There are designated zones in the Second Life world where shooting and killing other players is permitted. I’ve stayed out of those zones. I haven’t really troubled to learn much about combat. I have no weapons, and not much interest in that subsection of the game, concentrating more on learning to build things and make money.
And yet I’ve encountered an unforseen setback in my plan to amass my Second Life fortune. Yesterday, I was shot by a hitman.
I was enjoying the ocean air on a seaside boardwalk when a resident came along, and spoke to me.
“Macon Hay, I presume?” he said. This must have been for dramatic effect, because no presumption was necessary. In Second Life, every player’s name is constantly hovering over his head. The stranger’s name was “Cameron Romeo,” and one look was enough to show that this was a hardened killer, immune to pleas of mercy or human kindness. See for yourself:
Okay, that’s just a doodle of him. I didn’t have time to get a screenshot, sorry. Anyway, Romeo here informed me there was a contract on my life, a contract he had come to fulfill. He spoke using overly prosaic sentences, with frequently misspelled stylistic flourishes. I asked who hired him, and he answered, “Regretibly, you are not privlaged to that contractaul information.”
Romeo hinted that I could avoid death by paying him some unspecified amount. I began to get suspicious: Macon Hay isn’t in any way prominent in this world, and hasn’t done anything to attract enemies. Perhaps there was never any “contract” on me; this was just Cameron’s little way of making a living, shaking down noobs. Anyway, I would rather die than pay tribute. And I’d rather run away than die.
Ignoring the clear rules against gunplay in no-combat zone, Romeo drew his cannon and blasted me, knocking me backwards — but I wasn’t dead. So I instantly teleported to the New Citizens Plaza, where I had a few friends. (The New Citizens Plaza is the place with that ten-dollar stipend orb I showed you on Friday.)
Would you like to see my friends? Oh yes, trust me, you would. Here are Sinestra, with the pink skin and fishnet, and Rowan, in the harem girl costume. Rowan jingles when she walks.
Romeo followed me into the New Citizens Plaza, which was a big mistake. Rowan took one look at him and commanded him to put away his weapons. Romeo refused. (”I’m afriad no such action will be forthecomming,” he intoned.) There was a tense standoff for awhile, between the assassin and the odalisque, but there was really no question of who would triumph. Rowan banished Cameron from the Plaza; he can never set foot in there again now.
Rowan and I both filed “abuse reports” with the Lindens (the folks who run the game). I haven’t seen Cameron Romeo again. He might be suspended from playing for a few days. He might even be banned forever. Or he might have just learned not to mess with Macon Hay.