30. Mercury
Mercury
Isaak
Flowers lined the floor and walls of his hospital room. His feet were cold. Isaak made a move to cover them up, shifting both of his legs in the bed, but his right leg didn’t follow the left.
Hairs rose on his back, and he went immobile. The shiver crept up his spine like the disquieting thought spreading through his mind. What if he’d lost control of his leg? He kept still and held his breath. If he stayed still, maybe whatever ailment he had would get better quicker.
Feeling braver after a few moments, he took a deep breath and pulled off the sheet, revealing his legs.
He winced. Twice the size it usually was, his knee felt extremely tender to the touch and painful if he even tried to move it.
Put your mind on something else, he told himself. What was that black shape he saw on the field? And what about Sacha? Was he alright? That bastard Haze must have gone full steam at him.
Fucking Armageddon.
The World Series now lost, it would be a tough off-season for the Lazarus.
The first game of next year’s league would be against the Paris Polyphontes.
Famed worst team in the league against London.
But what chance was there that he would even recover, never mind be back on form by then?
It would be utter defeat for the Lazarus.
And after that? Most likely he’d be let go. The fuckers.
Would they really do that to me, their team captain?
He couldn’t count how many victories the Lazarus had won from plays he’d completed, the laser ballet between him and Sacha, coordinated as a figure-skating pair.
He tried to get up, out of reflex perhaps, but gave up when the pain became too much.
He picked up his phone from the side table. The list of contacts was shorter than he remembered. And there was a name in there he couldn’t place. Dylan…
Eyes closed and fists clenched, he wracked his brain, scoured his mind to figure out who this person was. There was a scent, and a face… A pair of legs and raised fists. A warm hand in his.
The door opened and a nurse came in. A middle-aged man, hair dyed pure black but still failing to completely hide the roots of lots of white hairs.
“You’ve got a visitor!” he said in a sing-songy voice that made Isaak immediately dislike him.
Through the door walked Sacha. Dusty-blonde hair, a green bomber jacket puffing out his thin frame.
His pulse quickened and he furrowed his brows.
His teammate smiled and got closer. “You really did a number on us out there, Ike.”
Without knowing why, Isaak’s hand went to the side of his head. He scratched his temple. He hoped it made him look calm and collected, and not a complete nervous mess.
“You think? Have a look at that…” He gestured to his engorged knee.
Sacha’s mouth gaped open. “Holy fuck, bro.” He held onto the foot of the bed. “It looks serious. Have they told you anything?” He looked around but the nurse had already disappeared.
Isaak played it nonchalantly, giving a weak smile. “I’m sure it’ll get better quick.”
He stared at his friend and long-time team partner, and neither of them knew what to say. All that was left of the conversation was staring uncomfortably at each other. Finally, Isaak broke the awkward silence.
“I wasn’t expecting a visit from you. From anyone, really.”
Sacha leant closer to him. “Are you kidding me? Why wouldn’t we? The whole team would have come if they could, but they’ll only allow one at a time. You know how hospitals are.”
“How are they coping?”
He crossed his arms. “Pretty upset we lost but… everybody’s just worried about you. Coach says take your time, get better soon.” He spoke with intention but his eyes were empty, like he was looking through Isaak.
“Any talk of a replacement?”
“We’ll just play without you,” Sacha said. “We’ll manage.”
There was a smile on Isaak’s face, but he could barely move, stunned into position as he realised that he’d likely be fired, and never play again professionally.
Sacha was trying to reassure him but he didn’t buy it. Being told to take his time, that they’d manage without him. He was already replaced – they were just making the transition easy for him.
The sport had been in trouble in recent months, diminishing interest after the novelty faded away.
Virtual reality acrobatic shooting was just not as exciting anymore.
It lacked the theatricality of biomod-enhanced wrestling.
Entertainment lived on storylines. And for all their sporting talent, they lacked a storyline, an emotional gut punch.
There wasn’t enough kayfabe to ReSports, no big personalities. Besides his.
Sacha went quiet, looking out the window.
From his position on the bed, Isaak couldn’t make out any more than a blue sky and bright sunshine.
