# Caliban Hall - Common Room, Late Evening
The common room had undergone a metamorphosis that would have sent the Dursleys into simultaneous aneurysms, followed by funerals catered entirely by smug neighbors discussing property values in hushed, scandalized whispers. What had once been a perfectly respectable medieval chamber—all soot-stained stones, Persian rugs worn thin by centuries of footfalls, and the occasional bat roosting in the rafters—now looked like Tim Burton had been handed an unlimited tech budget, three espressos, and a personal vendetta against architectural sanity.
The fireplace, a towering Gothic mouth with a fondness for spitting ash and occasionally producing dramatic shadows at precisely the wrong moments, now loomed over a setup that resembled both an altar and a command center for the world's most theatrically deranged space program. Three screens—each the size of a cathedral window and curved in a manner that suggested they were permanently recoiling from the sheer audacity of reality—formed a semicircle around a cluster of gaming chairs that looked like they'd been designed by someone who'd taken "ergonomic throne" as a literal design brief.
The screens glowed with colors that had no business existing in nature: electric blues that pulsed like digital heartbeats, emerald greens that seemed to breathe, and crimsons so vivid they made actual blood look disappointingly pedestrian. LED strips traced along every conceivable edge, breathing in synchronized pulses that cast the room's occupants in alternating shades of cyberpunk chic and gothic drama. The stone walls, accustomed to centuries of torchlight and the occasional dramatic thunderstorm, now looked as though they had been baptized into some neon techno-cult dedicated to the worship of pixels, frame rates, and the almighty refresh rate.
At the very heart of this glowing shrine sat Xavier Thorpe, arranged in his chair with the casual superiority of a vampire who had chosen not to bite tonight purely out of intellectual boredom. His pale, long-fingered hands hovered over a wireless keyboard like a concert pianist preparing to debut a requiem for common sense, while the rest of him sprawled into the gaming chair as though it were a throne crafted specifically for his angular frame. He did not merely sit in chairs. Chairs, it seemed, had been designed with the express purpose of supporting his particular brand of dramatic repose.
"Behold," Xavier intoned, sweeping one elegant hand across the glowing horizon of screens with the theatrical flourish of a conductor commanding a symphony of circuits and silicon. His voice carried that distinctive quality that made listeners imagine ravens fluttering dramatically overhead, even when the only wildlife present was whatever was currently nesting in Ajax's perpetually disheveled curls. "The crown jewel of Caliban Hall. Three years of obsessive curation, subtle financial embezzlement of my monthly allowances, and what I would describe as *extremely* creative interpretations of several gift card expiration policies, not to mention a few strategic 'borrowings' from the school's technology budget that I'm reasonably certain they haven't noticed yet."
Ajax Petropolus nearly launched himself out of his chair, his limbs all wild enthusiasm and zero coordination, flailing dangerously close to the energy drink that perched beside him like a caffeinated accomplice plotting the evening's chaos. His golden curls bounced with every exaggerated gesture, making him look like a cherub who'd broken into a cyber café after consuming his body weight in sugar and pure excitement.
"Bro—bro—*listen*!" Ajax blurted, practically vibrating at frequencies that threatened to shatter nearby glassware. His hands gestured wildly at the screens, nearly knocking over a second energy drink that had apparently materialized from thin air. "You're gonna lose your *mind*, dude. We've got everything. Like—*everything*. Shooters, racers, RPGs that'll suck your soul out through your eyeballs and make you thank them for the privilege, puzzle games that'll make your brain want to crawl out of your skull and take a *very* long nap in a sensory deprivation tank, simulation games where you can build entire civilizations and then watch them crumble under the weight of your questionable leadership decisions—this is basically Disneyland, but with less Mickey Mouse and way, *way* more explosions that could probably be seen from orbit!"
Xavier raised one perfectly sculpted eyebrow, the sort of aristocratic expression that suggested Ajax was less of a person and more of a particularly enthusiastic species of houseplant that had somehow achieved consciousness and learned to speak in caffeine-fueled run-on sentences.
"You are aware," Xavier said, his words dripping like slow poison mixed with expensive wine, "that your current sales pitch sounds remarkably similar to what I imagine a meth addict would say while describing his favorite carnival ride. To a police officer. During an interrogation. While still actively high."
