Hidden Class: Pacifist | VOL. 1 Stubbed

“I declare open this session of the rageaholics.” Doctor Hilstone was the shortest person in the room. He wore a white shirt unbuttoned at the top, a simple black tie in a loose knot, and a pair of comfortable sneakers. Regardless of the day of the week, it always looked like it had been two days since he had last shaven. Roth liked that Doctor Hilstone had always seemed more bothered about not being allowed to wear more comfortable clothes than about being surrounded by convicted criminals much taller than him.

The doctor stood at the center of the ring of chairs. Amid the prisoners’ oranges and the wardens’ blacks, the doctor was the only one in the room wearing white. But colors didn’t matter here. In the ring, there were neither jailers nor jailed, just men. Everything else was left out of the circle. Of course, two wardens watched the session from near the door while holding their stun guns. However, their posture was easy, and they were visibly relaxed. In all the years the program had been running, there had never been any incidents during one of the sessions.

“Who’d like to go first?” asked the doctor with an easy smile and a friendly voice. Something about the doctor sometimes made Roth forget that he, too, was a prisoner. Earlier in the day, when Roth had looked into the mirror, he saw someone young but tired. Prison and guilt had aged him. He had the same wrinkle on his forehead that his father had developed much later in life, and the bags under his eyes had become a permanent facial feature.

Roth raised his hand.

“Please, Roth,” prompted the doctor. He cleared his throat and addressed his fellow rageaholics.

“Hello, everyone; I’m Roth.”

“Hello, Roth!” everyone chanted in unison.

“I have an announcement to make. This is going to be my last session with you guys.” A buzz of excitement ran through the group. Everyone seemed pleased with the good news, especially Drake. He gave Roth a proud smile.

“You gettin’ out, Roth?” one of the other inmates asked.

“I’ve done my time,” he answered radiantly.

“We’re very happy for you, Roth,” added the counselor.

“Anyway, you all have made a big difference in my life. I’m sad to leave you. Before I go, I want to share my journey to conquer my temper. I haven’t always been the most outspoken in our group. You only know bits and pieces of my story. Today was my last chance, and I should be brave enough to share my experiences. Hopefully, you can learn from my mistakes and see that you, too, can deal with a short fuse.”

Roth appreciated the inviting silence of the group. This was a safe space. A sacred space. It was so because no one dared to break its sanctity.

“Go ahead, Roth. Please tell us about your journey.”

“I’ve always had a short temper. I don’t know why. As a kid, I always threw tantrums. I lashed out at everyone. I bit and scratched my brothers. I was quite a handful. As I grew, it got worse. I started getting into fights a lot. At first, it was just goofing around, you know? But the fighting became tougher. In my free time, I would…” Roth felt a catch in his throat and fought not to lose his composure. Everyone respectfully waited. He tried again. “I used to love hurting animals too. The sight of their pain used to excite me,” he said, disgusted and embarrassed.

“It’s OK, Roth. Many of us here can relate. That is all in the past, though. You were just a misguided child. You’re a different man now. It’s OK. Please continue.” Emboldened by the doctor’s encouragement, Roth regained his composure and tried to continue.

“So, I got into trouble a lot. My dad was always working, trying to provide for us. He traveled constantly. He had a second job on weekends. We hardly ever saw him. I would wander around the neighborhood and cause trouble. In my teenage years, my poor mama often picked me up from the police station. She knew all the policemen in town, and they all knew me. They told her that I was headed for disaster. She tried to help me in whatever way she could. But I was just too proud and angry. Then, one day, I found an escape. I thought it was a cure: AVR.”

The release of cheaper, easily accessible augmented virtual reality technology changed the planet overnight. In the blink of an eye, humanity was shown a new world. The gaming industry, especially, had been revolutionized. Players didn’t just play by looking at a screen and moving a joystick anymore. They fully immersed themselves. All senses were engaged. The technology allowed one to see, hear, smell, taste, and feel the virtual world, making it almost impossible to tell the difference between the game and reality. The gap only became smaller as technology developed.

