[Act] Professional Gamer

The prefix, don't let it fool you, it was the only real thing that fit this story idea of mine...

I had this idea about two weeks ago, then kind of wanted to build on it today, and this is the outcome. Enjoy

*Disclaimer: All telephone numbers in this story hold meaning to the story itself, think of it as a puzzle you can decipher, but I DO NOT recommend seeing what they would connect you to. They hold meaning in the story, but... don't complain if you call the numbers and get in some trouble



Day 0: The Gamer and the Note


A left turn. A right. Another right. Down the corridor. A locked door.

'Where is he, I know he's here... damnit...'

Back where he came. Down the corridor. Left. Left. Right. Another right, straight into a barred door.

'Damnit... I can hear footsteps...'

He hides behind the front desk of the hotel, keeping his gun close his his chest, finger on the trigger, fingering the safety mechanism, making sure it wasn't switched the wrong way.

“I heard you come in this way... I wonder where you could be hiding...”

Flipping open a cellphone from his pocket, he makes a desperate call. 843-422-5377

'Do it now!'

Hearing nothing but static, he kept his finger tight on the trigger of his gun, ready, before he heard it. 'Done'.

Rising from behind the hotel counter, he saw a slender, young man in a suit, holding a six inch hunting knife at his side.

“There you are.”

Without hesitation, he pulled the trigger, felling the man in the suit.

'Safe for another twenty four, and now, I win...'

~+~+~+~+~

Matthew Connegan, age nineteen, swiftly inhales a long breath, before shutting his laptop closed. Dressed only in his denim shorts in the summer heat, he was still sweating, but not from the weather. He could feel the buildup of sweat as he ran his fingers through his short brown hair, his thin body shining in the lamplight. For the entire day, he had been playing a freeware game he was recommended by a friend, called Professional Gamer, a first person shooter game.

“Geez, you beat that game in just a day. Wouldn't want to play you if that was multiplayer.” His roommate, Micheal Vinson, was an avid supporter of Matthew as he played games, never getting into them himself. He liked to watch what was going on, more than actually play. “You should post a speed run or something, that's just unbelievable. Sixteen bots killed, hacker identified and contacted, final day done without even playing it. How awesome? That awesome.” Micheal rose from the chair next to Matthew's, and left to the next room, unzipping his hooded sweatshirt as he walked away, his long blond hair falling into the hood. “Gonna make some dinner, your sucked last night. You can whoop me in games, but I can cook your ass to hell!”

Grinning a bit at his own triumph, Matthew rose from his chair, leaving his laptop on the table. Eying around the living room of their apartment, he spotted his plain white t-shirt and blue sunglasses, which he typically wore anywhere he went when outside of his home. Slipping into his shirt and sliding his glasses onto his face, he poked his head into the kitchen, where Micheal was preparing to chop some ingredients for the night's dinner. “Hey, Mikey, gonna browse some stuff for a bit, call me when it's done.'

Hearing an answer in the form of a hum, Matthew left back to his laptop, flipping it open again, sliding his glasses slightly up to his hairline, leaving it there. Opening up the home page of Professional Gamer, Matthew was amazed at each turn. A team of eight people made this game in two years, something he would expect to pay fifty dollars for like a corporate game. The site featured a Winner List, which featured only seventy nine of thousands who tried. Oddly, twenty four of these were highlighted in blue, while the rest were highlighted in red. The rest of those who failed were simply in plain black text.

Oddly, his own user name of BlueAxis wasn't in the winner's list, rather, in the plain black text below. Either a mistake, or simply not updated yet. He knew it updated regularly, at least once a day, as new names were added daily. His name was there the day he played the game, as were many others, yet none of them moved, except one he noticed. All names were in the spots they originally started in, but one user name of Bentinee0, beneath his merely a day ago, moved to the winner's list, the red portion. Few names ever made it to the winner's list, despite having completed the game.

The forums of the site are usually blazing with complaints of the site not regularly updating who won the game, something Matthew didn't care about. He won, didn't matter who else knew it. Though, like anyone, some recognition would be nice. Just imagining how many people could have truly won such a difficult game, made him wonder. Until, that is, an object fell onto his lap, followed by a sigh from the doorway.

Glancing down, he saw his cellphone on with a missed call icon on the screen. Looking up, he knew what was coming. He saw Micheal at the doorway, his hand outstretched, a look of annoyance plastered on his face. “Seriously now. WHO the hell leaves their phone in the fridge? Really? The fridge? How does that happen? You're lucky I heard the vibrate on the phone rattle the cans of drinks in there, otherwise it might have frozen. Be more careful with it, geez... the fridge...'

“Sorry 'bout that again.” Matthew chuckled a bit, watching Micheal turn his head and leave back to the kitchen. Even Matthew had no idea how he left his phone in such strange spots, from the fridge to the bathroom. Looking down at his phone, he cycled through the received calls list, where he spotted an unfamiliar number.

843-878-7764

'Well, if it's important, they'll call back.' he thought to himself, flipping the phone closed, hearing the jingle of his small dice chained to the phone. Sniffing the air for a moment, he quickly pocketed the phone, and raced to the kitchen, where he saw Micheal pulling a pot from the stove top. “Hell yeah, chicken soup again? Love it, all meat, barely anything else, love it!”

Grabbing for a pair of bowls from the cabinet and snatching up two spoons from the counter top, he quickly scooped up some soup for both bowls. Handing one off to Micheal, he quickly ran back off to his laptop, where he shut the cover and claimed his seat, swiveling in place to face the television. “Yo Mikey, mind grabbing me a drink?” he called to the kitchen, where he heard the usual hum of assurance.

