My Friend Wardog

By Veronica Wiley

Click. Click, click. Beep, beep, beep. Click, click, click.

“Come on, Tazman! Where are you?” I shouted into my headset.

“On your six, but my computer’s lagging. I can’t shoot,” he answered.

“I’m hit! Where are you? Argh! I can’t….” Crash! My controller hit the wall as my avatar fell to the digital dirt. I ran my fingers through my overgrown black hair and stared at the hundreds of dollars of armor I’d have to buy all over again. In this game you didn’t just lose when you died; you lost everything.

“Are you okay, Marcus?” My mom’s muffled voice came from down the hall.

“Yeah,” I swallowed hard and then called back at her, “just dropped something.”

“That was pretty loud for just dropping something.” Her voice grew closer.

“I’m fine, Mom!” I bit my thumbnail and stared at the KILLED text flashing over my avatar’s dead body. How could I tell her I just threw a two-hundred-dollar controller at the wall? I shoved my gaming chair away from the desk and stood. My mom’s shadow appeared under the closed bedroom door. “You can go.” Her shadow silently left my doorway. I huffed and picked up my controller. It had dented the wall where it hit but seemed fine.

“Shit,” I growled under my breath and then pushed A, clearing the offensive screen away. I set my controller on the desk, glad it wasn’t broken. I knew Tazman’s computer hadn’t been lagging. Somebody had paid him to join my co-op and bring my rank down. It always happened like this. I walked over to my twin bed and flopped down. How could I recoup the money? As a high school kid, I didn’t earn much.

Bleep! My head snapped toward my monitor. Highlighted at the top of my screen was a yellow notification. Probably the idiot trying to explain away why he’d let me die. I walked over to the computer and clicked on the notification. It was an invitation to join a co-op.

“Pssh!” I hovered the stylist over decline and then stopped. It wasn’t the idiot. I dropped into my chair and read the message. WardogCellMonkey had sent a join request within fifteen minutes of my avatar dying and selected donate prize coin to revive ally character. This would allow me to join his team and, if we won the mission, recover my lost gear. I clicked accept and then wondered if it was another trick. My screen flickered to the team screen, where I could see a thick and heavily armored man under the text WardogCellMonkey and another player under the text Jubilant, a female with short purple hair and gear that made her look like she belonged on a SWAT team. It was too late to turn back now. I selected my avatar and chewed my thumbnail.

The team screen faded into a sandy landscape. The countdown screen took over and blue numbers flashed one at a time: Five, four, three, two… I put my headset on. One. I was now in a land of sandy dunes with distant dusty cyclones swirling between cacti and a clock ticking down overhead. We had twenty minutes to finish the mission. WardogCellMonkey stood on my left, and Jubilant stood at my right.

“Ya made it!” Shouted a gruff male voice in my ear.

“I couldn’t pass up the opportunity.” As I spoke, we began our trek and the first monsters that popped out of the sand were a group of small alien creatures that charged at us like bulldogs, drooling and all. We were quick to fire, and the enemies’ heads exploded in a burst of yellow goo.

The rest of the trek to the boss was filled with easy conversation and various monsters who gradually became more difficult to defeat. Wardog and Jubi asked about my previous missions, my day, and how long it’d taken me to get to the level I was at. Though it was just the three of us, we swept the Cactus Valley at rapid speed. Wardog provided cover while Jubi and I rushed the enemies. It wasn’t long before we reached the boss, a giant, ugly, yellow, eight-tentacled alien with an eye on each side of its head and warts everywhere.

“Wanna keep with the current strategy?” Wardog asked as the massive creature emerged from the sand like a crab on a sandy beach. Wardog’s voice sounded familiar but his speech pattern was different from anyone I’d talked to recently. I wondered if he was using a voice-altering device to make himself sound older. He switched from his rifle to his rocket launcher and hoisted it onto his shoulder, ready to fire.

“We have to hit its eyes,” I answered. “I think we should switch tactics. Each eye rejuvenates over time.”

“Gotchya. So, what do you suggest?” Wardog braced himself as the alien’s tentacles began swirling around it and the monster turned an eye toward us.

“Me and Jubi distract it. Wardog, you’ve got the launcher, so you try to hit its eyes.” I sidestepped away from him as the tentacles slammed down and swirled the sand around us.

“Good plan. Have you done this one before?” asked Wardog.

“Not this one, but I did complete the Ice Caves, which was similar.” I answered.

“Great talk, you guys, but we’re running outta time.” Jubi interrupted.

