Mentally, Dwight was pacing.

He batted his mouse between his hands and smiled. Catlike reflexes. Quick, silent, accurate. DPRoberts wouldn't know what hit him.

He refreshed his screen.

"Come on, come on."  Even his little character was tapping its foot, impatient.

"Shouldn't you be... I don't know... selling paper?" the Temp challenged him.

Dwight sighed. "For your information, I'm on a very important Mission for Michael, not to mention a longtime personal Quest, so... no."

"A mission and a quest. Impressive."

"Yes. It is. So butt out. Obviously, they don't teach manners in business school."

"Or questing," said the Temp.

"Grandpa, why do you call him the Temp?"

"It's irony."

"What's irony?"

"I'm madly in love with your grandmother."

"Huh?"

"You'll get it when you're older."

Dwight eyed the Temp. "Are you mocking me?"

The Temp ignored the question and pointed to Dwight's screen. "Is that who you're waiting for?"

Dwight turned back to see a second figure waiting opposite his own. Everything the new character wore was black: mask, shirt, sash, pants, boots. The initials "DPR" floated on the screen below him. He leaned cockily on his sword.

"It's about time. First things first."

Dwight began typing in the chat box.

ARM: Show your hands, please.

DPR: May I ask why?

ARM: Yes, you may.

ARM: Allow me to tell you a story.

ARM: I developed my virtual fighting skills years ago playing Thyra the Valkyrie in Gauntlet.

ARM: I honed my reflexes and followed a warrior's strict code of honor.

ARM: I met many worthy opponents on innumerable battlefields.

ARM: Usually I won.

ARM: Once in a while I learned a valuable lesson from a masterful teacher.

ARM: When I reached the age of nine-and-twenty, I met a foe unlike any other.

ARM: He seemed honorable. He fought with skill. He broke my warrior's heart.

DPR:  :O

ARM: We fought to exhaustion.

ARM: We fought until our armor was in shreds.

ARM: We fought as long as the servers would allow.

ARM: Finally, we had only 2 life points between us.

ARM: I used mine to salute him.

ARM: He used his to cut off my legs at the ankles.

ARM: Before we were terminated, I noticed he had one very distinct feature.

ARM: He had six fingers on his right hand.

ARM: I've dedicated the years since to tracking him down.

ARM: And so I ask again: show you hands, please.

DPR: ...

DPR: Wow.

DPR: Very well.

The man in black held up his hands. Five fingers each. Dwight was disappointed.

DPR: And when you find him?

ARM: When I find him, I'll click on him and say,...

ARM: "Hello."

ARM: "My name is Dwight K. Schrute."

ARM: "You killed my avatar."

ARM: "Prepare to die."

DPR: ...

DPR: Good luck with that.

ARM: Thank you. I sense honor in you. Too bad I have to kill you.

DPR: You seem pretty special yourself. Shall we?

Dwight slid his mouse to his left hand and clicked. ARM cried, "En garde!"

DPR stood poised, at the ready. ARM grinned and swiped. Their digital swords clashed a few times, feeling each other out. Then ARM advanced, forcing DPR backward up a rocky incline.

clash clink clash

Dwight squinted, muttering, "His defense is smart, considering the terrain."

The Temp rolled his eyes and tried to concentrate on sales.

Just then, Dwight's phone rang. He looked at it, torn. He was Top Salesman. But he was also on a Mission and a Quest.

clash clash

ring

The Temp looked up. "You want me to get that?"

Dwight looked alarmed. "No! I mean, no, I can handle it. Multitasking. Essential for success." He picked up. "Dwight Schrute, Assistant Regional Manager, Dunder Mifflin Paper Products."

"Hi, Dwight."

Dwight jumped and ARM got tagged. "Jim?"

"Yeah, hey, how's it going?"

clash clink

"It's... fine. I'm a little busy right now. Why are you calling? You haven't called since... well, ever. Damn it!"

"Just wanted to see how you're doing, Dwight. Am I interrupting something?"

Dwight was distracted. ARM was trying to even up with DPR. They clinked and clashed and DPR scored another hit. ARM squeaked in tiny fury.

"Is that... are you... swordfighting?"

