Icing PNG Images(3,000)
Then the chat log flickered. Not the in-game AI taunts. Something new.
[PLAYMAGiC] : Hello, Leo.
One of his own peons, harvesting gold from the mine, shuddered. Green text floated above its head: -5 HP. -5 HP. -5 HP. It turned red, convulsed, and died. From its corpse, a wisp of crimson smoke curled into the air, then split—hitting two nearby grunts.
Then his speakers crackled. A distorted, cheerful voice, like a children's toy being crushed, whispered:
The infection was no longer in the game. His CPU fan roared. His mouse cursor began to drift on its own, pulling toward the "Multiplayer" button.