THREE DAYS AGO…

STAGE: The Freeman Household

TIME: 8:36 AM

DATE: Tuesday, October 4th, 2016

The weight of my eyelids battles against the slow awakening of my senses as the distant sound of my name echoes through my headphones. It took me a moment to recognize that Keziah, my sister, was doggedly trying to rouse me from my slumber. Clearly, I had been out for quite some time. I peel off my headphones just in time to see her storm out of my room, leaving the door to slam shut behind her with a resounding thud. Good morning to you too, sis. I adjust my glasses and survey my surroundings, still groggy from sleep.

My room feels strangely cozy, like a personal fortress reflecting the countless late hours I've spent hunched over my dual-monitor setup. The soft glow from the screens casts eerie shadows on the walls, amplifying the presence of posters and memorabilia from the past. Though a dim light seeps through the blinds, hinting at the arrival of morning, the room itself seems like a separate reality, untouched by the passage of time. Still seated in my chair at the desk, I find myself dwarfed by the monitors looming over me like two colossal electronic eyes. An empty bag of cheese chips, crumpled and discarded, acts as a stark reminder of my lesser-than-proud unhealthy habits.

My eyes flick to one of the monitors, where I notice a process advancing at breakneck speed. Among the flurry of words racing up and down the screen, I spot several in-game images and promotional materials featuring Astrid, a character from a new game title that just dropped. Why am I interested in this character from a game I’ve never played? I’m getting to that. The loading bar at the bottom reaches completion, and the screen transitions to an open Disscord chat. I assume that I must have dozed off mid-task.

A user with the handle xX.Skull_Hacker.Xx starts typing, her words materializing in a striking shade of purple.

xX.Skull_Hacker.Xx: No luck on our little side project. It was a fun challenge, though.

Skull Hacker and I have been trying to track down Astrid. At least, that’s what most people have chosen to dub the mysterious cosplayer who stirred up quite a buzz in the marketplace in the city last night. Initially met with skepticism once hearing the online rumors, the video of her has since gone viral, and people are starting to think she might genuinely be the real Astrid. What do I think? Easy. Publicity stunt. I mean, come on! It even happened during the game’s midnight release at a GameStoop! It’s so obvious this was a part of some event. Although, I’m not sure why this only happened in Dallas. But given the cosplayer’s sudden arrival and disappearance, I think the whole show and act intended to stir up a conversation that would inevitably turn into rumors and theories. You can do that in any city, and the event could still be viral—no need to overdo it. Much to the cosplayers’ credit, however, for as little I’ve been exposed to Astrid the character - it’s just one of those titles I never bothered picking up despite its popularity - she nailed down the look. It’s the year the US presidential election is happening. The world is coming off the Summer Olympics. Yet, we internet dwellers find time to entertain the thought of a cosplayer, not being a cosplayer to this extent. It’s not like this will go down in the history books, but what can I say? Fun is fun.

Green Jacket: It’s all good. You can get back to working on our main project.

After shooting the swift response to Skull Hacker, my attention shifts to the second monitor. Displayed in the corner of the screen, in a tab so small I’m sure Keziah would not have noticed - I can only imagine the rapid-fire amount of questions that would’ve been thrown at me, there is an image of a man with dreadlocks, posing with other university professors. Now a decade old, this photo features the man in his late twenties, wearing a white lab coat for no apparent reason other than to showcase his unique style. He is the subject of our primary project. Skull Hacker's role entails investigating this man, although I can't divulge many specifics to her… It’d be a long story and unnecessary for her to know everything. Getting her side of the job done was all Skull Hacker needed to do. A low buzz from my phone demands my attention, revealing a message from Keziah.

KEZIAH: Seriously, Kieren? You need to get a grip. You're going to be late for school again.

