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The year, is 2008, the new American president is Obama, and the financial crisis is still toppling businesses, the world over. Yet you, are sitting at your computer, with the screen glowing at your face, with Gaiaonline.com written over the banner. The forums are as usual filled with mundane activities, people complaining about gold, people complaining that there are glitches all over the site.

You come across something however, that intrigues you. A banner? A signature? It doesn't matter, all that intrigued you at the time, was the design, and the name. SleepDark. What is SleepDark? It is a question that plays upon your mind again and again. You notice that the guild is hidden, and you can't see what goes on inside. You move your mouse to navigate somewhere else, but for some reason, you click the apply to join button.

Thinking for a moment, you pause. What do you put in your join request after all? A name? Perhaps you're supposed to give a role-playing sample? Perhaps you're supposed to give reasons why you want to join. There's nothing telling you what to put in, but there's something, something that is prodding you, pointing you in the direction, that you should really try hard, to put in as much detail as you can, no matter what you decide to put in, and at the best of your ability too.

You press the send button, and wonder just exactly what you might be getting yourself into.

Three to four days later, there are two messages in your inbox. You get a message telling you whether you have been accepted and another one, from a representative of the guild. You wonder if you can browse yet. Then there's something about that letter, asking you a series of questions. Strange, you don't see any relation to them, but you answer them one by one, send them back. The moment you do however, the screen of your computer begins to glow brightly, the whirring of the computer grows louder, and then, a huge explosion of light, with a huge sound following it, and you are engulfed. There's a sense of weightlessness, you wonder if someone spiked your drink as you seem to come around, your head, still foggy, clears slightly, and see this person, leaning over you.

"Another one?" The voice asks, "Are you alright?" You don't reply, it's not that you won't, it's that you can't, your voice just won't come to you at the moment, "Don't worry, welcome our world."