Dwight sighed. "If you must know - ah-ha! - yes, I am. Virtually."

"So you're almost swordfighting?"

"No, I'm on VirtualSwordfight.com. And I'm winning." Dwight's eyes shifted nervously to his character. Jim didn't need to know everything.

"You know, I play there, too. I'm a high-scorer."

clink clink squeak

"Impossible. I would have recognized you."

"Not impossible, factual. Check the High Scores."

"I can't - I'm fighting."

"Right, right. So what's your opponent doing right now?"

Dwight shook his head. "He's using Bonetti's defense."

clash

"Then you should come at him with Capo Ferro."

"Uh, duh!"

"Duh."

Dwight switched to a Capo Ferro attack. He would never admit to Jim that he hadn't already been using one. DPR not only fended him off, he scored another hit.

squeak

"Arg!"

"What's wrong?"

"He's using a Thibault defense now. It's like he knew what I was going to do. Well! Let's see how he does against Agrippa. Ha! Take that!"

clink clash clash

"How's he taking it?"

"He's good, I'll give him that." Dwight chuckled.

"What's so funny?"

"There's something he doesn't know."

"That you were the Top Salesman in the Region?"

"No! Well, yes. But... anyway. What DPR doesn't know is that I'm not really left-handed!" And Dwight switched his game play to "RH" and smoothly swapped the mouse and phone between hands. He scored a hit. "Yes! Ha ha!" He backed DPR into a corner and was about to run him through when his opponent blocked and held his strike. Then he smiled. Dwight smirked. "Weakling."

"What? What happened?"

"He just smiled at me."

"Ooo, maybe he likes you, Dwight."

"Very funny, Jim - aah!"

"What?!"

"He isn't left-handed either! Crap, he's charging. This guy is good. Oh man, I don't have many strength points left."

clash squeak clash

Dwight dropped his phone and swiped furiously at DPR, who calmly stepped away from each clumsy thrust.

swish swish swish

ARM's strength points were draining away like water as he hacked and slashed, and DPR's speed was making Dwight's eyes cross. Suddenly, DPR's sword shot out and knocked off ARM's glasses. In his shock, Dwight stopped clicking, and DPR struck ARM's sword from his hand.

Dwight exhaled sharply. On the screen, ARM lowered himself before DPR, prostrate.

ARM: Kill me quickly.

DPR: I'd rather lose a sale than kill a swordsman such as yourself.

ARM: Who are you?

DPR: It's not important.

ARM: Please, master, I must know.

DPR: Get used to disappointment.

ARM: Yes, master.

DPR bowed. As ARM raised a hand to salute, his strength points ticked down to zero. GAME OVER flashed in big red letters.

Dwight sat back, stunned.

"Dwight. Dwight."

Dwight jumped when he realized his phone was still connected. He picked the handset up off the floor. "Hello?" he asked, dazed.

"Dwight, it's still Jim. What happened, buddy?"

"He beat me. I failed my mission for Michael."

"What was your mission for Michael, exactly?"

"To watch out for threats to Todd Packer's bids on Pam. To eliminate DPRoberts."

"I see. Was anyone else helping with this mission?"

"Yeah, Kevin. He's supposed to make sure no one in this office gets in the way."

"Huh. And what's Michael doing?"

"Keeping an eye on Pam. She almost shredded herself earlier to get out of it. Stupid. It's free food."

"Wow, sounds like you guys are pretty busy, so I'll let you go. Take it easy, Dwight."

"Yeah. Easy." Dwight hung up his phone blindly. "I can't believe I lost."

The Temp shrugged, then felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked up to find Michael, who smiled at him then looked at Dwight. "How'd it go?"

"I'm sorry, Michael."

"What?"

"I lost. I let you down."

"Great. Well, it wouldn't have kept him from bidding anyway."

Just then, Kevin let out a strangled squeal and fell out of his chair.

Michael rolled his eyes. "God, what now?"

Pam watched from the relative safety of reception as Michael headed to accounting. She looked at her screen. Still $500. Still DPRoberts.

She wished Jim were there. He would never have let this happen. But he wasn't, and it had. She minimized her screen, picked up her teapot, and went to the kitchen.

Five o'clock couldn't come soon enough.