Ajax blinked twice, processed this information with the speed of a particularly thoughtful goldfish, then grinned even wider, entirely unoffended and possibly taking it as a compliment. "Yeah! *Exactly!* See, you get it! That's the energy we're going for here!"
From his corner, Rowan Laslow barely looked up from his screen, where he was hunched like a spider pretending to be human—all sharp angles and intense concentration. His dark eyes remained fixed on a display where a swarm of mathematical equations rotated in three-dimensional space like alien constellations attempting to communicate the secrets of the universe through calculus. His hands remained conspicuously idle on the desk beside his keyboard, because when your brain could move objects through space with the casual ease most people reserved for breathing, traditional input devices became more of a polite suggestion than an actual necessity.
"The processing power alone," Rowan said in his characteristically flat tone, as though delivering a sermon to a congregation of particularly dim moths, "is sufficient to run particle physics simulations, artificial intelligence frameworks capable of achieving limited sentience, and real-time ray tracing that could probably render individual dust motes with photorealistic precision. All simultaneously. Without breaking a sweat." His gaze flicked up briefly, expression remaining as unchanged as a statue's. "Essentially... it's a supercomputer that happens to be disguised as a very expensive toy for people with more money than common sense."
Ajax gasped, slapping the armrest of his chair with enough force to send vibrations through the floor. "Yes! Thank you! That's *exactly* what I was trying to say! But like, with more actual words and less—"
"Coherence?" Rowan suggested dryly.
"—*feeling!*" Ajax finished triumphantly, completely missing Rowan's interjection. "You explained it with, like, science and stuff, but I was going for the *emotional* truth of the situation!"
"You weren't explaining anything," Rowan deadpanned, adjusting his glasses with one finger while a pen levitated itself to jot down notes in his notebook. "But it's... endearing that you think enthusiasm counts as communication."
Xavier, already swiveling lazily in his chair like a languid phantom conducting an invisible orchestra, let out a sigh that was equal parts boredom, dramatic flair, and the weary exasperation of someone surrounded by people who didn't appreciate the finer points of technological artistry.
"You see?" He gestured grandly at Rowan. "Even our resident telekinetic cynic—whose idea of emotional expression is raising one eyebrow instead of maintaining perfect stoicism—even *he* acknowledges the magnificence before us. This is no ordinary gaming console, gentlemen. This is—" He leaned forward conspiratorially, his pale eyes catching the glow of the LEDs so they briefly resembled the ghost lights that supposedly haunted the school's older corridors. "—*art*."
Ajax, now vibrating so hard his chair had begun to squeak in protest, pointed toward the glowing screens with both hands as though he were directing traffic at the intersection of Awesome Street and Holy-Crap Boulevard. "Yeah, man, but like... the real question is... can it run Mario Kart?"
The silence that followed was so profound it seemed to have its own gravitational pull. Xavier blinked slowly. Rowan's pen stopped mid-levitation. Even the LED lights seemed to dim slightly in what could only be described as electronic embarrassment.
Rowan's eyes flicked toward Ajax with all the warmth of a guillotine blade catching moonlight. "It can simulate the complete collapse of a neutron star in real time, calculate the orbital mechanics of every object in our solar system down to the individual pebble, and probably solve world hunger if we asked it nicely enough." His voice carried the patient tone of someone explaining basic physics to a particularly slow turnip. "Of course it can run Mario Kart."
"*Duuuude!*" Ajax howled, throwing both hands into the air as if Rowan had just solved not only world hunger but also achieved world peace and discovered the meaning of life all in one sentence. His energy drink finally surrendered to the laws of physics and toppled over, fizzing onto the Persian rug like a carbonated offering to the gods of gaming.
The LED lights pulsed brighter, almost as if the machine itself was laughing at the absurdity of the conversation.
And Xavier, naturally, smirked with the satisfied expression of someone whose elaborate setup had just achieved exactly the reaction he'd been hoping for.
