Ryan Laney has a secret.

At 9PM on Fridays, Ryan winds down from practice by logging in to his favorite video game. It's an MMORPG–and no, it has nothing to do with racing. At 9PM on Fridays, Ryan's not a professional racer. He's a moisture farmer on Tatooine.

His goals are simple: Farm enough moisture to make a decent living; maybe send his nephew to college. Find a girl. Level high enough to build that bomb shelter so he can survive the airstrike in Level 5 (something he has failed multiple times now).

"I'm telling you, I don't think it's possible to buy the Mega Drill and then have enough credits left over to not starve to death. You can't get the shelter unless you co-invest. We need to team up," he says over his headset.

"It's possible. You just have to play a perfect game." says another player–Hindsight2020. Right now it's just Ryan and six other guys on Tatooine, and the other guys have their mics turned off. It's not exactly the most popular game.

"Okay, but that's stupid. Why would you run the same level for 50 hours just to figure out how to get a perfect score, just to get this dumb bomb shelter? If you give 500 and I give 500 we can just buy it right now and move on to Level 6!" Ryan counters.

"So perfection is stupid? That explains a lot about you."

"I'm just talking about straight-up efficiency, man. Besides, we're moisture farmers. The whole point is to work together."

"You know that transport that crashed back in Level 3? I salvaged radioactive lead from it. I could contaminate your whole mine if I wanted to."

"Cool," says Ryan. "Go for it."

Hindsight2020 farms some moisture. He re-tarps his garage. He adds a sand sculpture to his front yard. He doesn't poison anything. Because if he takes Ryan out, it's just him and six boring dudes–one of whom is building a sand castle so large he definitely has to be pouring real money into this dumb game.

Frankly, Ryan's surprised Hindsight2020 hasn't dropped some cash into it, just to show castle guy up. Ryan knows he's got the finances, and he's definitely not lacking for spite.

"Did you read the new rules package yet? The new aero specs look good; I'm pretty stoked," Ryan says to 2020.

"I don't know what you're talking about," 2020 replies.

"Okay."

Ryan barters some moisture for clay from a neighboring planet. He's planning to retrofit his well. If you're gonna play a perfect game, he figures, he's going to have to level up his well.

"Can I trade you for some of that?" asks 2020.

"Whatever," says Ryan. But he flips to the trade screen to see what 2020's offering.

500 credits.

For a bit of clay that's probably worth half that, at best.

With an extra 500 credits in the bank, Ryan's got his bomb shelter.

Ryan's never really thought about what his fellow players look like, on their side of the screen. One of the things he likes about this game is that it doesn't matter who you are: On Tatooine, you're all moisture farmers. But he wishes 2020 could see his face right now. He doesn't have words to convey his surprise.

He clicks 'Accept.'

Within minutes, Ryan's got the bomb shelter that will save his life about half a level from now, and for the first time ever, he'll finally get to see Level 6. Rumor has it the Trade Ship starts selling new kinds of drillbits, which is exciting.

Ryan scrolls to the other side of the planet, where 2020's farm is. He's redone his roof yet again. With the clay, he's made himself a patio painted xylophone colors. It's…nice, Ryan supposes, but 2020 obviously knows it's all about to be obliterated. He knows that air raid's coming.

When 2020 notices Ryan's cursor hovering over his house, he says, "Watch this," and starts clicking the tiles. For the first few seconds, it's just a mess of noise.

Then it's Doo-DOO-do-do-do-DOOOO-do do-do-do-DOO-do dodododo-doooooooo. Which is still basically a mess of noise, but it's a mess of noise Ryan instantly recognizes as 'Star-Wars-theme-played-on-tile-xylophone.' It's pretty freaking awesome.

"What happened to 'play a perfect game?'" Ryan laughs. "Dude, this is amazing! You're amazing."

"It's just a stupid game," says 2020.

Five minutes later, Level 5's air raid comes and Ryan is safe in his bomb shelter and 2020's xylophone house burns to the ground. Ryan doesn't have to put the fire out–it's a waste of water, frankly, and it's not like it'll bring 2020 back; Game Over in this game is Game Over. He does anyway, though.

On Sunday, Ryan Laney is racing for third. More specifically, Cruz is racing for third. Ryan's caught in her dirty air, and is flopping all over the freaking place. Ryan can't hear the announcers, but he's sure they're having an absolute field day with this. He feels more like a flag than he does a car that's ever gonna win one.

Then something tags his back bumper. Just a tap at first, then sustained contact, shoving him up the field. The added momentum settles him some, and he finds his line again. His speedometer crawls 1mph faster, 3 mph faster. It's not much, but it's enough.

It's Storm behind him.

The second Ryan noses past Cruz, takes the angle from her and drops her back to fifth, Storm lets up off Ryan's back and passes him easily. But now that he's out of Cruz's air, Ryan's got third in the bag. It'll be his highest finish all season, and Storm knows it.

"Dude, what's with you and Storm?" Bubba asks him after the race. "Lap 290, he was totally helping you out."

Ryan brushes him off. "I dunno, man. He hates Cruz; I was a convenient prop. It's not like it kept him from beating my butt afterward. Storm's just a weird… weird strategic mastermind dude."

"Whatever you say." Bubba keeps an eye on Storm, who's fielding an interview on the other side of pit row.

"You jealous?" Ryan teases. "Don't worry. You'll always be my #1, Bubs."

It's Friday again, and Ryan logs into his moisture farm on Tatooine again.

2020's there, too.

"Hey man," greets Ryan. "Thanks for the bump-draft the other day."

"You keep saying stuff like it's supposed to mean something," says 2020. "I'm not your diary. I don't care about your life. Are we gonna split the bomb shelter this time or what?"

Ryan grins. "Sure thing, 20. Can you do that xylophone thing again? But like, inside the shelter this time?"

"I don't do encores," says 2020. "Watch this, though."

2020's a freaking showoff, but Ryan doesn't mind.

Ryan Laney has a secret.