Wardog ran to one of only three boulders surrounding the monster and took cover. Jubi and I began shooting and did our best to dodge the many legs thrashing around us while firing and reloading. Click, click. Bam! I heard the rocket launcher and saw Wardog had taken a shot. The missile whistled as it flew overhead and exploded in the monster’s eye. The creature blinked, and one tentacle retracted to shield the eye while it slowly recovered, giving us one less tentacle to dodge. We continued to draw the monster’s attention and take the HP down on the eye farthest from Wardog while he repeated the pattern for the next two eyes. One more to go and just a minute left on the clock. Click, click… The first eye was almost rejuvenated, and I wondered if we’d make it in time. Bam! The last eye was down. The first eye’s HP bar continued blinking. Did we make it? The screen froze, and the words VICTORY flashed over the battlefield.

“We did it!” I shouted, too loudly.

“Yeah, we did! You got your avatar back.” Wardog sounded truly happy for me.




The days passed like this. I went to school, came home, logged in and played online with Jubi and Wardog, and did my homework after midnight. Then it finally happened. I went to my normal hangout at school during lunch, and no one was there. My would-be friends had officially abandoned me. I sat by the wall. Alone. When I got home, I walked into my room and threw my bag on the floor. Why was it so hard, and what was the point? Why did I even care? I sat down in my gaming chair and logged in to my computer. Jubi and Wardog were always on when I got home. I had concluded that they were both college students, probably at the same college. I clicked chat and put on my headset. “Hey,” I said, hoping they’d be glad to hear me.

“Waaaazzzuuup!” Bellowed Wardog.

“The heck?” I asked, wanting to laugh at him but couldn’t. “Looks like you completed a couple more missions without me.” They’d climbed five ranks since we last played.

“Tryin-ah to catch up to you. It’d be awesome if we were one, two, and three.” Wardog sang.

“Me one,” I joked, then cringed. What if they thought I was too competitive?

“A new PVP showed up in the mission feed. Wanna co-op it?” Jubi offered.

“Sure.” Wardog opened a co-op and sent us invites. We were then in an abandoned two-story warehouse surrounded by steel beams, filtered sunlight, and empty crates stacked against walls casting shadows across the first floor. We walked in triangle formation, protecting each other’s blind spots, prepared for ambushes.

“How was your day?” Wardog inquired as he shot at a player who’d jumped out at us.

“It was crap,” I grumbled. We were fired on again, and I couldn’t see where the shots came from. Wardog switched to his rocket launcher and let out a missile. Ssssssssssss…. Boom! The missile landed on the upper level of the building, and a few avatars flew into the air. The firing stopped. “Most of us end up at dead-end jobs we hate, anyway.”

“Tell me about it,” Wardog urged.

“I don’t want to whine,” I cautioned. Wardog made a grunting noise that was barely audible through my headset, and I wondered what his face looked like.

“What if we promise we won’t take it that way?” Jubi probed.

“Just remember you asked for it. Every day I’m an outcast at school, even among other gamers,” I griped. “I used to play in a group of kids I grew up with. But when we got into high school, they told me I’m too competitive, and that makes them irritated when they play with me in a co-op. So I climbed in the ranks of each new live game on my own, and they fell behind. I tried sharing how to be successful, but they snarked at me and said I needed to stop thinking I’m better than everyone else.” Another group of ten players jumped out from behind some crates and surrounded us. We all fired and dodged attempts of physical attacks. “They always talked to each other about how hard it was or the latest cheat codes.” I continued as I slammed the butt of my rifle against an enemy’s head. “I don’t care about those. I want to win because I’m just that good. I even tried to make new friends and fit into other groups, but all that did was get me bullied. And today, they finally ditched me.”

“Have you shared this with anyone close to you?” Jubi asked.

“Nobody,” I choked. Wardog mumbled and took out the last of the enemies. We won.

“I just want out,” I said as the warehouse faded back to the main screen. “Not just out of school, out of this life.” I finally said what I’d been wanting to say all along.

“You should probably share this with your parents,” suggested Wardog.

“I can’t. They would just blame it on the gaming,” I explained.

“I think your parents may understand more than you think,” suggested Jubi.

“I don’t need anyone telling me to talk to my parents, alright. They don’t get it. They want me to be just like them, but I’m not like them. I’m not like anyone. Just forget I said anything.” I disconnected the audio and ripped off my headset. I was so tired of hearing how I needed to talk to somebody.

