Disconnected

Arka Arao zealously stared wide-eyed, as the word inscribed in bold text was clearly shown on her screen.

"No... No, it can't be!"

She started to fiddle with her mouse and keyboard hoping for a miracle to reconnect with the video game she was playing. She knew it was pointless effort to do so. However, it's the only way she can think of in that moment of seeming hopelessness.

In the end, it was just as it was—pointless, and hopeless. It was no use no matter what she tried.

She started to sink down on her chair in utter despair while on the brink of shedding tears. She could turn into a puddle in a moment's notice!

"You have got to be kidding me..."

Slowly, she lowered her head and calmly released her fingers on the computer mouse and keyboard she held on to.

Her room enshrouded her in darkness except for one source of light which illuminates her; which is her computer's thirty-two-inch monitor. The light that shines the upper-half of her body revealed a part of her room behind her showing a messy stack of various delivered, plastic containers from the fast-food restaurants she orders piling up at one corner next to a small trash bin.

Her hair was also outrageously long. It was touching the ground. Her hair was already tied up to a ponytail, but tying it proved to be useless in doing so. Her hair still brushes along her carpet floor while her bangs almost cover her face. How long has it been since she last visited the salon for a haircut? She could cut her own hair herself, but she neglects it out of her continuous days of procrastination.

Arka Arao sighed holding back her tears... after a brief pause, she lowered her feet which were comfortably resting on her chair down to the floor.

She finally decided to stand up.

She clapped twice triggering the clapper which turns on the lighting in her once, dark room. The lighting revealed her household which was almost rigged with life hacks—a few USB cables mounted on paper clips which are attached at the edge of shelves for a neat arrangement; A two-liter bottle of ice in front of a fan to cool her like an air conditioner, and so on.

She walked to her kitchen, thirsting to fetch for something to drink.

"I am not paying nearly four-thousand pesos every month just to have a crappy internet connection. PLDC should be sued for something like this already..."

And from there, she poured a carton of orange juice into a tall glass and chugged it down.

After finishing the cup and letting out a breath, she was refreshed.

"Nothing like a glass of juice to soothe your worries!" She exclaimed joyously. "It's been a while since I last drank this. Now that I thought about it, when's the expiration date for this thing?"

She then held up the carton of orange juice searching for the expiration tag on it.  Just like how someone would when checking out the nutrition facts.

All in her life, she has been cooped up in her household participating in many gaming tournaments and online gambles competing for prize money. In all those games, she would always win it all on her own, and it was all done in front of her computer's screen.

The prize money without a doubt, was delivered to her apartment's doorstep.

Most of the time, she would solely spend the money on in-game items instead of what other women would normally want. Like accessories or make-up and all types of fashion.

"Ah, good.. This is still good until next week..."

She poured for another glass, stored the carton back into the refrigerator—closing it.

She leaned back on the counter and raised her glass as if offering a toast to herself.

"Here is for the next years of isolation..." She told herself that with a blank smile. She felt lonely saying this. A strange pang arises from her heart that lingered.

And so, she drew the glass of juice towards her mouth for another sip.

But she stopped half-way at the sound of her doorbell. She glanced at her door seemingly bewildered.

"Were her ears deceiving her?" the look on her face says. For a second, she just shrugged it off and attempted to take another sip from her glass.

However, the beeping sound from her doorbell indeed rung once more. Arka Arao never had any visitors unless it was the landowner who usually just comes up to her and ask for payment of her rent. But that couldn't be, for she paid for her apartment's dues in full just recently. Another possibility of who would come to visit her would probably be—

"The mailman?" At the same time, she took a quick look at the calendar on her wall. The numbers on it were crossed or encircled implying that she keeps track of the weeks that passed. "But, it's Sunday."

Leaving the glass of juice on the counter, she headed toward her apartment door.

On her way to her doorstep, she began to feel more aware of her surroundings. The temperature of her room; It was cold... her fingertips are cold. She felt small tinges of sweat coming out the pores of her temples. Her throat was dry; she swallowed. Arka Arao was nervous. She was nervous because of the unexpected ring from her door that suddenly shifted her usual routine.

More so than that, she has not had any casual conversation with anyone in a long damn time... has it been three years...? Or was it five...? Arka cannot recall. To try and recall whether she had had any normal conversation even measured as a set, number of years was an understatement for her to begin with. This anxiousness did not stop her.