---
Ron Weasley stood in the doorway like a man who'd been unceremoniously deposited into a museum exhibit titled "The Future: What Went Wrong?" His freckled face was a masterpiece of bewilderment, mouth slightly agape as he tried to process the transformation of what had once been a perfectly sensible medieval common room into something that looked like the love child of a gothic cathedral and the bridge of the starship Enterprise. The screens flickered with images so vivid and dynamic they seemed to possess their own life force—dragons breathing pixelated fire, robots locked in combat, magical battles that made actual magic look disappointingly analog by comparison.
"Blimey," Ron muttered, his voice cracking under the weight of technological awe mixed with the sort of existential confusion that comes from realizing the world has moved on without consulting you first. "So... these things... they... they *move?* Like... wizard photos, but... louder? And... like... *really* angry?" He gestured helplessly with hands that seemed uncertain whether they should be defending themselves or applauding, as one screen erupted into a burst of pixelated flames that cast dramatic shadows across his already overwhelmed features.
Before anyone could attempt to explain the concept of interactive entertainment to someone whose most advanced technology until recently had been a wireless radio that ran on actual magic, Hercules Black entered the room.
He moved with a fluid, predatory grace that made every step look like part of a choreographed ballet designed for an audience of one—himself. Each movement was precise, calculated, utterly lethal in its casual perfection, as though he'd been carved from marble by a sculptor who specialized in "devastating competence with a side of understated menace." His dark sunglasses reflected the flickering screens, though one could sense rather than see the smoldering intelligence lurking behind the tinted lenses, cataloging every detail, every weakness, every possible tactical advantage the room might offer.
He paused in the doorway, surveying the technological wonderland with the measured assessment of a general evaluating a battlefield where he already knew he held every possible advantage.
"Interactive digital entertainment," Hercules announced, his voice smooth as aged whiskey and rich as dark chocolate, each syllable delivered with the precision of a Swiss timepiece and the casual confidence of someone who'd never met a challenge he couldn't conquer with one hand tied behind his back. "Humans have evolved beyond mere passive observation of entertainment media. Here, you manipulate virtual environments in real time through tactile interface devices. Objects, characters, entire scenarios—your will guides their actions and determines their fate. It's essentially..." He paused, tilting his head with the thoughtful expression of someone translating advanced concepts for particularly slow children. "Puppetry. But with electricity and computer processors instead of strings and wooden stages. And far less prone to catastrophic mechanical failure."
Ron blinked rapidly, looking like a man trying to solve calculus while underwater. "Right. Puppets... with electricity. That sounds... complicated. And possibly dangerous. Do they explode? Because, honestly, at this point I wouldn't be surprised if—"
"Yes," Hercules interrupted smoothly, his tone carrying just enough sardonic amusement to suggest he was enjoying Ron's technological culture shock immensely. "They explode. Frequently, in fact. But in a carefully designed manner intended to titillate the senses and provide visceral satisfaction without necessitating your immediate medical intervention or requiring you to explain property damage to anyone in authority." He paused, removing his sunglasses to reveal eyes that seemed to catch and hold the light from the screens like dark emeralds. "Think of it as... magic, if you will. But refined, quantified, and considerably safer for someone of your—" another pause, this one clearly calculated for maximum dramatic effect, "—charmingly limited coordination."
"Oi!" Ron protested, though without much heat. "My coordination is perfectly—"
"Ronald," Hercules continued, his lips curving into a smile that could have melted steel or stopped traffic, depending on the observer's predisposition to swooning, "I've watched you trip over your own shadow. Twice. In the same afternoon."
Ajax snorted so hard he nearly inhaled his own tongue. "Oh man, he *got* you there, Ron!"
Xavier's pale eyes went wide with a mixture of horror and fascination, as though he'd just witnessed someone confess to a crime against humanity. "You've never... *ever*... played? Not even a mobile game during a particularly boring History of Magic lecture? Not even—" He gestured wildly at the screens. "—*anything?*"
"Occasional glimpses," Hercules replied with the sort of aristocratic disdain usually reserved for discussing particularly unsavory political scandals, "of my cousin Dudley's... juvenile attempts at digital entertainment. Observed through partially ajar doors during my period of domestic servitude with my delightful relatives." His voice carried enough venom to kill a small dragon. "I managed to deduce the basic operational mechanics within approximately three minutes of observation. But the intellectual engagement was—how does one put this diplomatically?—tediously pedestrian. I found myself... underwhelmed by the cognitive demands."
