It begins rather uneventfully. I play computer games, I am what people might call a "gamer." I own a fair amount, but only play one or two. At EBX, or Electronics Boutique eXpress, I see a new game, one that I've never played (or, really, seen) before. It is called Galaxies. Star Wars Galaxies: an Empire Divided. It piques my interest, standing out from all the other games in stock because it comes in such a large box. And so it began last August, so began my first dab in the virtual, online worlds of Galaxies.

When I say virtual worlds, I literally mean just that. Imagine hundreds of thousands -- nay, millions of people all gathered together for playing a game. Impossible, I thought, but it proved very possible indeed. You can be anyone you want to be in this world, and there are quite a few routes your 'avatar' can take along the way. You can be a smuggler, a gunfighter, a dancer, a musician, a tailor, a chef, a gunsmith, a bounty hunter, an architect, a swordsman, an evil Imperial Enforcer or a courageous leader of the rebellion against them. This might be a game, but it is the closest thing to a virtual world as it gets, and it is made to draw you in and keep you hooked and paying your "monthly fee" to the creators and maintainers, to keep chatting, hunting, and being someone you can't be in real life.

I say it's "made to draw you in," but it quite obviously failed for me. It wouldn't even run on my computer for days, and when it did, what I found wasn't all exciting. My first impression wasn't very good. It's just a bunch of Star Wars geeks, all gathered round the fire to share their stories and play out their geekish fantasy of being Han Solo or Luke Skywalker or whoever the hell it is they wanted to be, and that sure wasn't me. When I bought the game, they made me pay for future months before letting me play right now. I had expected this to be one of the best games I had ever played, better than Tetris was way back when, so I gave them my credit card number and paid for three more months of service. This was about to turn into the biggest waste of money since I paid for college classes I didn't need at the community college. After three hours of virtually walking around as a nobody in a virtual world surrounded by virtual folks I could just see as forty-year-olds living in their parents basement, wearing Chewbacca T-shirts and debating the finer points of being a Teras Kasi Student, over, say, a Novice Smuggler, I had enough. I tried to get my three months subscription back. It was too late, they don't give refunds, no exceptions. I cut my losses there, I didn't need the money that badly, and I had learned my lesson.

I would like to think that I'm not made of spare time, but that would be a lie. In September, without a girlfriend, unable to get more hours at work, and with former friends now out-of-state or too busy with school, I found myself once again booting up Galaxies. I picked up missions where I would go hunt nests of frogs or rabbits the size of Alaskan Huskies with nothing but a pistol and a general direction, to be rewarded with experience and credits. These credits could be used to buy better guns, to shoot more frogs, to collect more credits. Okay, so I found that part fun. So how do you spend these credits? There is no "general store" - you have to buy items from other "players" in the game. True, Star Wars geek #5673 had decided that, rather than be a pistol toting mofo, taking names and kicking butts, he would stay in his shop in the city, making pistols or armor or even food and shoes and fireworks.

My Gunsmith's name was Galic, my Armorsmiths name was Motor. For the right fee (ten thousand credits, or about fifteen frog hunting missions), Galic crafted me a sliced DH-17 Snub-Nosed Carbine with a short-range bonus. For the right fee (five hundred units of "leathery hide," or the skins of about a hundred huge frogs), Motor gave me a nice suit of Chitin armor. This was the most fun I had in this game to that point, I thought. But I'm not a Star Wars Geek. Maybe it wasn't too bad.

And so it was on Wednesday night, after coming home from school, nothing fun to do and no work until Sunday, I started Galaxies up again. My "avatar's" first name, Sepsis, and his last name, Autonomy, were taken from a song by Bad Religion I had been listening to. "And have they told you how to think? Cleansed your mind of sepsis and autonomy?" He was created in my image, only with bad sideburns, about thirty pounds skinnier, and the fact that he was a gun-toting badass. Excuse my language.

And so Sepsis Autonomy walked into the local cantina in Coronet, trying hard not to laugh as Star Wars geeks #5023, #5439 and #8732 were making their avatars' careers by making a band. A musical band, complete with poor instruments, a dancer, and approximately one song, if you could call it that. You need to play for so many people for so long until you "learn" more songs from the experience. The Star Wars geeks were still here.

But that isn't the story I'm telling you here. I walked into the cantina after a successful frog hunt, wearing the skins of my enemies, toting a custom made, pitch-black instrument of death. I was simply intending to watch the "band" play for a few minutes to alleviate my "battle fatigue," which is a condition in the game built to make me go and watch the geeks perform their rendition of "StarWarsSong01." It was there where I met another hunter by the name of Kence (no last name), asking me if I wanted to hunt some big game. I had no idea what big game was, but I agreed. After a minute of listening to the band, we set off and out of city with nothing but some badass weapons, the remains of our enemies, and a general direction. We swim over one river, two rivers, now three. We have been chatting on the way. Kence is twenty and from Detroit... he is a Red Wings fan. But that's okay, this is the virtual world... and I for one accept the notion that he can't help the imperfections he was born with, no matter what they may be. He is also a college student, going to the University of Utah, or so he says. I have no way of finding any of this out, and I have no inclination to even if I could.

