I would like to thank everyone who has read the first chapter. It means a lot to me - it really does! I'm having fun writing again, and look forward to continuing this tale. I do not know what the update schedule will be - whenever I finish a chapter, I guess. Enjoy, and please tell me what you think!
Current music: What's Up - 4 Non Blondes
As soon as I swung the door open, with a motion nearly powerful enough to fling it off its hinges, I came face to face with my roommate.
A quick word about my roommate, before you meet him: His name is Michael Marrymore, and he’s my age. In fact, he and I went way back; we’d been friends for as long as we could remember, and even during a time that we couldn’t remember. My mother, in fact, had told me several stories about how cute we were together in the same playgroup as small children.
For the most part, he was an easy-going guy. Today was a notable exception to that general rule.
To this day, I do not know how Michael knew that something was wrong. Perhaps it was the look on my face, or maybe just the fact that I’d entered the room in such a huff. Either way, my roommate’s face had fallen to a large degree.
“How was your day, Austin?” Michael asked me. This was done in a tone that did not suggest congeniality or friendliness; rather, it seemed he wanted answers. And he would stop at nothing to get them.
“Uh…” I began, not knowing how to finish the sentence.
One of Michael’s hazel eyes glinted with proverbial lightning. He stomped one of his feet and wagged a finger at me, as though I were some pet animal that had had an accident on the carpet.
“You’ll tell me exactly what happened at work today, Austin” Michael snapped, a hint of venom in his voice. “We’re roommates, so we can handle the truth about each other.”
I know I can handle whatever you need to tell me, I thought bitterly. But can I handle your reaction when I tell you that one of our only two sources of income is gone?
Any thoughts of buttering Michael up by treating him to a nice dinner before breaking the news, which had already been pushed to the side of my mind, were now obliterated. I knew now that I needed to tell him the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. We were childhood friends, after all - there was no need to lie to one another.
“Okay” I sighed. “Do you want to know? Do you really want to hear it?”
“You got fired” my roommate stated, as though it were just another fact. Two plus two was four, the United States was a global laughingstock, and I had been fired from my job at the Nintendo Café.
My face fell like a freight elevator whose chains had been cut. “Yes, I did indeed get fired” I mumbled. “Do you have a problem with that?”
What an idiotic thing to utter! OF COURSE he’ll have a problem with that! Having only one income will make it even more difficult to stay afloat! And it’s all my fault! ALL of it!
No! It was the damn machine’s fault! Those machines can do the job so much better than I can, and what am I supposed to do about that? I’m only human!
“Of course I’ve got a problem with that, Austin!” Michael bellowed. “I told you that you had to stay focused on your job! You need to get your act together!”
“I know I do.”
“Then learn to swim, or else you’ll drown” my roommate muttered. “And not only will you drown, but when I, the lifeguard, go to save you, you’ll drag me down to the watery grave with you!”
“I said I was sorry” I mumbled.
“No, you did not. But quite frankly, I don’t care. Sorry isn’t going to cut it. Sorry won’t help us pay our bills!”
If this is the shitstorm I’m enduring now, thank God I didn’t take him out to Illegal Sea Foods or something fancy like that.
“Michael, you’re my friend. Why do you have to yell at me like that?”
My roommate ran his hands through his sleek blonde hair, which he kept surprisingly well considering that one of us (me) had been working for well below minimum wage. (And yes, the federal minimum wage was no longer enforced, plunging the US closer and closer to failed-state status.)
“It’s for your own good, Austin” my roommate insisted, once more pointing directly at my face. “And you’re going to pay for that. Well, we both will, but you should pay more.”
I sighed, though my heart also skipped a beat. Judging by the way Michael spoke, he had every intention of “getting even” with me, a sobering thought for sure.
In turn, I felt tempted to apologize again, but I quickly realized that this would get me nowhere. In fact, it would likely only piss Michael off more - and again, why shouldn’t he be angry when I’d possibly taken the apartment away from both of us?
“Anyway,” Michael continued, “do you have any idea what we’ll do for dinner?”
Well, I could have treated us to something nice if I had more paychecks in my future. But that’s no longer the case.
I frowned, sitting down on the ratty old sofa that neither of us could afford to replace. The couch made a rather unsettling sound as my weight rested on it, and I knew that its days were numbered.
“I guess…” I began, but then trailed off. I’d given my roommate some harsh truths in the last few minutes, but more were coming.
“What do you guess, Austin?” Michael asked. “You’ll need to come up with an idea - did they let you take any food back from work?”
I narrowed my eyes. “They didn’t let me do that even when I was an employee in good standing.” Not that “good standing” ever described my position there. From the very start, I was just a cog in the machine that could easily be replaced by an actual machine. Which they have now done.
“So you don’t have any food from work” my roommate stated as a fact.
“Unfortunately, I do not. We could always heat up some instant ramen - that’s the one thing we have plenty of.”
“I guess that’s our only option,” Michael said.
So that’s exactly what we did. My memory is that we selected the pork ramen and heated it up in the microwave for less than five minutes. Our stomachs were both audibly rumbling, after all, and beggars can’t be choosers.
