Outside, the snow is falling, the first storm of the season. Last year, a day like this would’ve led me to pull out the sled from the basement. We’d get suited up and make our way to the hill in town, take turns sledding, and return home red-cheeked for cocoa. Now the sun’s already setting, the snow in our backyard blue with evening. We’ve been at war for over six hours.

“Okay,” I say, rising from the couch. “Enough gaming, it’s time to do homework.”

“After this battle. You can’t abandon your squad mid-game.”

“How long until the battle’s done?”

“I don’t know. Maybe five minutes. Maybe an hour.”

“What?”

But before he can explain, a sniper he hasn’t seen takes him out. “Damn it,” he says into his headset. “Hey guys, gotta go. Regroup tomorrow afternoon?”

“Yup.”

“Totally.”

And just like that, my son has friends.

I drop Eli off at his mom’s on Sunday. No more simulated killing for another week. Back at the house, his socks are balled up on the couch, his dirty T-shirt on the floor along with half a dozen comics spread like playing cards across the carpeting. I gather his dirty laundry and bring his comic books to his room. He’s still got his Spiderman poster on the wall and a dusty deck of Pokémon cards on his shelf, artifacts from a childhood that feels long gone now that he’s started his war game. I return to grab the rest of his dirty clothes from the living room.

The system is blinking blue, waiting for another war to begin. I didn’t always suck at video games. Back in the day I was a master of Grand Theft Auto and Fortnite. I could at least practice my gaming skills so I’m decent for the next time Eli comes to stay. And within minutes I’m logging on and crafting my own avatar and then I’m back in the trailer filled with soldiers.

“We’ve got two operative cells in this town,” the Sergeant says. “Find them and take them out.”

“Sir, yes, sir!” I say into the headset.

Glaring sunlight streams through the cargo doors and I breathe slowly, press the A button to rise, and navigate toward the street with my machine gun low and ready. There’s no action, just cars driving by and a café where men are drinking coffee. I press the triangle button and my avatar lifts his gun toward the men.

“Easy there, buddy.”

BlackHawk1372 is next to me, his light machine gun slung against his back. He takes out a pack of cigarettes, lights one, and extends the pack.

“Thanks,” I say, though I have no clue how to take the cigarette. When I try to sling my gun, my avatar just uses it to jab the air.