Ron shot him a look that was equal parts envy and genuine horror. "Of course you were. Why am I not even slightly surprised? Next you'll tell me you could solve Rubik's Cubes as an infant."
"Actually," Hercules began thoughtfully.
"*Don't*," Ron interrupted quickly. "Just... don't. My ego can't take any more battering today."
Ajax, never one to let a moment of social awkwardness pass without adding his own special brand of enthusiastic chaos, bounded forward like a golden retriever who'd just discovered that tennis balls were edible.
"Right, right! Basics! We start with something safe and educational, something that won't cause immediate psychological trauma or make anyone question their life choices!" He jabbed at a tablet with all the delicacy of someone defusing a bomb while riding a unicycle. "Strategy games for Ron—you know, thinking and planning and not dying horribly—and reflex-based games for our resident superhuman over here! Though, uh..." He glanced at Hercules with something approaching awe mixed with mild terror. "Should we maybe start you on the hardest difficulty setting? You know, just to make it interesting?"
Rowan, who had been observing this entire exchange with the clinical fascination of a scientist watching lab rats navigate a particularly complex maze, tilted his head and examined Hercules like a living specimen that had just violated several laws of physics.
"You do realize," Rowan said with the matter-of-fact tone of someone pointing out that water was wet, "that his enhanced reaction times might literally exceed the refresh rate of these displays? His nervous system could process and respond to visual stimuli faster than the monitors can update the images. He could theoretically break the software simply by existing and trying to play normally."
Ron groaned, collapsing into one of the gaming chairs with the defeated posture of a man who'd just realized his best mate was capable of being unfairly good at things he'd never even tried before. The chair squeaked under his weight, as though even the furniture was protesting the cosmic injustice of the situation.
"Perfect. Absolutely brilliant. My best mate can now destroy advanced technology just by *existing* near it. Couldn't we have *one* activity where being spectacularly ordinary is actually an advantage? Just once?"
Hercules glided toward the central gaming chair with the kind of controlled elegance that could make a royal coronation look like a children's birthday party organized by particularly clumsy relatives. The chair seemed to recognize his approach and adjusted itself automatically, conforming to his frame as though it had been specifically designed with his proportions in mind. He settled into it with fluid grace, leaning back and folding his arms across his chest, a half-smile playing across his mouth that communicated clearly: *I am fully aware of exactly how utterly terrifying my competence is, and I enjoy every moment of your growing realization of this fact.*
"Ronald," he said, his voice dropping into that silk-wrapped register that could charm armies into surrender or convince enemies to apologize for inconveniencing him, "your chess mastery—and it *is* genuine mastery, don't let anyone tell you otherwise—translates beautifully to strategic gaming environments. Tactical foresight, resource allocation, pattern recognition, the ability to think several moves ahead while your opponent is still figuring out which pieces do what—these are universal cognitive skills. The medium is merely window dressing; the intellectual architecture required remains fundamentally unchanged."
He gestured languidly at the screens, sunlight from the windows catching the dark lenses of his glasses. "Besides, you've spent years outmaneuvering some of the most dangerous dark wizards in recent history. I rather suspect you'll find digital opponents refreshingly... predictable."
Ron shifted uncomfortably, muttering under his breath just loud enough to be heard, "Great. So I'll still be the strategic support character, but now I get to have fancy explosions and orchestral soundtracks to make me feel slightly less useless about my secondary protagonist status."
Ajax whistled appreciatively, bouncing on his toes. "You hear that, Ron? Hercules thinks you're brilliant! That's like... getting a compliment from a particularly handsome encyclopedia!"
"Did you just call me a reference book?" Hercules asked, raising one eyebrow with the sort of amused expression that suggested he was genuinely entertained rather than offended.
"A *handsome* reference book," Ajax clarified helpfully. "You know, the kind that people would actually want to read. Cover to cover. Probably multiple times."
Xavier clasped his hands together dramatically, his pale eyes wide with the fervor of someone witnessing a historic moment. "This is... revolutionary! Unprecedented! The combination of augmented human cognition and standard—though admittedly above-average—human strategic thinking, operating in perfect cooperation within a digital environment designed for entertainment rather than survival... The sociological implications alone could fill several academic papers!"
