were four items on the server that could not be acquired by any means, save for gaining the favor of an admin. They were a pair of flying sneakers -- free, permanent flight. Considering the only other way of gaining flight, a jetpack, was a) unreliable, b) limited, and c) removed from the game due to a certain Poleepkwa’s shenanigans with it, these sneakers were the most valuable item in the game. Though not ever strictly necessary, with flight you could break the game in a myriad of crazy ways, which appealed to mischief-minded users like myself. 

Rae had a pair. Jurasskick-Park had a pair. A third pair was in the hands of one of the other powerhouse kingpins of the server. The fourth and final pair, somehow, was owned by Bilbo.

Who knows what he did to get them -- either the admin was feeling very generous, or he was a friend of his. That didn’t matter to me. I saw him wearing those shoes and formulated a plan.

I followed him for a while, skulking out of sight, until I saw him struggling to figure out how to level up. Sensing opportunity, I entered the room and introduced myself. I showed him how to level up, and explained how the experience system works. He asked me about quests, and I told him about a few. One I put some emphasis on was a secret involving the old well outside of town, which I saw him looking at before. Upon hearing I knew how to solve it (it could only be done with the help of a second player) he was ecstatic, and asked if I’d help him.

I, of course, agreed.

The old well was a small secret, but baffling to someone exploring on their own. At the bottom, there were some unlabeled controls and a large metal door, as well as some drainage pipes. If you manipulated the levers, you could open and close the drainage pipes, as well as toggle the metal door. However, opening the metal door revealed a small room with a second door beyond it, and that door would only open when the first door was closed. Due to the fact that the controls were outside the first door, there was no easy way to get past the second without a friend to toggle the levers. It was an airlock of sorts.

Bilbo and I climbed into the well, and I fiddled with the levers a bit. I made sure to drain out the chamber beyond, and then opened up the first door. He went in, I shut the first door, and opened the floodgates. I did not open the second door.

I heard his muffled voice through the door, saying that the room was filling with water. He sounded concerned at first, then panicked. I shouted back to hold his breath, the other door should open automatically, and waited. Eventually, his shouts cut off.

I knew I didn’t have much time before he respawned and came back here, so I worked fast. I quickly opened the first door, cast a special spell to be able to toggle the lever remotely, and went through. I scattered his belongings throughout the sewer that was beyond the second door, snatched the sneakers as well as some other worthless items, stuffed them in my bag, and sprinted back to where Bilbo was just now climbing down the well.

For 15 minutes, we worked to recover all of his stuff. I explained that the well must not have been drained for a long time, and that’s why the chamber filled and the door wouldn’t open. I heard it open just before he got back, and the water must’ve carried his gear with it through the sewer. He got almost everything back, save for a few things -- among them the sneakers. Eventually, he reasoned that a few of his items must’ve been swept away and despawned, and sighed dejectedly.

“Man. I really liked those sneakers. They made me feel special.”

“I’m really sorry, dude. We can keep looking -- maybe we missed a passage?”

“Naw, it’s alright. Thank you for all your help, Rire -- I think I’m done with this server, anyways. I was enjoying it, but losing those is disappointing. I really appreciate all you did -- sorry to just bail. You’re a good friend :)”

And with that, he left, with me feeling like I got punched in the gut.

Now, you know, I could probably rationalize my actions for this. Part of the game was finding ways to break it, a lot of us felt. Using tricks to kill another player totally qualifies for that. Of course, the fact that I was taking advantage of a new player and lying to his face really moves my standing towards being a huge jerk, but still. You did what you had to, sometimes. I wouldn’t forgive myself, but I could at least move on with that knowledge.

Yet there’s one tiny detail that shatters all those arguments. Something I left out.

You know the third pair of sneakers I mentioned? The one in the possession of “one of the other powerhouse kingpins of the server?” Well… That was me.

I already had a pair.

I saw Bilbo’s, and decided I wanted a spare.