This is a science fiction story that my friend wrote. A note to readers: this story is written in 2nd person (as if the events are happening to you).

“Hey! Alex, you doing okay?” you hear your best friend Robert chirp through your headphones.
You reply, “Yeah, detention is actually okay, great really. Nobody pays attention to you and you can do whatever you want. Some of the kids around me are just sitting and starting into oblivion. At least I’m being productive!”
As you settle down to mindlessly killing some boggarts you listen to his reply.
“Guess what?” Before you can guess he tells you, “I just thought of a brilliant new attack plan against the Dynamite Duos!”
You recoil in surprise and respond, “But those are the guilds that just triumphed over the best miners in the game! They have access to some of the world’s strongest ore! How do you expect to win?”
“Well I heard on the forums that they’re looking for four Doranear war hammers. How about we give it to them, take the prize, and attack!”
“But we can’t make Doranear war hammers! Those need a level twenty-five smith workshop and we only have a twenty-two!”
“Well, wait until I tell you this! We just captured the Gorugan mines and got access to their smith shop. It increased our skill by three and right now our constructers are building the new shop. I can’t believe you didn’t hear the news!”
“Well, I guess I’m kind of out of touch, maybe?”
“Oh yeah, I forgot, you get kind of confused where your buddies are when playing”
“Okay, yeah, that’s great! Well, anyways I need some thinking time so I’m going of social mode, bye!” You turn the chatting off before you hear his response. Your eyes revert back to the games main screen. Suddenly an image appears: Congratulations! You have advanced to Swordsman level 455! Your new rank is master swordsman!
“YES!” you shout for joy. Everyone in the detention area looks at you like your some alien from another planet. Well, maybe to them you are one. Ever since you started playing Medieval Warfare you basically lived in cyberspace. Your next-door-neighbor is a Bluetooth mouse and the car you drive is an Intel processor. You apologize for the interruption and continue playing.

“And why were you in detention again?” you mother is screaming at you when she comes to pick you up.
“I forgot to do some homework over the weekend and Mrs. Marchello got mad at me because I was trying to do it in class, that’s all,” a lie, of course. The truth was that Mrs. Marchello had caught you playing your game in class. It had worked for four periods straight so you didn’t see a problem with it. Then you remembered that he was one of your teachers that didn’t play any video games. What a sad life to live you think.
“I thought you said you were all done with your homework on Saturday!”
“I told you I forgot it, how can I say I remembered it?” She ignores you the rest of the ride home. You know you can’t play in front of her so you start your homework.

As soon as you get home you head up to your room, homework not done, but you start up your computer and you indulge yourself into the horribly realistic game of Medieval Warfare.
“John, Hero588, watch the left bank!” you hear Robert order commands from his perch in the camp. The battle was on. You were inside already desperately trying to get to the Dynamite Duo’s throne room.
“Ah!” an enemy recoils in pain and collapses on the ground.
“Nice job, Alex!” your ally congratulates you on a kill well done.
“Alex, I got the map! We’re really close to the throne room! It’s just off to the left!” your commander of intelligence, CIA007, informs you.
“Great, let’s finish this!” you quickly reply.
“Alex, we’re loosing troops on the northwest bridge! We can’t hold them much longer!” Robert aguishly cries.
“Get down there and start fighting, we’re almost done here!” you order him. “Come on let’s continue guys!” your commando team heads towards the throne room at your command.
When you reach the door your specialists do a full check over.
“No hidden traps, locks, or devices of any kind sir,” CIA007 informs you. “But, there’s no door handle or opening mechanism.”
“Should we smash it?” your commando of heavy weapons questions your authority.
“Alex, there’s a group of royal guards coming up from behind us. There are three parties, we can’t hold seventy-five!” your witch, Eyeofnewt58, tells you. Your mind reels in panic. You’ve never been in a situation like this before, a door that can’t be opened, an almost squadron closing in from behind, and victory only on the other side.
“Alex, I think I’ve got it,” CIA007 exclaims. “They wanted four Doranear war hammers; those are probably the only things that can smash this!”
“Hey, Sean, do you have any of those?” you turn to your commando of heavy weapons and ask the question.
“I thought I was going to but we had to leave the castle before I could get my hands on one. So nope,” is Sean’s swift reply.
“Alex, we’ve lost all control, we had to retreat to the camp! Get us out of here!” Robert cries desperately.
“That’s it!” you shout, more out of anger than genius. “Sean smash that thing with the hardest hammer you have!”
“Okay, I hope it works!”
SMASH! The door easily breaks into millions of microscopic pieces. Your face expresses happiness for a split second before you realize what was behind it: another party of royal guards.
“Charge!” the command rings through the air but it doesn’t come from the twenty-five figures before you but the seventy-five coming from behind you.