Hercules leaned forward suddenly, resting one muscled forearm on the edge of the console, his voice dropping to that velvet murmur that somehow managed to carry both subtle threat and warm amusement in equal measure.
"Gentlemen," he said, and something in his tone made everyone in the room pay attention without quite understanding why, "please do not concern yourselves with my various... enhancements. I shall endeavor to restrain my capabilities sufficiently to avoid shattering your primitive technological constructs through excessive competence." His smile widened slightly, revealing teeth that were probably more perfect than strictly necessary. "However, I feel compelled to mention that should I happen to fail in this endeavor, it will most certainly not be due to any lack of skill on my part."
The silence that followed was so complete it seemed to have its own atmospheric pressure.
Ron stared at him for several long seconds before managing to whisper, "Mate... you are absolutely *terrifying*."
"And yet," Hercules added with a smirk that could have stopped traffic in three counties, "utterly charming. Or so I've been told. Repeatedly. By people whose opinions I occasionally value." He gestured toward the glowing screens with one elegant hand. "Shall we begin this cultural education, Ronald? Or would you prefer to continue standing there gawking like a particularly startled tourist who's just discovered that the rumors about the locals were all true?"
Ron groaned, surrendering to the inevitable with the resigned dignity of someone who'd spent years being the sensible one in a group of people who attracted chaos like magnets attracted iron filings. "Fine. *Fine*. But if I accidentally die in whatever digital hellscape you people have constructed, I'm blaming all of you. Equally. With prejudice."
Hercules leaned back in his chair, the screens' glow reflecting off his sunglasses in patterns that seemed to shift and dance like living things. "I shall endeavor to keep you alive, Ronald. Consider it... a courtesy of superior breeding and an overabundance of protective instincts."
"Superior breeding," Ron repeated flatly. "Right. Because that's not at all condescending."
"It wasn't intended to be," Hercules replied with perfect sincerity. "Merely... accurate."
Ajax practically vibrated himself into a different dimension, kinetic energy radiating from him in waves that seemed to make the air itself buzz with excitement. "Okay! *Okay!* First game! Cooperative strategy—no punching each other in the digital face yet, alright? We're easing into this beautiful technological nightmare with teamwork and mutual support, not immediate digital genocide and wounded egos!"
The main screen flickered once, twice, then exploded into life with such a cascade of color and motion that it seemed to pull the room's shadows toward it like a digital black hole. The medieval landscape that unfurled before them was breathtaking in its impossible detail: spired castles that seemed to defy both gravity and architectural sanity, their towers reaching toward virtual skies painted in shades of gold and crimson; glowing resource nodes scattered across the terrain like enchanted gemstones that pulsed with their own internal light; rivers that sparkled with water so clear it looked more real than actual water; and armies of tiny animated soldiers marching with disciplined precision that could only exist in a digital fantasy—or in the fever dreams of someone who'd spent too much time reading military history while under the influence of very good wine.
Xavier leaned forward with the intensity of a man who'd found his calling, elbows balanced on his knees, eyes gleaming with the dramatic flair of someone who'd lived his entire life waiting for moments exactly like this one.
"Right," he began, his voice taking on the professorial tone of someone about to deliver a lecture on the secrets of the universe, "listen carefully, because this is where theory meets practice in the most beautiful possible way. The fundamental principle is resource management combined with tactical deployment—economics and warfare dancing together in perfect, terrifying harmony. You gather materials—food to feed your armies, wood to build your structures, stone to construct your fortifications, gold to fund your ambitions and bribe your enemies—all of which you then utilize to construct buildings, train military units, and deploy them strategically to achieve whatever objectives the scenario demands." He gestured grandly at the screen, where tiny digital peasants were already beginning their eternal cycle of resource gathering. "Think of it as... ruling an actual kingdom, except the consequences of your decisions hit immediately rather than arriving seven hours later via a Ministry owl carrying a tersely worded memo about your questionable leadership choices."
Ron's face twisted in concentration, his inner chess master clearly booting up and running diagnostic checks on itself. "So... it's like wizard's chess," he said slowly, working through the concept with the careful deliberation of someone translating a foreign language, "but instead of just, you know, moving individual pieces around a board, you're actually controlling entire armies? And—" he gestured helplessly at the sprawling digital landscape "—the terrain actually matters? The weather affects things? And if I completely stuff up my resource management, everyone dies horribly and it's all my fault?"