We sat down to eat our “food.” Since beggars couldn’t be choosers, you might think that I would be content with what I had. That I wouldn’t start dreaming of visiting Japan, hanging out in some breezy restaurant, and using chopsticks to slurp noodles that had been simmering in a delicious orange-flavored broth.
You’d be wrong, though, because it’s human nature to want what one cannot have. That is something I’ve learned from life below the poverty line.
Of course, it was completely unattainable. Given the gutting of the FAA by administrations of both parties, the three legacy carriers (American Airlines, Delta Air Lines, and United) had all been banned from other countries’ airspace. The same applied to the various American low-cost carriers, as Michael had told me several times. As a result, I would have to fly there on a Japanese airline, and those were far more expensive. (Granted, any long-distance flight was well out of our budget anyway, so it was a moot point.)
Still, a man can dream…right?
I guess I must have been slurping my “noodles” pretty loudly, because Michael glared at me several times throughout our pitiful meal. He found something about my attempted enjoyment of it objectionable.
“Why are you being so loud?” he snapped eventually.
“I’m imagining things,” I muttered. “Let this guy dream, okay?”
“What are you dreaming about?”
“Just…going to Japan, or even Boston” I sighed.
“You wish you could go to Boston?” Michael enquired.
“Well yeah, who doesn’t? Isn’t it a bucket-list destination for most Americans?”
“I guess it would be,” my roommate said with a shrug. “It was the only American city to remain economically successful following the crisis of the 2010s and 2020s, as well as the increasing dysfunction since then.”
I winked. “That’s exactly why.”
“Of course,” Michael continued, raising his voice, “we can’t afford a trip to Boston. Not remotely. Unless you want to take a road trip, but I doubt my car could withstand the wilderness. It’s full of insurgents, after all.”
“Well…” I said. “There’s still one option.”
Michael jabbed his fork in my direction. “Are you talking about what I think you’re talking about?”
I winked again. “What do you think I’m talking about?”
“You can’t be crazy enough to go for it, Austin. You know it’s a regressive tax, specifically meant to grift money out of our pockets. The rich people, like those in charge at Beantown Games…all they want to do is get richer at our expense.”
He has a point, I guess. But…
“There’s a reason people pay for a chance to win those Silver Tickets” I responded calmly. “For many people, it’s their only hope to escape the squalor of modern American life.”
“Well, this life isn’t great, I’ll admit,” Michael admitted. “But still. You’d throw away what little dough we have on a microtransaction and hope we get lucky. Austin, do you know just how lucky you’d have to be?”
“One in a million” I mouthed.
“Not even. Honestly, Austin, if you buy an accessory in Animal Antics and hope your receipt contains a Silver Ticket, I might literally have you committed to the local loony bin. Because that would be warranted.”
“I guess that’s true,” I conceded. “But Michael, tell me…what do we have to lose?”
My roommate gestured at the beige walls of our small studio apartment. The couch (and the rest of what little furniture existed here) looked like moths had been using it for a veritable feast. Additionally, the plaster on the walls was itself peeling. Needless to say, our abode was very humble indeed, and it was a sight for sore eyes.
Anyway, my roommate’s message was plain: This. This is what we have to lose. No matter how bad you think things might be, they can always get worse.
“Fair enough” I mumbled, quietly enough that I don’t think he heard me. After that, the rest of the meal passed in near-silence, particularly due to my efforts not to slurp. (As much as I cared about my roommate, it still hurt to have him dismiss my dream like that.)
As soon as we had thrown away our ramen cups (yes, as American society had decayed, nobody bothered to recycle anymore), I excused myself to return to the bedroom.
That’s right. It wasn’t my bedroom, it was the bedroom. Due to our precarious financial situation, Michael and I were forced to share a room with two twin beds, neither of which were enough to fully accommodate our height, but both of them had to make do.
I collapsed onto my bed, exhausted from my terrible, horrible day. Truth be told, the first thing I wanted was to close my eyes and sink into a deep slumber, not caring until tomorrow about what lay in store for both Michael and myself.
Yet I resisted this temptation to anesthetize myself from the stress. Instead I grabbed my headset from the bedside table (which, like almost everything else in the flat, I shared with Michael.)
I deserve this, I insisted mentally. I deserve something good after what I went through today. I’m not going to deprive myself of the small pleasures in life.
Of course, these simple pleasures were increasingly few and far between. In a way, the decline in my standard of living had been akin to the country’s decline at large - it had begun with a bang, but people had grown increasingly numb to just how far things in America were deteriorating.
“Please look to your left” the headset commanded.
I did as I was told, fixing my eyes on the red triangle that appeared in my field of vision, which resulted in a clicking sound.
“Good job”, the robotic tone (which everyone knew belonged to Manuel Coventry, CEO of Beantown Game) replied. “Now please look to your right.”
Once more, I obeyed Manuel’s instructions, and this time focused on a green triangle. Once I’d stared at it for a couple seconds, I heard another click.
“Very well. Now look forward.”
I leaned forward and glanced at the blue sphere that manifested itself in front of me. There was a sound akin to the triumphant theme from the Zelda games (you know which one I’m talking about, when you’ve just solved a puzzle), and then Manuel’s voice turned up again.