Four kilometers and fifteen minutes later, we arrive at our destination. I see five more people, each with a tag after the name above their heads saying . "Are you?" Not quite… it stands for some obscure name, and it stands for a player guild, or a collection of players that get online and play together. We are here to hunt big game, and we waste no time.

The animals in this game are all completely weird. We start off hunting Dire Cats, which are a nice cross between lion and ugly, and quite dangerous to take on alone. This is pretty fun, all these RU guys seem to be all right, and the "experience points" that let me buy better weapons and such start piling up. Soon we move on to these stranger looking creatures, which I can only describe as moody giraffes with mohawks that try to trample you if you give them a nice blast with a carbine, rather than run away like all the other species of the animal kingdom. These too give off good experience, and their hides and bones will make good armor and mementos. Soon it gets late and we all part ways. Kence invites me to come to his house. His virtual house. Uh-oh, my mind knew, Star Wars geek #4,322. But my prejudices were soon overcome by my rationality. I'm twenty minutes and four rivers from the nearest town, traveling on foot. Why not just "log out" of the game at this guy's virtual house?

And so my Wednesday evening was spent. Fast forward to tomorrow. Same story as before; I end up loading Galaxies on my computer. Kence is online and wants to hunt again. We are both near his house so it isn't long until we meet up. He has found some Grondas, and he wants me to hunt them with him. Grondas are the genetic mix-up of elephants and my freshman history teacher, and are led by an even bigger creature called a Gronda Patriarch. When I ask the game how hard these things are in combat, it replies with a terse "this is instant death." Lovely.

However, this is Sepsis Autonomy we're talking about, the gun-toting badass not afraid of death every once and a while, not the college student in need of a haircut trying to get more hours at work or something to do on Thursday night. And so we set off once again with our weapons and a general direction, and within a minute I am seeing a Gronda herd and two Gronda Patriarchs the size of four story office buildings. Kence decides our tactics. He has a pistol, I have a carbine... a longer ranged pistol. Both can do a maximum of about 150 damage, when immobile and firing at targets not trying to kill you. The Gronda patriarch has about 15,000 "hit points" - or the amount of damage it can absorb before it falls down in a thundering moan of defeat. More on that later.

Our tactics are simple. We shoot and we run. The Gronda Patriarch might be big enough to squash us both in a few smashes, but not if it can't catch us. It isn't too good at running up hills, but there are no mountains around... only a nice "trench" between the herd and us. Plus, there are two of us and one of him. We can split up and take turns running like an Ethiopian to a hamburger stand.

Before we have time to refine our tactics, Sepsis aims and fires a volley into the rear of the Patriarch. What can I say, he just doesn't wait around for that kind of thing. Before I get another shot off, Kence has fled like a madman away from me, the Gronda target, before death in the form of 15,000 hit points comes with all its fury. I shoot another blast, and another. I am doing no real damage to this icon of "instant death," and by now it is fully awake and charging at me like a middle linebacker. Another volley, I miss the huge creature somehow. Another volley, I hit for an insignificant amount. The ground is shaking, and Sepsis, being the brave soldier he is, flees from the creature he disturbed, shooting ammo as fast as it can be spat and shedding armor like a Templar Knight with a bee invasion.

Death is crossing the trench when red streaks come from my left. Kence has not abandoned me, and is now on one knee taking careful aim at instant death, gradually dealing damage. Ten shots later, the Patriarch stops chasing me, and abruptly faces Kence. I am chasing after instant death and firing like mad when it crosses the trench again to attack my beloved Red Wings fan. I drop to a knee and take aim. Kence flees with a nice "aieeeee," Gronda in pursuit. Then, it stops after a hundred meters and attacks me again. I pack up camp and flee like the French army, Kence taking his turn to attack. After repeating this seven times, the Gronda Daddy isn't doing so hot. It is charging me again, but Sepsis stays put, and carefully aims a fully charged shot between instant death's eyes, stopping it in its tracks. Another shot and there is a deep, earth shattering moan in front of me, not quite unlike a water buffalo giving birth over a PA system. Instant death's life has gradually been pecked away at, and the energy blasted elephant keels over to his right, never to stand again. Timber! Kence jokes, followed by a crash that leaves a crater. Kence and I are victorious, and I take its nice elephant hide as a reward. I haven't had this much fun on a Thursday night in a while. I start virtually dancing over the carcass in my victory when I realize at this point that I am hooked. I set up a camp from the remains of Father Gronda, and after healing our wounds we set out for more hunting. I played until midnight.

So I haven't discontinued my subscription. Come October, I plan on paying again and playing again. This is a virtual world, albeit inhabited by some geeks, and a swell way to spend Wednesday Night, hunting Grondas and mohawk giraffes on planet Corellia. Sure, without this game, you can go out and hunt the big game of Colorado with a Red Wings fan for the experience points, then sell its skin to an armorsmith for some stylish protection from the animals and elements, etc... but you might have trouble explaining it all to the forest service. I'm glad I didn't give it all up back in August, and for Sepsis Autonomy, my gun-toting badass and newest groupie of the RU guild, well... he isn't none the worse either.