"Precisely!" Rowan confirmed, his eyes lighting up with the particular enthusiasm he reserved for explaining complex systems to people who might actually understand them. "You must balance production capabilities, economic stability, and battlefield tactics simultaneously, often while under direct enemy pressure. There's also diplomatic considerations, technology research trees that determine what advanced capabilities you can access, and—if you're playing against multiple opponents, which we absolutely will be doing—strategic deception, misdirection, and the fine art of making your enemies destroy each other while you build up overwhelming superiority."
His pen levitated itself to make notes while he talked, occasionally sketching diagrams in the air that hung suspended for a few moments before fading away. "Timing, resource allocation, tactical prioritization—everything matters. Every decision creates cascading effects. One poorly timed attack, one miscalculated investment, one moment of inattention, and your entire civilization can collapse like a house of cards in a hurricane."
Ajax clapped his hands together with a grin so manic it bordered on concerning. "Translation for those of us who prefer simple explanations: do stuff carefully, don't mess up too badly, survive the tutorial without embarrassing yourself, and *then*..." His eyes gleamed with unholy anticipation. "Then we unleash beautiful, chaotic, friendship-destroying digital warfare upon each other! That's the proper order of operations!"
Hercules accepted his wireless controller from Xavier with the reverent care one might show when handling a priceless Stradivarius or a blade forged by master craftsmen for the express purpose of ending lives efficiently. His fingers explored each button, cataloging weight distribution, tactile feedback, response sensitivity, and the subtle vibrations of the haptic motors as though he were assessing the weapon for its potential lethality rather than its suitability for casual entertainment.
"The ergonomics are remarkable," he observed, his voice carrying that tone of cultured appreciation usually reserved for fine art or exceptional wine. "Each control interface has been positioned to fall naturally beneath the digits, each trigger mechanism exerts precisely calibrated resistance, the overall weight distribution promotes extended use without fatigue..." He flexed his fingers experimentally, and even this simple gesture somehow managed to look like a martial arts demonstration. "One could certainly train hand-eye coordination and fine motor control with this device. Or, alternatively..." His smile took on a distinctly predatory quality. "One could simply dominate unsuspecting opponents with minimal effort and maximum style."
Ron eyed his own controller with the suspicious wariness of someone who'd been handed what might be either a sophisticated tool or an elaborate practical joke. He twisted it in his hands like it was a curious animal that might suddenly develop teeth and opinions about his life choices.
"Right... so... each button does... different specific things? And I press them in combination sequences... like, uh, casting spells but with my thumbs instead of my wand?"
Ajax leaned forward, his eyes practically glowing with the fervor of someone about to share the secrets of the universe with an eager apprentice. "Exactly! *Exactly!* Except your wand is now your thumbs and index fingers, and instead of one spell at a time you can chain together entire sequences of commands! Move units, construct buildings, research technology, launch attacks, cast magical spells if your civilization has magic, summon reinforcements from dimensional portals—it's all combinations, all happening fast, all requiring split-second timing!" He gestured wildly at the screen. "It's like magic, but with electronics and explosions and the constant threat of your enemies doing something clever while you're distracted by the pretty lights!"
Hercules tilted his head, regarding Ron with the sort of half-smile that could probably melt steel if applied with sufficient concentration. "Do not distress yourself unnecessarily, Ronald. Your natural magical intuition will translate to this environment far more effectively than you suspect. Consider each button a runic symbol, each combination sequence a carefully constructed spell, each strategic decision a magical working with far-reaching consequences." His voice dropped to that register that somehow managed to be both reassuring and slightly condescending. "You will fumble initially—this is inevitable and entirely expected—but your fundamental understanding of strategy and tactical thinking will serve you well. Do try to keep pace with the rest of us; I'd rather not spend the entire evening carrying the operational load single-handedly while you flounder about in a manner that, while certainly amusing, might become tedious after the first hour or so."
