World Witout Wizards: Guard

I was a star, and my team, 'Crash, Kill and Destroy', abandoned me. Thousands of spectators and fans supported me. They didn't know about the struggle for the right to participate in the game and saw only the fun the players had. I was living off someone else's money, and a couple of pretty girls hinted that they wanted to get to know me. I'm sure no one would refuse that.

Around midnight we found ourselves in the apartment of a red-haired beauty. Her parents were not home. Or perhaps she was independent enough to rent her own apartment. Her eyes... Hell, I thought I'd remember them forever...

We had a great time until it turned out she wasn't living alone.

Her girlfriend returned from another party and began to hint that she needed to study and get up early... So I ended up on the street in the middle of the night in a strange city, like a jerk...

The biggest problem was that my phone battery died... I didn't expect that I wouldn't return to my hotel room, rented specifically for our team, for so long, and hadn't charged my phone. It was upsetting. Everything was going wrong.

Fortunately, my English wasn't so poor; any 24-hour store probably had a power outlet... So, I went looking for a shop, or a beating, depending on my luck. I felt sick from the drink, although I did not drink alcohol... Despite the pre-dawn light, the city didn't save on electricity. I walked quietly along the well-lit street and thought. It was not a pleasant thing to do at five or six o'clock in the morning. Electric cars already carried sleepy people back to work. By the way, I was unemployed again...

I hated myself and I hated Ron. Perhaps we would have lost if I had obeyed his order, but then he wouldn't have the right to accuse me. I would have remained a simple team player, kept my place in the CKnD, a permanent contract, salary, housing, training with the best players…

What was in store for me now? It is unlikely that the manager wouldn't say anything. A player's behavior, and especially that of a legionnaire, taken for a few rounds, isn't a trade secret. Most likely, the other suits were already aware of what happened, and even I knew what they would think of someone who disobeyed the team leader's order. Nothing good. The longer I thought about it, the more upset I got. Shit! I missed this chance! But I've got the prize money, great memories, my fans' support and the approving roar of the crowd. Thinking about it, I felt better, and the memories of the red-haired girl's green eyes made me excited. Morning wood in the middle of the street came a bit late, but fortunately, I got to the store.

"Good morning," I said to a gray-haired man sitting in the chair. "Can I charge my smartphone?"

"No problem, kid, pick a charger, buy it and charge. There's a socket in the corner," he nodded in the direction of the filter network with five slots; a battered chair was standing nearby. I took the cheapest item, because I was going to use it only once, and was surprised with the plug. I was used to everything being standardized a long time ago. It obviously had its own formats, and I spent a few minutes finding the right one. Then there was a hitch. I didn't have a credit card. My bank account was linked to the phone that was dead.

"Okay," the man waved his hand benignly, "There's a card reader at the door. Charge your phone and pay."

"What are you doing here then?" I was surprised.

"Do you suggest I should stay home and do nothing?" He was surprised. "I have a habit of working. Sometimes I meet very interesting people. What do you do for a living, if it isn't a secret?"

"It's not a secret, of course." I shrugged in confusion. "I'm a pro-gamer. I participate in the Royal games. Yesterday, for example…"

The man listened to my story with great interest, and we didn't notice when a few more people came into the store. They chose something and then went to the exit, but the door slammed right in front of them. The siren howled.

"F.u.c.k! The cops are coming!" one of the guys shouted. Only now I noticed him wearing a balaclava and dark glasses preventing the reading of his retina. "I'm not going back to prison! Open the f.u.c.k.i.n.g door, man! Or do you want trouble?!"

"You're out of luck!" the store owner kept his cool. He emerged from under the counter with a loaded shotgun.

I didn't even notice the perps pull out their guns. The shootout began completely unexpectedly. I was unarmed and decided to hide behind the shelf. The storeowner cried out a second later. He might have been injured.

Bastards! I needed to get at least a knife and call the police if they weren't informed. Rushing forward to the charging smartphone, I heard the sound of broken glass and the whistle of a passing bullet. I wasn't so lucky the second time. Pain pierced through my whole body, my brain exploded and a kaleidoscope of colors appeared before my eyes.

Then the world faded.

***

"Good morning, sir," an African-American with a badge on his c.h.e.s.t was bending over me. The morning wasn't so good for me, but I couldn't say a word. My tongue didn't move. I could see the tube sticking out of my throat, but I couldn't even m.o.a.n, my lungs didn't work.

"Calm down, man! You're at Boston Central Hospital. Everything will be OK."

"I told you it wasn't a good idea to get him out of the coma yet," the nurse nearby protested. "You have three minutes, then you have to go."

"Two minutes is enough. Well, you can't answer. Your accomplices successfully shot in your back," the police officer grinned. "That's called karma. Now you're paralyzed from the neck down, you can't speak. Why did you come to my country, you f.u.c.k.i.n.g illegal alien? If you tell me who your accomplices were, who killed the store owner, I'll let you see a lawyer."

What accomplices? Why am I an illegal, goddammit? I have a visa and an entry permit on my smartphone! What the hell is going on?

"Hey, don't roll your eyes. Answer me. Looking up means 'Yes.' Looking down means 'No'. Do you understand me?"

I raised my eyes to the ceiling, struggling to calm down a panic mixed with anger.

"Perfect. Do you know where your accomplices are? They had masks on, unlike yourself, so they're hard to find. Well? What do you mean 'No'? You should know that, you bastard! You distracted David while his shop was being emptied!"

"Don't threaten him," the nurse protested, "Or I'll report this!"

"I don't care. He was a good guy," the African-American got irritated. "Old-fashioned. He even had cameras without recognition.…"

"I'll call the doctor!" The nurse snorted, turned around and got out. The cop was asking other dumb questions I couldn't answer. Lucky for me, soon the doctor showed up and kicked him out.

"Excuse me, sir," the decent gray-haired man apologized, "I shouldn't have allowed him to do that to my patient, even if he's unidentified. Unfortunately, our hospital cannot provide treatment to people without insurance. If you tell us the coordinates of your relatives or friends – I'll be very grateful. Come on. You'll spell your next of kin, and we'll contact him."

Dammit. What will I spell if I have no one? In this country, I only know Ronald and the team, or more precisely their nicknames in the game rather than their real names. Who remembers phone numbers when everything is on Facebook and Google? All my data was on my smartphone, but according to the doctor, it wasn't found with me.

The next few days were painful. They went through the alphabet, and I would stop them at the right letter, looking up. It took a few days to write a simple message. A few more to contact Ron. This bastard didn't initially believe what happened, but then he canceled the team's world tour to get back to the States.

When my identity was established, a lot of money was withdrawn from my bank account. It would be enough to buy a brand new Ferrari. I was transferred to a normal room, the equipment was changed to the latest one, I could even speak, albeit with great difficulty. However, the rest of my body was paralyzed.

"Hi Mikh," Ronald greeted me entering the room, "The guys and I brought you flowers."

"Hi. Thanks." At least it's not nuts or chocolates. "How are you?"

"Great, yeah... Well, I'm sorry. Please, I was wrong then, and I want to make it up to you, but I don't know how. I've heard your spinal cord injury is inoperable, but we've deliberated in the entire gaming community and found a solution."

"What? Will you transfer me into the terminator's body?" I tried to joke.

"Well, almost," Ron nodded seriously. "Meet Mr. Nigel."

"Good afternoon, sir," a man in a dapper business suit came out from behind the players, "I am a representative of the company developing virtual worlds. Although it's risky, and you may lose even what you have, I have an offer you won't refuse. You'll get everything: a new body, a new family. Everything you dreamed of."