“The games were so realistic. Inside these new games, killing an animal or beating someone up felt the same as doing it in the real world. And as I wasn’t caught by the police or seen by my mom….”

Roth saw some of the others at the meeting nodding sadly. He had heard many say similar things inside this ring. Augmented virtual reality was a trigger for many of them here. It was easier to reveal the darkest parts of one’s personality when there was full anonymity and zero accountability. From there, things often escalated. It’s easier to commit a crime in real life if someone has done it many times in virtual reality. After all, everything becomes easier with practice.

“I completely dove into the world of gaming. At first, I stayed out of trouble in reality, and my mom was happy for me. I spent all my days venting my anger inside the game, which seemed to calm me down. The Slayer, they called me.”

“Wait? Are you talking about New Earth? You were the Slayer? From the Helmling battle?” Roth nodded embarrassedly.

“Committing violence inside the game was a legal way to let out my anger. For some time, things started to go well for me. I was good at fighting, and that was a marketable skill inside the game. My viciousness and anger were noticed. I was hired, and my fury was put to use by a wealthy guild. I signed a contract with a big gaming company and lived comfortably. Things went on like that for a while.” He paused.

“Then, what happened?” asked another inmate. Roth remembered this was his second meeting. He had never heard Roth’s story.

“Well, I thought keeping my outbursts in-game was good for me, you know? Finally, there was a way to get off on violence without hurting anyone. But you start going down a dark path. You start doing things that you would never do in the real world. Vandalism. Looting. Thievery. Aggravated assault. Murder. And so on. Before I knew it, my mind had been conditioned to act on my impulses.

Eventually, someone used my rage against me. It’s not difficult to make someone violent do what you want. You shake him up and put a target in front of him.” It became hard to speak again. “I hurt my friends and cost my guild a truckload of money. I was sued, fired, and forced to pay repairs to my company. I lost everything. Then, I went after the person who had provoked me. I beat him up in the real world. Hard. It was a miracle I didn’t kill him.

Nonetheless, because of this, I was sentenced to jail and have been here for four years. During the first few months, I stuck to my stubborn ways. I was angrier than I had ever been. I got into fights with other prisoners often.” Some of the prisoners chuckled. Roth saw that the ones laughing were ones he had gotten into fights with when he first arrived.

“One day, everything changed. I received a letter from my mama. It said... I had missed my pa’s funeral.” Roth could no longer hold back the tears. “Ma says that his heart couldn’t handle the grief of his boy being locked up. That’s when I knew I needed help.” Other inmates started tearing up.

“Recognizing the problem is the first step toward the solution,” said the doctor encouragingly. “To look at yourself and to see the abyss within requires courage. What you did was very brave.”

“I lost my friends, job, freedom, and dad all because of rage. This program saved me.”

“Could you please share with us what steps of the program were especially helpful to you?”

“I have to say that what helped most was when I was assigned to care for a little chick. There is something special about caring for something and seeing it grow. It awakens something in you. Taking care of that little friend softened me up. It affected me so much that I can’t bear the sight of meat to this day. Just the thought of an animal being hurt tears me apart, you know?”

“What else, Roth?” asked the doctor.

“Sponsoring. Helping someone else goes a long way toward mastering your weaknesses. I was blessed to have three great guys I sponsored who have become my lifelong friends.”

“Right on!” shouted one bald man with tattoos covering his whole body. He had been the second rageaholic that Roth had sponsored. Roth gave him a quick thumbs-up.

“I’m now a better man. It was a long road, and I’ve had a few relapses. But I can say with all my heart that where there was only anger, there’s now deep shame, and where there was only violence, there’s guilt. I’m Roth, and I’m a rageholic. Thank you for helping me come this far.”

Everyone clapped.

“Well done, Roth. You’ve made great progress and are such an encouragement to everyone here. Keep going! This is one more step on your journey. We hope that things go well for you out there.”

“Thank you.”

Roth wondered if things really would go well for him. Even when a man changes, he cannot change his past. His was a nasty one. He had left many people hurt in his wake, and he wondered how they would react to his early release.