"*Carry* me?" Ron spluttered, nearly dropping his controller in indignation. "Mate, I'm supposed to be the strategic genius here, remember? The chess master? The one who—oh, bloody hell, never mind. I can already see exactly where this is heading, and I don't like the destination."
"Where, precisely, is it heading?" Hercules asked with the sort of innocent curiosity that suggested he knew perfectly well where it was heading and was looking forward to the journey.
"Toward you being insufferably good at everything while I struggle with basic motor functions and everyone pretends not to notice that I'm completely out of my depth," Ron replied glumly.
"Ah," Hercules nodded sagely. "Yes, that does sound accurate. But chin up, Ronald—I'm sure you'll provide excellent comic relief."
Ajax burst into delighted laughter. "Oh man, this is already the best night ever and we haven't even started playing yet!"
The tutorial began with basic camera movement, a deceptively simple exercise that immediately transformed into a masterclass in the fundamental differences between theoretical understanding and practical application. Ron gripped his controller like it was a potentially explosive device that might detonate if handled improperly, his thumbs twitching with all the precision and grace of someone attempting to defuse a magical bomb while riding a particularly temperamental broomstick through a thunderstorm.
"Merlin's bloody—" Ron began, then caught himself, swallowing the rest of the oath as his virtual camera performed what could generously be described as an interpretive dance routine that would have made professional acrobats dizzy. "Sorry... it's just... why is everything spinning like I'm trapped inside a washing machine? I'm trying to look around the landscape, not perform aerial acrobatics that would impress the Weird Sisters!"
Xavier leaned forward with the patient expression of someone who'd witnessed this exact phenomenon countless times before, his pale hands gesturing encouragingly. "Ah yes, the classic beginner's syndrome. A rite of passage, really. Thumbstick pressure control, Ronald—subtle adjustments, gentle nudges, delicate caresses rather than aggressive manipulation. Think of it as... courting the camera rather than wrestling it into submission. Finesse, not force. Seduction, not assault."
"Did you just tell me to seduce my controller?" Ron asked, looking genuinely concerned about Xavier's mental state.
"Metaphorically speaking," Xavier clarified airily. "Though I suppose if it helps you achieve better results..."
Hercules, meanwhile, had achieved complete mastery of the camera controls in what appeared to be negative time. He moved through the virtual environment with the fluid grace of a predator surveying territory that already belonged to him, each camera adjustment calculated, deliberate, and utterly flawless. The way he navigated the digital landscape made it look less like he was learning a new skill and more like he was demonstrating one he'd possessed for years.
"Fascinating," he murmured, his tone carrying that subtle note of analytical appreciation that suggested he was cataloging every aspect of the interface for future reference. "The visual information systems communicate environmental data with remarkable clarity and comprehensive detail, without sacrificing aesthetic appeal or artistic coherence. Function and form achieving perfect synthesis—quite impressive for what is ostensibly recreational technology."
Ron paused his ongoing battle with basic camera controls to shoot Hercules a look that could have curdled milk. "Show-off. Though I suppose 'immediately achieving supernatural mastery of recreational technology' is probably listed somewhere in the fine print of whatever cosmic enhancement package you received. Right there between 'effortless physical perfection' and 'makes everyone else feel inadequate just by existing.'"
"It wasn't a package," Hercules replied with that maddeningly perfect smile. "More of a... comprehensive life restructuring. Very thorough. Excellent customer service."
Ajax bounced in his chair, energy drink in hand, watching the proceedings with the delighted fascination of someone witnessing history in the making. "Dude, Ron, you're actually getting better! Look, you've managed a complete rotation without the camera doing that weird barrel roll thing!"
"That's... actually an improvement," Ron admitted grudgingly, managing something that resembled controlled movement through the virtual space. "Though I still feel like I'm piloting a very confused helicopter."
As the tutorial progressed into actual gameplay mechanics, the contrast between the two players became even more pronounced, and infinitely more entertaining for the observers. Ron approached each new concept like it was a particularly challenging chess problem, evaluating every option with careful deliberation, analyzing potential outcomes, considering long-term strategic implications before committing to any course of action. Every farm placement was a decision worthy of a war council, every resource allocation a matter requiring careful consideration of multiple variables.