“Congratulations. You are now calibrated.”
My Animal Antics avatar, a majestic and ferocious lion standing on four legs, stared directly at me. Having grown up with virtual reality, I wasn’t fazed by this, though members of older generations had allegedly required some adjustment - I believed this.
In any case, now that I was logged into the system, I maneuvered my gaze to the icon for the Beantown EShop, the headset’s hub for digital transactions.
I don’t know what I can afford. I mean, at a certain point, things can’t get much worse…right?
So I made an impulsive decision. Even now, I could not tell you what game I purchased, or how large its digital footprint would be on my headset (which came with 2 TB of storage, and that was the basic model.) I don’t even remember how much it cost, which is surprising at first, but makes plenty of sense in hindsight.
Once I’d exchanged some amount of money for the game, I went to the headset’s Internet browser and navigated to my email inbox. That was when I saw it.
TOP SECRET - RECEIPT FROM BEANTOWN GAMES DIGITAL PURCHASE.
My stomach dropped as though I were on a roller coaster. While I’d gotten several of these messages before, receipts to confirm that I’d meant to make the purchase, they’d never contained the words TOP SECRET.
Something was out of the ordinary.
If something was wrong, I thought, it’s probably better for me to know sooner rather than later. That way I can correct any errors.
Somehow, I didn’t think I’d made a mistake. After all, I had partaken in numerous transactions on the EShop, and I couldn’t remember having done anything differently in the past. The result, on the other hand, was very different indeed.
So I opened the email and began reading it. Before long, my mouth hung agape, and my heart pounded like I was running the 100-meter dash at the Olympics.
If you are reading this, that means you have acquired a Silver Ticket.
What is the Silver Ticket, you might ask?
“I know damn well what a Silver Ticket is!” I exclaimed, knowing that Michael would hear me, but not caring.
Simply put, a Silver Ticket means that you are formally invited to partake in the Animal Antics Championship as a wildcard! All you have to do is show this secure form to a registered hotel in Boston, and they will allow you to participate.
Speaking of Boston, the Silver Ticket doubles as a one-way plane ticket to Logan International Airport. To redeem this prize, you must have an airline agent at your local airport scan the QR code below - you will then be permitted to board the plane free of charge.
Beantown Games looks forward to seeing you in Boston!
Sincerely, Manuel Coventry, CEO of Beantown Games.
Needless to say, I had to pinch myself numerous times in order to become convinced that my eyes were not in fact deceiving me. Considering how dire things had been just a few minutes ago, I think I can be forgiven for not believing this.
“But…our rent” I muttered. And I realized that joining the tournament would mean abandoning Michael in Los Angeles to fend for himself. That wasn’t a very friendly thing to do.
Seconds later, Michael barged into the bedroom, glaring at me like a cheetah about to pounce on its prey. “I’m trying to enjoy my ramen in peace, Austin - what gives?”
Despite my roommate’s fiery gaze, I managed a smile. This wasn’t hard, mind you, because Lady Luck was certainly smiling down on me tonight.
“I got one” I mouthed breathlessly.
Michael frowned. “What did you get? Mono?”
I narrowed my eyes. “Not funny, dude. I got a Silver Ticket.”
The fury ran away from my roommate’s face, to be replaced by an expression that projected childlike wonder. Now he was practically beaming.
“You got a Silver Ticket? As in, a ticket to Boston to be in the Championship?”
With a Cheshire grin, I nodded.
“Austin, that’s awesome! Are you going to fly there?”
“Well, duh. How else am I supposed to get there with all the insurgencies in the Rockies? Of course I’m going to fly!”
“I’m so happy for you” Michael continued breathlessly. “I…I’m sorry for ever doubting you! I should have listened - maybe the EShop was a worthwhile use of money.”
I sighed, recalling how hard our lives were in the meantime. Yes, I’d gotten lucky - perhaps unimaginably so. But that didn’t change the fact that right now, I’d just pissed away some amount of money on a game I wouldn’t play. And that would cut away from our budget further, and we’d have to figure out something to remove from our lifestyle.
“I can’t go,” I muttered.
“Why not, Austin? Are you going to throw away the opportunity of a thousand lifetimes?”
“Well, no,” I said. “But…”.
“I’ll make do alone, trust me” Michael told me. “After all,” he continued with a wink, “I still have a job. In fact, it’s at LAX.”
“Yep” I agreed, knowing that Michael was the youngest air traffic controller at Los Angeles International Airport. He’d graduated college early, after all, on account of being so damn smart.
“I’ll drive you to the domestic terminal on my way to work in the morning,” Michael replied. “I’m thrilled for you, Austin. You know that, right?”
“Of course I do,” I responded. “I’m just nervous.”
My roommate rolled his eyes. “You know, statistically speaking, air travel is much safer for the passengers than driving.”
“It’s not about that,” I told him. “In fact…”.
How am I going to explain that I get nervous in such a big crowd? I mean, I’m sure Michael does too, but when I say “big”, I mean “enormous.” The whole fucking world is gonna be watching me!