I rolled my eyes, knowing she was right but unwilling to admit it. My nocturnal escapades into the digital world have morphed into an obsession, and my real-world responsibilities have started to crumble. Working on this project helped me only slightly. At least I finished my homework the night before. Nothing else can go wrong with that in mind, right? …Right? I glanced at the time and realized I was cutting it close. I needed to get moving, but a sense of reluctance gripped me as I contemplated leaving the sanctuary of my room – a haven where I could delve into its depths without fear or restraint. Nonetheless, I knew I must face the day ahead and navigate the mundane reality of school and family life.

xX.Skull_Hacker.Xx: Your sister has been trying to wake you up for a while now. How long until you have to go to school?

I realized I forgot to mute myself, and Skull Hacker overheard Keziah's earlier attempts to wake me. Embarrassment flooded me, but there was no time to dwell on it. "Aw, crap..." I said aloud.

xX.Skull_Hacker.Xx: Sounds like you're running late. I'll finish up on my end.

"Thanks, Skull. Talk to you soon."

With a sigh, I powered down my computer, the screens going dark and the hum of the machine subsiding. The room now felt oddly empty and quiet – starkly contrasting with the bustling digital realm I just left behind. I found myself wondering about Skull Hacker's true identity. Who was she? What does she look like? Where does she come from? Is she anything like me – a misfit, a dreamer? We've spent countless hours working together but never met in person or shared a photo. It adds an air of mystery to our relationship – a bond that transcends the physical world.

I hastily threw on some clothes, saving my signature green jacket for last. My backpack, haphazardly stuffed with textbooks and notebooks, is slung over my shoulder. I nearly forgot to grab my skateboard, the wooden deck adorned with stickers of my favorite videogame characters and electronic bands. As I made my way down the dimly lit hallway, I felt a pang of longing for the solace of my room. It's as if I'm leaving behind a secret identity, one that allows me to navigate through numerous digital worlds with unparalleled skill and wish fulfillment. But I knew I couldn't stay hidden away forever, and I reluctantly accepted the reality of the day ahead. I arrived downstairs to an unusually tranquil and empty living room and kitchen. Keziah’s backpack nor Mom’s purse was seen, so it was safe to assume they must’ve gotten a headstart without me. Figures. That’s my punishment for getting a late start. Grabbing an apple on the way out, I stepped out of my house, and the morning sun greeted me with its warm rays. The world outside just felt different, almost foreign, like I’m some explorer voyaging through uncharted territory, compared to the digital ones I’m so used to divulging. As I mounted my skateboard and began to coast down the sidewalk, I pondered over the dualities of my existence. I was never philosophical, yet these thoughts still tended to find their way into my head naturally. One foot was firmly planted in the real world, with its responsibilities, routines, and interpersonal connections. In contrast, the other foot lingered in the digital realm, where I could indulge my passions and explore the uncharted depths of the internet and online games.

STAGE: Dallas County Pirates High School

TIME: 2:50 PM

The bustling cafeteria was alive with its usual laughter, idle chatter, and the screech of chairs sliding across the reflective floor. I sat in my regular spot, my sketchbook sprawled before me, my pencil dancing across the page as I sought solitude in my art. Occasionally, my gaze would wander, taking in the vibrant ocean of students savoring their lunch break. My eyes were inexplicably drawn to Bianca, the quiet bookworm who sat alone with a book in her hands; her eyes laser-focused on the pages. I admired her serene confidence and her utterly at ease in her isolation. She was an enigmatic puzzle that I yearned to solve. Not far away, a tight-knit group of teens huddled together, their animated voices barely registering above the din of the cafeteria. At the group's heart was a kid with lengthy dreadlocks that almost veiled his eyes. He had vitiligo, the only visible patch being a striking white spot above his right eye. In my mind, I lazily dubbed him the Spit Ball Kid as, according to his new name, he meticulously prepared a spitball, loading it into a straw with a devilish grin. This guy… 

