Anyone who performs MapleStory--an Maplestory Mesos internet multiplayer game made by South Korean programmer Wizet--soon learns to despise what gamers call "looting." These critters, after vanquished, leave behind in-game currency and all sorts of valuable or crucial items--that the player that is successful is then obliged to wander over and click on a button to collect, or "loot." Countless hours may be frittered away in this insistent pursuit. Looting, for its dogged MapleStory player, becomes a maddening chore.
But MapleStory also features what it calls a Money Shop. There, excited players may exchange real-world money for a number of in-game items--such as, indispensably, a digital pet that offers companionship whilst at the same time taking care of the looting, usually available for about $5 each 90 days. "The pet follows you around as you perform, and items near the pet magically jump off the floor and into your inventory," explains Uzo Olisemeka, a longtime fan of MapleStory who claims paying not to need to loot an item hundreds of times each hour will be "a sneak." MapleStory is formally free to play, and nobody is required to spend money in the Cash Shop. At least in theory. "The game is practically not possible to enjoy at higher levels without a pet looting for you," Olisemeka points out.
However, what exactly does a player of MapleStory own when they spend money on their electronic pet? The question is becoming more and more relevant at a time when more and more of our property exists in the digital sphere: digitally downloaded movies, television programs, Kindle novels, MP3s. We understand perfectly well that when we trade money for physical products--to get a TV or a refrigerator or a set of jeans--that a concrete transaction has been conducted. Namely, we understand that, having given money to another party and having obtained merchandise in return, the goods in question now belong to us at a concrete and legally protected manner.
If a person steals our TV or our refrigerator or our jeans, then we firmly assume a crime was committed. But what about a product in a video game? What happens when it's stolen, or if a glitch in the software makes it simply vanish? Did such an item ever actually belong to us in the first place? The scenario isn't hypothetical. In-game valuables are stolen all the time: They are the objects of cons and swindles, frequently sought by swindlers and grifters--such as a briefly notorious heist from the popular MMO EVE Online, in which thieves made off with in-game merchandise worth more cheap Maplestory 2 Mesos than $16,000 offline. Game markets that demand bartering can even make individuals vulnerable--from the actual world--to malicious ruses and unjust trades. It may be possible to swap real cash for, say, a powerful magic sword. But to what extent is that sword yours?