Bleep. A chat box popped up on my computer screen. It was Wardog. We’re just trying to help since we can’t actually be there in person, ya know, he said. I stared at the text and rested my chin on my palm. Then another textbox popped up: What about that kid with the orange hair? I think Jubi and I saw him on your profile. You two seemed pretty close. The hair stood at the back of my neck. How far had they dug to find a picture of him? I thought I’d deleted all of them after he’d swung a punch at me in technology class.

Just forget about it, I typed, I’m fine. Then a thought flitted through my head. What if they were kids from school? I went to my profile and couldn’t find a picture of Ben, the carrot top. This could all be a scheme to humiliate me. I opened the internet browser and started looking for ways to sell my account. If no one was happy with who I was, at least I could leave my parents some money.

The next day I told my mom I was sick, and she didn’t argue. I cracked my door open and heard her calling clients and rescheduling appointments. She was probably doing it to make sure I didn’t game all day. My dad had already left the house. I looked at my computer. I had turned it off the night before, and the black screen stared at me accusingly. My face burned with regret when I remembered what I’d shared. I shut my door and crawled back into my bed and covered my head again with the blanket.

Moments later my mom opened the door. “Honey, are you in here?” I groaned an answer from under the bed sheets. The edge of the bed sank as she sat down and then I felt the weight of her hand on my back. “I know you’re not sick,” she rubbed my back. “I called in for you anyway.” My eyes burned, and I bit my lip. “Okay. When you want to talk, I’ll be here.” The bed shifted as she rose, and a cold spot was left on my back where her hand had been. When I heard the door click, I peeked out from under the blanket. She was gone. I covered my head and swallowed a lump in my throat.

I fell asleep at some point. The sun was almost down when I opened my eyes. I turned to the computer wanting to play, but after last night I had a bad feeling about Wardog and Jubi. Who were they? How did they know so much about me? I didn’t want to face them, and that soured the game for me. I now had nowhere to hide. I flopped over on my back and stared at the poster of Phantom Hero XV I’d taped to the ceiling, trying to figure out what to do when I heard my mom greet my dad downstairs.

“Marcus!” He bellowed. I huffed and rose from the bed. Still in my pajamas, I slumped down the stairs to meet my dad. “Good morning.” He criticized. “Go in the living room and sit down.” I did as he asked and covered my face with my hands. My head hurt. Within minutes they joined me, sitting in their armchairs, and I folded my arms over my chest.

“Marcus,” my dad began, “we’d like you to tell us what’s been going on.”

“About what? About school? About my friends?”

“This attitude doesn’t come out of nowhere,” my dad said, furrowing his brow.

“I don’t want to talk. You guys always say the same thing: quit gaming, go outside, find new friends. Well, I can’t.”

“Hiding from your problems won’t help you.” He scolded me, and I looked away.

“I don’t need help.” I argued.

“What’s really going on?” He looked at my mom, and I clenched my jaw. “This isn’t going anywhere.” He mumbled. She whispered something back. “Alright, fine.” My eyes darted back toward him ready for the punishment. “Your mom wants me to share something with you.” I narrowed my eyes at his gentler tone. “Maybe you’ll be a little more honest with us after hearing this.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “We do understand the world you’re growing up in is a bit different than the one we grew up in.” He eyed me carefully, but there was no bitterness in his gaze. “So, we… Well, we started online gaming to learn about what you enjoy so much.”

“Ah… okay. Cool… I guess?” My eyebrows raised.

“Marcus, I am Wardog and your mom is Jubilant.”

“What?” I whispered. “Last night I…”

“It’s the most honest you’ve been with us in years,” my mom said. “And I hope you’ll keep being that honest.” She leaned forward. I could tell she wanted to hug me, but I felt betrayed. They’d snuck into my sanctuary and disguised themselves as friends to bait me into telling them things I wanted to hide.

“We understand you better now,” my dad said, and I opened my mouth, ready to attack him, “and we’d like you to tell us more about pro gaming.” My mouth closed. I tilted my head to the side, not really trusting him. “You told us that many of the players were gone because they were at the tourney.” I nodded slowly. “Is this something you can make a living off of?” I nodded again.

“We’d like to support you in that if it’s something you’d like to do.” 

All the anger I’d felt toward them evaporated.




Veronica Wiley is an emerging writer (unpublished) currently who completed her bachelor’s degree in English and Creative Writing at Southern New Hampshire University in May 2025 and is now working on her MFA in Creative Writing. She has finished writing her first full length historical fiction novel and hopes to be traditionally published soon. During her time finishing her degree she has completed the W.R.I.T.E. Challenge, an internship as a content writer for Marketing Choices, and various workshops and projects. After completing her degree she hopes to work in an editing position with a publishing company while continuing to write novels and short stories for readers to enjoy.