With uncanny precision, the Spit Ball Kid aimed his straw at an entirely random angle. For some reason, I noted that he was aiming away from Bianca, who was still reading, her eyes glued onto a separate reality. Relateable. I, watching from the sidelines, and his friends, already huddled around Spitfire here… oh, that’s a better name, watched with bated breath as Spitfire unleashed the spitball, which ricocheted off two unsuspecting surfaces before hitting Bianca squarely on her cheek. My eyes widened. How unfortunate she got caught in the crossfire. I wonder how she would respond. Was Bianca the easy-to-anger or easy-to-forgive type? Unruffled, she casually brushed the spitball from her hair, her expression stoic. She then rose from her seat, book in hand, and departed the cafeteria without a backward glance. Judging by their delighted faces and high energy, Spitfire and his traveling stooges seemed to like Bianca being the crossfire victim, so much so that Spitfire readied his next shot, seemingly intent on pursuing Bianca. I began to understand. Bianca wasn’t some random, unsuspecting target. She was the target! And for what, minding her own business? A tidal wave of anger and protectiveness surged within me. From what I’ve noticed, at least, Bianca talks to no one, yet she still ends up being pursued. What kind of sense does that make? I rose to my feet, heart hammering in my chest, and strode over to confront Spitfire. Spitfire… That name sounds too cool to be associated with someone who definitely shouldn’t have cool name privileges. He’s demoted to being the Spit Ball Kid again. 

I slam my hands on the table. "If you're gonna practice your stupid trick shots, aim for an actual target," I said, my voice unwavering despite my pounding heart. Wait, this was the first time I’d confronted someone like this. I wish I had a mirror or some other reflection to see how badass I looked or… how much of a dork I looked.

Spit Ball Kid spun to face me, his expression a blend of surprise and annoyance. "What? Like you?" he sneered. "You seriously wanna play with me?"

I met his defiant gaze, my determination steadfast. "Game on." Corny response, I know, but do corny things like shooting spitballs at people, and you’ll get corny comebacks. Overall, this was a very corny situation created by very corny actions. And I’m proud that those actions were not mine this time around.

We stood toe to toe, our heights nearly identical, as a crowd of onlookers assembled around us—our classmates' anticipatory whispers and shuffling added fuel to the adrenaline coursing through my veins. I braced myself for the impending fight, and part of me relished the thought. I could not stand idly by and allow someone like Spit Ball Kid to torment Bianca without repercussions. The tension between us grew palpable as we squared off, neither willing to yield. This would make my first fight where executing down, down-forward, forward, and punch wouldn't have been the key to victory. As the first punch was thrown, our audience erupted into a frenzy of cheers and jeers, reveling in the spectacle unfolding before them. We traded blows, the sound of our fists connecting with flesh punctuating the din of the cafeteria. The fight intensified, our moves becoming more forceful and frantic. I felt the sting of pain in my knuckles with the few punches I’d thrown, but I refused to submit. I had to prove to myself and everyone watching that I wouldn't let Spit Ball Kid walk all over me. However, the tide turned when Spit Ball Kid managed to seize my skateboard. Wait, no fair! He acted quickly and swung the board with surprising force, the impact sending me crumpling to the ground.

Laughter echoed in my ears, distant and distorted as if submerged underwater. My vision blurred, the faces of the people surrounding me melding into indistinguishable shapes. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as I lay on the frigid linoleum floor, my head pulsating with pain and my thoughts a tangled mess. Gradually, my senses returned, and I realized I was the last person left in the cafeteria. The pain on the side of my face was sharp and relentless, and I knew without a doubt that there would be a subtle yet visible bruise. Pushing myself into a sitting position, I felt a wave of dizziness wash over me, but I persevered in getting back on my feet. As I stood, I clutched the crooked skateboard, muttering about the cheapness of Wallmart products.

Well, at least I was hit with this board and nothing stronger. I would’ve had more to deal with than being knocked out for a few seconds. Don’t try this at home, kids. I got that protagonist's energy, so I’ll be fine. At least, that’s how I liked to think of things. I should probably go to the nurse, still. For now, I stand miserably holding the crooked board that was once my trusty companion, now a melancholy reminder of the fight I had just endured. The rest of the day passed in a haze, my mind preoccupied with the events that had unfolded during lunch. When I arrived late to my next class, Science, I took my usual seat at the back of the room, placing the nonfunctioning board beside me. As I rested my head on my desk, exhaustion finally overcame me, and I slipped into a fitful slumber…