“I killed you! I killed you! How are you still alive!” Herbert’s hand trembled as he gripped the mouse, the glow of the arcade screen made everything in the room disappear. He was alone with the game and could do or say anything in that anonymity. “These bullet-to-target ratios are whack. Can’t believe they released this as beta.”

In the game he was having difficulty tracking his targets. The tracker mouse ball was something he had to get used to but the gaming cabinet was a steal. It wasn’t fair that the other players had boosters. Metal War had a tendency to overvalue and reward their top players. Maybe if he could get followers on his streams, he’d have the sweet in-game gear, boosters, and maybe a hot gamer girlfriend. He took his headphones off in a fit of rage and looked at the scoreboard. “4-31” read the kill-verses-death count.

The keyboard in the gaming cabinet was still dusty. He probably should’ve have cleaned it after Darius dropped it off. Who knows where he got the thing? But the lack of kills streaks wasn’t from the lack of responsiveness. Herbert squirmed in the attached gaming chair when the idea of another defeat made his heart race. Nothing was ever fair. His assault character loaded into the match, appearing on screen as a commando with two submachine guns. He pressed the keys on the built-in keyboard and eagerly moved the character to a corner where he hid in a known kill spot.

“Yo, Herb, where you at? We’re getting mowed down over here.” Shawn was with the rest of his squad, flanking the enemies. Shawn had also played hooky today.

Moving up with the boosted gamers out there was suicide, especially when probably have aim-bots turned on. “Standby, checking gear.” Cheating had always ruined games but in this situation, he didn’t see a way out. The GHOST key was sitting in the upper right of the keyboard, egging him on to press it. The first time he used it he won 7 rounds in a row. The other players never even noticed.

He peaked around the corner and was nearly received a headshot by a 50 BMG round. The key was right there. He could just turn it off for this one match. His friend wouldn’t give a crap. He pressed the GHOST key; the engineer of the gaming cabinet must’ve been a genius. The cabinet glowed red with small LEDs when it turned on. Inside the game his character vanished, the only visible sign that remained were the foot prints in the dirt.

With a less strained eye he turned the corner and shot the sniper through the head. Running along an alley he was flanked by another enemy who ran past him unnoticed. Herbert changed to a knife and quickly backstabbed, moving his kill count to 6. In another room he found two enemy squad mates shooting through a window. His frag grenade awarded him two more kills.

“Someone’s hacking!” Came a voice over his headphones. It was someone from his team.

He quickly pressed the GHOST key again and removed the cloaking hack. The letters were worn. Whoever had this before used it a lot. As soon as he turned it off, he got shot from behind. When the chatter died down about a possible hacker, he turned it on again, getting several more kills. He had to retain a presence in the game and to his squad mates so he pressed the key when most opportune, spamming the button like he would any other command.

When the match was done, he breathed a sigh of relief, seeing the winning score. But when he turned the game off, palms sweating, he couldn’t see his hands! He put his wrists to the screen but nothing appeared. Closing his eyes, he squeezed his fists together. The light must be playing a trick. When he got up and turned the light on his whole body was missing. Even his clothes were invisible. Back in the game machine he pressed everything, even the GHOST button, but he still couldn’t see himself.

After checking every mirror in his mom’s apartment, he went downstairs. His mom was sitting on the couch. He was almost glad when she didn’t notice him. It was nice to just see her without a mean look on her face. She had never checked on him before, why would it matter if he was gone?

Herbert snuck out the back door, stepping on the same floor board as to not make a sound. The other guys wouldn’t believe he was invisible. Who could believe him? Could they hear him? He put his hands in his sweater pockets, walking at a scattered pace, deciding what to do with his new found power. It didn’t matter to him that he might be like this forever or that one day even his essence might evaporate completely. Instead he instantly thought about what Jenn was doing right now. The school would be on a lunch break and if he walked there, he could get there before the last class ended. Darius and Eric would flip.

He arrived when the afternoon class bell rang. He watched as they entered their respective rooms and abandoned the hall. No one would see him open the double doors, or walk toward the gym, or even sneak into the girl’s locker room. He made sure he opened the door slowly, hearing several girls inside. His heart raced as if he was on a sneaking mission in Metal War. The girls were always so cruel to him, except for one. What was the harm anyways?

He made it around the brick corner and saw them talking in a group around the lockers. They had already finished dressing but he could still feel his pulse.

“Whatever, he’s not that cute anyways. Now Billy, he’s got a cute butt.” Andrea was talking. Her voice made him cringe.

Jenn was sitting quietly, putting on her shoes, looking as sweet even with gym clothes on. Even when he was invisible, he found it hard to approach her.

“You’re so wrong,” Said Jill, “it’s not always about looks.”

“Oh yeah? Who do you like?” Retorted Andrea.

Jill thought for a moment. “John seems like a good guy but I wouldn’t date him.”

“What about Ben?” Said another girl.

This time Jenn chimed in, “Ugh, he’s too quiet. Creepy.”

“I think that one boy likes you. Herbert.” Laughed Andrea. “What a stupid name.”

Jenn turned with a look of disgust. “I’m not into black guys. I don’t know what it is.”

The other girls smiled with wide-mouthed grins. His stomach sank. Andrea was the one to respond with a chuckle, “Racist!”

“No, no” she waved her hands, “he’s just not my type.”

He closed his eyes in defeat. He had often wondered about what girls talked about behind closed doors but he didn’t expect his crush to feel this way, or even say it out loud. She had always been so kind. Now he wasn’t sure about anything anymore. His eyes became glassy. They started talking about their personal preferences for boys, attempting to justify Jenn’s aversion. By now he should have been used to this kind of bigotry in high school, with the amount of micro-aggressions and hatred, but this was too much to handle.

The excitement he had experienced when he entered the school had faded, much like his own physical appearance. As he left the locker room, he heard them making sounds of revulsion. He had dreams of going up to her, of asking her out, of being with her but he knew now that no matter what he did he would never be good enough. Other white boys would get to touch her, hold her, somebody else would get to have her.

Herbert walked to the science room; the door was open. Darius and Eric would know what to do. They were sitting there laughing and fist bumping. The teacher was sitting at the back, trying to be ignored. He cautiously walked and stood behind them, trying not to rub against anything. They were talking about gaming.

“That lag is ruining my kills. It’s stupid bad.” Said Darius loudly.

“At least I’m not tripping like what’s-his-face.” Eric was twirling his pen from the desk behind.

“Herb, man, that’s Herb.” They had practically already forgotten about him. “He’s always wearing those beat up kicks. He’s always cheating, finding someway to be relevant to the team. He’s garbage.”

Herbert stood behind the two and slunk back behind a shelf. He couldn’t trust them to save him. He’d have to save himself. This wasn’t a super power, it was darkness, complete and utter darkness. They were laughing about his hair when he decided he had enough. There was no one he could turn to.

He left the school and walked toward the intersection. Maybe he could rob a bank to at least ease some of the pain he felt. The one near Prosper Street had revolving doors, like the ones he played in with his friend’s when they were younger. Did they really think of him as trash? With his head bent and his ego crushed he placed his hands in his pockets. Even with the thought of stealing money nothing snapped him out of it.

Prosper Street was another block away. He stepped into the intersection, watching the cracks in the asphalt, as black as coal. When he got back to school, he would make their lives a living hell, ruining test grades and pranking them in the bathroom. His fists were balled up when a semi-truck came barreling down the four-lane road. He put his invisible hands out but suddenly realized he had made a grave mistake.