Life was unpredictable.
When the nearly eight thousand players in the second Revenge Fleet learned they would be fighting the Elf Fleet that night, almost everyone logged on, except those with important commitments they simply could not get away from.
Then, just as everyone was eagerly awaiting a great battle-especially the players aboard the armed merchant ships on the outer edge of the formation, who were already prepared to die heroically-something unexpected happened. Meteors streaked across the sky, followed by an announcement.
The elves were no longer enemies, but temporary allies?
This fucking, unpredictable plot twist had almost everyone cursing eighteen generations of the game designers' families.
It was infuriating. They had spent so long preparing. Why couldn't the designers let them finish tonight's battle first, then advance the plot tomorrow?
How could the players not be pissed off?
It was like a man stripping naked and getting ready to climb into bed with his dream girl to start making babies, only for his boss to call him in for overtime...
Or being constipated for days, sitting on the toilet, and finally feeling ready for a gloriously satisfying dump, only for someone to push open the door...
Or sitting in your room with the tissues ready and an exciting movie picked out, just about to take off, only for the power to go out...
Anyone who had experienced any of the above would surely understand the players' anger that night.
Though the players were furious and deeply unwilling to see their anticipated battle vanish like this, once the meteors crossed the sky, the Elf Fleet that had surrounded the Revenge Fleet turned around as quickly as possible and sailed off in the same direction.
With their elven opponents refusing to cooperate, even players who wanted to throw caution to