I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by lag, starving hysterical caffeinated,

dragging themselves through the Barrens at dawn looking for an angry raptor fix,

orc-headed night owls burning for the ancient heavenly connection to the server in the basement of Blizzard,

who sat up all night in the glowing glare of the monitor contemplating aggro,

who bared their brains to the raid leader and saw angels staggering on gryphon-back illuminated,

who passed through universities with radiant cool eyes hallucinating loot drops and cooldown timers among the scholars of war,

who wiped on Onyxia for seven straight hours, screaming at the healer through crackling headsets,

who ate cold Hot Pockets in the sudden flash of a level-up, dreaming of the promised land of Outland,

who pawned their real-life weekends for a 0.1% chance at a purple pixelated sword,

who vanished into nowhere, leaving behind only an away message, empty energy drink cans, and a level 60 Mage.