Quest for Justice. Sean Wolfe Fay

players like to go hunting for Zombies and other mobs for sport. It’s great fun if you’re well prepared, and you can get some pretty valuable loot. I used to be one of those hunters, but ever since I passed level fifty, I don’t find it as fun as I used to. Now, I sell all the loot that I collected over the years, and I plan to buy an unsettled plot of land that I can build on.

      “Unfortunately, my supply has begun to dwindle, and now I need some help with my hunting while I tend the shop. I need players to go into the woods, kill all the monsters that they can find, and bring the loot back to me. The pay will be high. So, what do you say? Obviously I would be happy to lodge and feed you.”

      He looked at them expectantly. Stan, Kat and Charlie looked at each other. Stan was nodding, and Charlie was shrugging with a smile, so Kat said, “That sounds good. Thank you for hiring us. Nobody else would. By the way, why wouldn’t any of the others hire us? We’re very grateful that you hired us,” she quickly added, at which Stan and Charlie nodded. “But I’d still like to know.”

      Blackraven closed his eyes for a moment and then opened them again. “Oh, some of the higher-level players here have a prejudice against anyone under, say, level fourteen or fifteen. It’s stupid, really. They say the upper-levels have been on the server longer and have had to fight their way to the top, and the lower-levels today don’t have to work as hard because they are building off what the upper-levels have done.”

      Kat’s and Stan’s mouths dropped open, and Charlie actually said loudly, “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard! Do you know what we’ve been through since—”

      “Ssssshhhhhhhh!” said Blackraven, cutting Charlie off. “The people around here aren’t fond of upper-level players who treat lower-levels kindly. Personally, I think that the whole thing is nonsense, but I can’t afford to voice the opinion when so many around me think that it isn’t.

      “Now, let’s go to bed,” he said. He walked to the chest and pulled out some wool and wood. He walked over to the crafting table, and within minutes there were four beds lined up around the room, each occupied by a player.

      As he lay in bed, Stan wondered if this unjust prejudice against lower-level players had been the motive of the Griefer that killed Crazy Steve, or even … the motive that drove Mr A, the Griefer that had tried to kill them so many days ago. Perhaps a lower-level player had once robbed him of his items, and he was struggling to get back what he had once had. Yes, that would make perfect sense