“Come on. Let’s go for a walk.”
Isaak recoiled in confusion. “Er, hello? Have you seen my knee?” What the hell was Sacha playing at?
Sacha clapped his hands.
Isaak looked down at his knee. The swelling was gone. Like it had just healed instantly.
What the fuck?
“Let’s go, Ike.”
A sharp sensation cut through him when Sacha called him that, like water dripping down his spine. His hand reached on instinct to the side of his head again. Why did he keep doing that?
“You won’t find anything there.” Sacha’s eyes were brighter now, as if modulated against the contrast of the blinding sun. “Come on, get out of bed.” A grin formed on his lips.
A disturbing thought grew slowly, slowly, in Isaak’s mind.
He got up, gritting his teeth, holding on to the bed.
He planted his good leg down, then tried the leg with the fucked-up knee.
It was fine. No pain at all.
How can this be?
He paced a bit and, before he knew it, they were out of the hospital. Isaak didn’t remember leaving it. They were simply outside already, a vast landscape of untouched nature ahead of them.
He turned the disturbing thought into a question. “You’re not Sacha, are you?”
Sacha’s head twitched and his face looked completely different for a second, just before he turned away from him. “I’m not just Sacha, my dear sweet Ike. I was that nurse too.”
“What do you mean? What’s going on?”
Sacha turned around. Strange particles of light engulfed him, pulsing in and out. When they were gone, he had changed entirely into a beautiful woman. She looked familiar. She had a determined look in her eyes, staring right at him.
The woman shook her head. Long brown hair arranged in curls, dark eyes, a black jacket and black suit trousers. She screamed sex and death in a business suit.
Her name came to him. “Astrid? Why do I know your name?”
The woman tutted. “Come now, Ike!” Her voice had the power of a jet engine.
His knee throbbed in pain, teasing him, and he fell down, hands on the ground.
She touched his cheek with an open palm, and he quickly recoiled in disgust.
His hand went to where she had touched him, then felt around his temple again. Now there was something on his skin.
His memory began to feel clearer. “Tape. You’ve got me taped in?” He thought hard, tried to force his memory back. His hands grasped at his temples, ready to pull himself out, but there was nothing there now.
“Tape? What do you know about the tape? Be quiet, dog.” She snapped her fingers. Everything went black.
“What do you want, Astrid?”
The memory of mercury on his tongue, the taste of the first and last time he’d kissed this woman. Astrid’s naked body inundated his mind.
Then came the proposal. “Work for me.” The job description? Pilfer a few things. In this black-market virtual reality. Did it come with any perks? “Your knee will feel just fine while you’re in there…”
The sex stopped and the relationship was business-like from then on. Enjoy the world of the tape, run wild, but get her the data. Simple, soul-crushing.
Now he was trapped in some made-up space. Made up to make him mad.
He shouted at her. “Thought I’d lose my mind, did you?”
She glared at him.
Astrid placed one booted foot on his shoulder, pressing down hard, hurting him until he looked up at her.
Being this close to her made him extremely uncomfortable.
She scowled. “I will break you, Ike.” She pushed him away with her foot.
He lunged forward.
She imploded into particles, which quickly disappeared.
With a growl, he struck out at the empty space in front of him, his arms sweeping wide in desperate revolt. “What more do you want from me?”
No answer.
He felt chained up, even though he wasn’t bound.
Isaak tried summoning an object. It didn’t work.
She had him locked up. And whatever she’d done had blocked his Tapeworld creative capacity.
Astrid must have cracked the tape. She’d been modifying it.
And now she was using it as a prison. Was he the first prisoner, or just the latest in a long line of stupid, easily manipulated idiots?
Why was Astrid making him relive these memories?
Not just the Lazarus and his knee, but playing games while his parents argued…
It made him think about his dad, and how much he missed hanging out with him – when he was in a good mood, which wasn’t often.
His dad’s drinking and Isaak’s disappointment in him had eventually led Isaak to leave home and break contact.
He hadn’t heard from him in more than five years now.
He tried to pull himself up from the floor. A jolt of pain shot through him, taking his breath away. He collapsed.