Justin watched the woman next door wandering around her snowy yard in sensible pumps and a long wool coat, by the anemic LED light from her garage floods, wondering what on earth was wrong with him.

He’d seen her around, usually coming and going with the kid, for a week; he’d meant to walk over and introduce himself. Instead he’d slipped into his comfy chair and his noise cancelling headset, grabbed his keyboard, and let the complex politics of his Spectre Armada: Armageddon Impact crew swallow ...