"Right," Ron muttered to himself, staring intently at the screen as he contemplated the placement of his third farm building. "Food production is essential, but I don't want to make myself vulnerable to early raiding parties, so I need defensive positioning but also efficient resource gathering and..." He paused, considering. "This is actually quite complex, isn't it? You're essentially managing an entire society while planning for military conflicts that haven't happened yet."
Hercules, by contrast, was operating on an entirely different level of existence. His hands moved across the controller like those of a concert pianist performing a piece he'd composed himself, each input precise and perfectly timed. He managed multiple tasks simultaneously without any apparent effort: resource gathering, construction projects, military unit production, technological research, tactical positioning—all flowing together in a symphony of efficiency that made multitasking look like an art form.
"This bears remarkable similarity to tactical scenarios I have encountered in previous... adventures," Hercules remarked casually, his tone suggesting he was discussing the weather rather than demonstrating capabilities that defied reasonable explanation. "Resource allocation under pressure, tactical adaptation to changing circumstances, strategic planning with incomplete information, the necessity of making critical decisions with insufficient data while hostile forces actively work to undermine your efforts..." He gestured elegantly at the screen, where his digital empire was already beginning to take recognizable shape. "The fundamental principles translate quite effectively to this medium."
"Previous adventures meaning... saving wizarding Britain from various dark forces and international magical conspiracies while being, what, fourteen years old?" Ajax asked, his voice carrying a mixture of admiration and disbelief that suggested he was still processing the reality of having a legitimate hero as a dormmate.
"Among other engagements," Hercules replied with that characteristic understatement that somehow made his accomplishments sound both more and less impressive simultaneously. "Though I must confess, the dramatically reduced likelihood of actual death makes this... pleasantly relaxing. There's something quite therapeutic about strategic challenges where failure doesn't result in anyone actually dying horribly or the collapse of civilization as we know it."
His tone carried that subtle undercurrent of dark humor that suggested he was fully aware of how casually terrifying that statement was to anyone who hadn't spent their teenage years in mortal peril on a regular basis.
Ron had, by now, achieved what could generously be called competent mediocrity. Farms were built, resource flows were steady, and his units moved with hesitant efficiency. "Right, so… when do we get to the part where I can actually fight someone instead of just being a medieval accountant? Because all this farm-building is—boring."
"Patience, young grasshopper," Xavier intoned dramatically, fingers steepled, voice echoing with exaggerated gravitas. "You must master the poetry of economy before military might can blossom."
"Economic infrastructure underpins tactical efficiency," Rowan added, pen tapping against his notebook in rhythmic precision. "Without proper resource management, all battlefield brilliance is irrelevant when facing opponents with superior production."
Ajax practically vibrated with anticipation, bouncing in place. "And once you've got the basics down, ohhhhhh… that's when the real fun starts! Multiplayer matches! Testing wits against each other! Discovering exactly how your academic brilliance—or, in Hercules' case, supernatural overachieving—translates into digital warfare chaos!"
Hercules leaned back, hands resting lightly on the controller, a slow, calculating smirk curling across his lips. "I do hope Ronald is prepared," he said in that velvet-draped British drawl that suggested danger, charm, and absolute confidence all at once. "I intend to be… merciless. But of course, I shall temper my superiority with courtesy—if only to provide some sense of fair play."
Ron blinked, sweating slightly, the controller feeling suddenly heavier. "Right… brilliant. My best mate's about to casually slaughter me in a game. Great."
Xavier clapped his hands in delight. "This… is going to be exquisite. Observe the human-machine interface responding to heightened cognition—truly, the digital arena has never known such majesty!"
Ajax jabbed the console, practically vibrating with chaos energy. "Okay! Let's see who breaks first—Hercules with his terrifying competence, or Ronald with his… erm… bravery!"
Rowan simply adjusted his glasses, eyes scanning every HUD element with clinical fascination. "Fascinating. Input-response latency, user adaptation, and emergent strategies under tutorial conditions. This is perfect data for cognitive modeling."
Hercules' smirk deepened, shadows from the flickering screens dancing across his sharp features. "Shall we proceed, then, gentlemen? Or shall Ronald continue to admire my inevitable dominance from the sidelines?"
Ron groaned. "Mate… I hate you already."
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Hey fellow fanfic enthusiasts!
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