She collects orphaned worlds, worlds that had been created on the fly and discarded when the last player had left. She explores them, the scattered remains, stirs in the discarded items. Some of these worlds would be barely touched, as if the party had dispersed suddenly after a few minutes. Other worlds were devoid of monsters, loot, and experience points; exploited and stripped to the bone. Yet others meticulously organized and ordered over days, weeks if not years, before inexplicable abandonment. Oftentimes she wandered these worlds for hours on end, imagining the reasons for the state they were in. She only caught glimpses, the vaguest remnants of the individuals that had briefly interacted with it. Discarded customized items, nicknames, or the occasional trolling aimed at other players.
Her most treasured orphans, however, are the few worlds in orchestrated chaos. The one whose terrain she slowly traversed was one of them. Enemies had been lead to slaughter townsfolk. Red pixels coagulate in procedural furrows. She noticed a certain handwriting in the deliberate cruelty and the destruction she recognized that had pulled her in before. Still, this world felt even more… off, as if some presence still lingered.
She passes a pile of dismembered ragdolls all missing their eyes, ears and noses, despite the limitations and safeguards in place. An impossibility.
She opened the console out of curiosity and checked their properties. All of them still held their XP, even those that accounted for “renegade” points. The monsters, animals, townsfolk had been slain for a different purpose. A celebration of simulated agony.