Confession: I accidentally turned off the PlayStation Network

I sat in my chair, sweating. Sweating profusely, like an obese man (or woman; although, I’d never call her that) watching television. I looked down at my body to double check. No. I was not overweight. But I was sweating. I felt the sting of salt drip into my eyes. I cleared my brow of the self-induced moisture and tried in vain to calm myself. I had destroyed the PlayStation Network. I turned it off.

The night before, I was just like any other gamer. I was playing the game of my choice at that particular moment. There is nothing surprising about that. Some people were salivating over Portal 2 while others were getting ready to unleash all kinds of krazy hell in Mortal Kombat. Personally, I was playing DC Universe Online, a decent massively multiplayer online, role-playing game that mostly feels like a solo game — unless you do Alerts/Raids.

I had just finished a night of player vs. player (PvP), trying to earn my Tier 1 PvP gear. I successfully earned a chest piece and a pair of wings. I was feeling good about myself. I had just renewed my subscription after a short hiatus and had plans to PvP my way up to some awesome Captain Marvel inspired Tier 2 gear. Shazam!

But, alas, my body waxed weary, and I decided to retire for the evening. I pushed down the “PS” button on my DualShock 3, and for the first time ever — unaware of what I was doing — I selected “turn off the system.” It wasn’t until I woke up the next morning that I realized the horror of what I had done.

“PSN Down!” read the headlines. The full force of guilt cascaded over me like a torrent of gales and debris. What had I done? What will I do when they find me? Is it enough to simply say, “I’m sorry,” or would I be sued for damages and placed beside George Hotz as Sony’s number 2 most wanted? I don’t even know how to rap.

Days later, I read something about an “outside intrusion” and fabrications of data theft. I came to the conclusion that Sony’s false claims were only presented due to their embarrassment that somebody out there turned off their network with their own damned technology. Somebody was given such awesome power and used it in ignorance.

It was almost genius. They preferred to be disgraced by one level of incompetence over another. Governments would get involved and dubious lawsuits would be filed, but at least the bewildering truth would remain unheard. Why, after all, would they give some strange man in Canada a global light switch? Furthermore, why wouldn’t they bring his attention to it?

I ignored the red herring of FBI and Homeland Security investigations. Sony knew just as well as I did that if PSN was going to go back online, it was going to come down to me.

While the guilt remained, I was put at ease due to the blame being put on “hacktivists” and various other people who “knew what they were doing.” I suddenly realized that this was a message to me from Sony, which told me that I was in a unique position. I could ask…no, demand whatever I wanted. My mother once told me that “one day, your self-involved, overgrown ego is going to leave you with nothing.” She walked off with a disbelieving snort. Who’s laughing now, mother?

I picked up my phone and dialed 1-800-SNY-PREZ. Nothing. “Well played, Hirai-san,” I muttered to the automated message. I dashed to the phone book. There he was. K Hirai. I dialed with the ferocity of an adolescent boy looking for his father’s Playboys.

“Hello?” the answer at the other end.

“Hirai-san?” I inquired.

“Um…I guess.” He was playing it cool. Too cool, if you ask me. It proved just how in control of the situation I was.

“Alright, Hirai-san,” I continued. “You know who this is and you know what this is about. I will flip the switch and in return, I want payment.”

“What switch?” His acting was impeccable. “Who is this?”

“Don’t play coy with me.” I was losing patience. “I already had to restructure my plan after I found out you changed your phone number. So I require you to be straight with me. I’ll turn everything back on, but I demand compensation for the stress-inducing power that was forced upon me.”

There was silence. I remained stout but only for a moment. I soon realized that I was not the only one being affected by this. There were millions across the globe who I had been hurting. I hung up the phone and I wept.

What had I become? My star had dimmed after being so radiant. I had become a husk filled with greed and impotence. My life had been rank with fertility once, but now the grass had shrivelled and lacked lustre.

I dwelled in my self-pity and angst for days. I cried extensively and passionately. I had obtained what mother had said I would: nothing. I had unknowingly but hastily taken emptiness and solitude.

I failed to notice that hours had turned to days, and days had turned to weeks. I picked up the phone for the last time.

“Hello?” came the answer.

“It’s me.” My voice was notably broken. “I’ll give them what they want. Just don’t make them suffer anymore. Don’t give this power to anyone else. I’ll give you back your machine, but you must promise me that you’ll make it up to them.”

There was no answer. He simply hung up. I grabbed my PlayStation 3, put it in a brown box, and addressed it to “Kaz Harai, PSN Headquarters, Japan.”

A few days passed, and then, like a beacon of hope, PSN was restored. Scores of gamers were jubilant and they cheered. Welcome-back rewards had been announced that would eventually be received to open, albeit critical, arms. To keep with the hacktivist ruse, Sony decided to keep the PlayStation Store down, claiming PSN won’t be at full strength until all the kinks were worked out.

Meanwhile, I lay in my bed with a quiet sense of satisfaction. I did, in the end, do the right thing. It took me some time to come to my senses, but no man or woman could go through what I went through without at least one moment of weakness.

As I let out a loud yawn, I heard a knock at the door. It was the mailman. He handed me a box. It looked like the same box that I had sent to Sony, though a bit more worn and rough around the edges. I opened the cardboard box and there, safely secured, sat a PlayStation 3. If I didn’t know better, I would have sworn that it was the same PS3. I hooked it up and played a couple rounds of DCUO PvP.

When I was finished, I pressed the “PS” button and confidently selected “turn off the system.” Confident because I knew that when I “turned off the system,” The System would stay on.