Flipping on a random channel until a program about police car chases caught his attention, he placed the remote on his laptop and quickly began to dig into his food, hearing Micheal give off a slight chuckle as he entered the room. Micheal took his own seat at another part of the table near Matthew, and dropped off two cans with one hand, both tall and black, with green markings. “Here ya go, I guess you like the food already.” Micheal stated with a bit of happiness in his voice, glad he was a good cook, at least for his roommate. Before Micheal had even dipped a spoon into his bowl, Matthew had claimed a second bowl, happily shoveling it into his mouth. “I have to ask, do you just eat anything that smells edible, or do you actually like my cooking?” Micheal asked, hoping for an answer he could understand as the chicken filled Matthew's mouth again.

Beginning his second descent into the bowl, Matthew barely breathed, let alone return an answer. Finishing his gulp which extended his cheeks, he let off a sigh of relief. “'Course I like it, love the food. Why can't we just have you cook each night and have me set the stuff up? Easier on both of us!” Returning to his food, he saw Micheal give off a faint smile, happy with the response. Happy with his own words, Matthew suspected little cooking in his future.

Half way through his second bowl, Matthew felt the familiar vibrations of his phone in his pocket. More focused on his dinner, he quickly shoved the rest into his mouth before even attempting to grab his phone. Digging into his pocket, he felt the vibrating stop, the other end hung up. Flipping it open, he saw the unfamiliar number from before. 'Well, if it's important...' he thought again as he tossed the phone next to his bowl, returning to his meal, which only consisted of his drink left, which he promptly opened the tab to, gulping down the drink which has the distinct taste of citrus.

Savoring the drink's unique flavors, he heard his phone vibrate on the table. “God damnit...” he frustratingly said aloud, opening it, seeing a text message. “Oh, alright then...” he muttered, checking it's number.

843-878-7764

“What the hell...?” he asked out loud, checking what was sent to him. 'Answer the phone.' As he read the message, his phone began vibrating again. Feeling a slight chill in his spine, he brought the phone to his ear, and hit the answer button. “Hello?” he asked, awaiting an answer. “Who's this?”

For a moment, static. Crackling littered the background, almost like rasping speech. About to hang up, he heard a voice come clear on the other end. “Seven days. Start at nine am tomorrow morning. Decipher. Survive. Tell no one. Check your door.”

Hearing the other end hang up, Matthew only sat, slightly stunned at what was going on. What sort of prank was this? Standing to his feet, he began to walk to the front door of their apartment, which led to a single hallway. “Yo, what's up?” Micheal asked.

“Nothing much, probably. Mind clearing the table tonight? I'll get it tomorrow and the day after.” Once again, a single hum told him Micheal agreed. Turning his back to Micheal, Matthew walked to the front door of their small apartment, and opened it. Glancing out, he saw nobody. Walking out and closing the door behind him, he felt his hand slide over a smooth piece of blank paper, taped to the door. Instantly, Matthew felt a chill run through his spine, seeming to pierce through him. Grabbing it from the door, he flipped it over, where a list met his eyes.


Professional Gamer


Step 1: You will be contacted via house phone, cell phone, or pay phone, depending on which you answer.

Step 2: You will be told you have one week to win. If you tell anyone, you forfeit the game, and will, inevitably, die within one month.

Step 3: You must survive for one week.

Step 4a: You win after one week and the sum total of five hundred thousand dollars gets put into your bank account.

Step 4b: You die. All money from your bank account is subtracted.

TUVGHIDEFGHIABCABCJKLDEFPQRS


'My... my game?' he thought to himself, looking over the paper. What sort of prank would go this far? These letters at the bottom of the paper, what did they mean? Who knew he played this game? Nobody on the website of the game knew his address, he never even posted in the forums. Micheal could have done it, simply gotten someone to call him, but he knew Micheal wouldn't. He was a kind, timid guy.

Walking back into his apartment, he saw Micheal slouched back on his chair, watching a police chase on television. “What's up?” he asked, holding his drink over the side of his chair. Giving only a sigh of discomfort, Micheal instead changed the subject, knowing to mind his own business. “Well, remember to wash the dishes by tomorrow's dinner, don't really care when, just take care of them, alright?” he asked, to which Matthew nodded. Blankly staring at the television for a moment, pondering over this seemingly elaborate joke, Matthew grabbed at his drink left on the table, and opened his laptop again, to browse around the forums for anything like this. After awhile, though, he didn't find anything other than complaints and questions about how to survive.

Looking back to Micheal, he saw a man sized shape on the floor, quietly snoring, a pillow and a small blanket accompanying him. 'Only nine at night, no idea why he sleeps so early...' Closing his own laptop, Matthew rose with a groan, and stepped over the lump on the floor. Grabbing list from his pocket, he looked over it again. Nine am in the morning... he had to be sure to wake up before then, so see what would happen. Walking over to the bedroom, he wondered why Micheal didn't just go to bed, rather than just grab a pillow and blanket from his bed and sleep in the living room.

Not bothering to wonder much more on the subject, Matthew slipped into bed, removing some of his clothes as he did. Laying down, he heard the sounds of the city from his open window. Reaching toward the nightstand between the two beds, he grabbed at a small object near the lamp, and flipped it open, the light from it revealing a hand held console. Tapping at the screen, he began a game, and decided to just play until he was tired.