Sliding away the bolt on her door and grabbing the knob, she opened it slightly with a creak to see whoever, or whatever was outside her doorstep. She peered through.

There was no one.

No one expecting her after the number of years she has closed herself in... no one to greet her or welcome her just to see her... No familiar face, no friends, or family, or a frolicking entrepreneur to—

"Miss, Arao?"

Arka stuck her head out while hiding behind her door to look toward the source of the sound.

It was a man– a courier who called out to her a few meters away in her apartment's hallway. He was wearing a tan shirt tucked in his belted, gray jeans; and black leather boots. He began walking up to her to close their distance while carrying a package.

As soon as Arka saw this courier drawing nearer at every inch, she suddenly felt her heart beat loudly. Her eyebrows raised higher. Her hands ran cold, and her palms became sweaty. All this ensued while she kept hugging her slightly, opened door. She began to lose eye contact looking straight through the person in the distance, and her sights wandered all over the place! Once again, she felt the dryness of her throat and the numbness of her lips. She knew she was not prepared to speak.

Arka closed her door.

"Ah, wait!" The courier called out to her. But his plea cannot be heard through Arka's door.

Arka was sitting on her floor—resting on one hand. And the other, covering her mouth while leaning against her closed door. Her face says it all. She had a look of "Shit... what's wrong with me!?" Strewn all over her face. She frowned, and her eyebrows furrowed as she bit her lower lip under her hand; expressing her feelings of displeasure, and frustration. It was not how she imagined how she should have dealt with the situation.

Just what went wrong?

"Shit... what's wrong with me?!" She screamed silently.

How long has it been for Arka Arao? Six...? Or maybe eight? How could a few years impact a person like this as so? Isn't she the World Savior of Black Haven? The High Warlord of the Horde? The Legendary Eagle Master? The Fatebinder and Archon of the Tiers?

And yet, she instinctively fled upon interacting with another fellow human being... it was hardly called an interaction, rather. What has she become? Why did she reduce to this?

She used to do great at talking with people. But now upon being called by someone, this was now how her brain instinctively reacts?

Arka heard three knocks on the door she was leaning on.

The courier called out for her. "Excuse me? Miss Arao?" A muffled sound, due to the sound-proofed door she has.

"I'd like to apologize if I startled you earlier," The courier continued through the door.

Arka listened in while hugging her knees. Her outrageously long ponytail was already spilled around her on the ground in a circle.

"Sorry for disturbing you on a Sunday, Ma'am." The courier continued. Arka began twirling her hair around her fingers to cope with her nervousness. "I just have a special package I was assigned to that needs delivering to this address, specifically to you, immediately. Your landline number wasn't receiving our calls," The courier said. "This package is from Lightspire,"

"PLDC was definitely a mistake..." Arka said to herself softly. "But, more importantly..."

Arka felt her feelings of nervousness slowly recede. The steady conversation with the stranger through her door has helped her calm down, in addition to the familiar name of a company she has heard. She slowly felt herself in control again and come at ease.

She stood up from the floor she sat, adjusted the strap of her tank top, and focused on her breathing to ease her nerves.

The courier continued talking through her door as Arka readied herself. "Anyway, miss Arao, I understand if you don't want to be disturbed today. I can come back some other time for your package," He said.

Hiding behind her door, Arka turned her knob and pulled back except for her chained lock stopping her from completely opening her door. With that small space, she peeked out of it. In front of her, she saw a man with a height of six-foot-one.

Being five-foot-eight, herself, she had to look up to take a quick glance at him due to their height differences. The man has short, rugged hair and had the usual features of an Asian, Filipino male residing within her country. But the most notable feature of all was the scar above his right eyebrow.

The courier instantly leaned back as he became surprised to see Arka after opening her door, although he tried to revert back to his usual normal posture. She quickly glanced back down looking straight through him. "L-Lightspire..." She said, engaging herself in conversation. "T-That's one of t-the renowned, next-gen gaming organizations..." She struggled to keep eye contact with the courier. "They record data... to make the experience of gamers better for the future... isn't that right?" At the back of Arka's mind, she just knew she stuttered mid-sentence. She hated it so much.

After a pause, the courier said. "Yes, uhm... that's a rough description of that company you mentioned, ma'am," He said. "I believe they also make flying cars," He added in.

"R-Really...? Arka was baffled. She looked up at him wide-eyed.

How many years has it been!? Her thoughts screamed at her.