He went back to trying to pull his blanket from his cart.He tugged on the blanket, trying to make as little noise as possible, but itwouldn't come free. Without warning, a pair of clammy hands wrapped around histhroat.
Chapter 3: Rudy
Rudy pulled the pin on the grenade. He calmly cooked itfor three seconds and then threw it into the middle of the group. It exploded,sending showers of gore everywhere. He laughed into his mic as the players hehad killed all shouted expletives at him, many containing racist terms orquestioning his sexuality. One guy called him a "cocktoucher." Thatwas a good one. He'd file that one away in his memory bank for the next timesomeone bested him at COD, or Call of Duty as the noobs liked to call it.
Of course, that probably wouldn't be for a while. Hehadn't been handily defeated in quite some time. It wasn't that he was good. Itwas that he was patient. While most players ran around looking to get theirheads blown off, Rudy always managed to find a place, set up traps to cover hisass, and then slowly pick people off. A thirty second lull in the action was nobig deal to him, but to most players, it was enough to send them sprinting offinto cyberspace to get their digital bits blown off.
People hated Rudy, both in real life and the video gameworld. They didn't hate him because he was good at video games or a genius ingeneral... it was the fact that he knew it and didn't let people forget it. Hehad grown up without any real role models in foster homes for most of his life.As Rudy figured it, a kid facing the odds that he had faced had a right to braga little bit. Yeah, Rudy may not have parents, but he could come up with analgebraic expression that would map out the probability of your future, rightdown to your employer and how many pounds you'd weigh. Ok... so maybe that wasan exaggeration, but if you asked Rudy if he could do it, he would more thanlikely say yes. It was his confidence along with his ability that had landedhim a full scholarship to Portland State University.
"Have fun sucking dicks, boys." Rudy triggeredhis weapon of mass destruction, laughed, and left the lobby. The competitionhad been too easy for him. He removed his three-hundred dollar Turtle Beachheadphones, put his controller on his rickety coffee table, and walked into thesmall kitchenette of his apartment to grab a 20 oz. bottle of ass-kickingfuel... in this case, Mountain Dew: Code Red.
He slammed the door shut in frustration. For as smart ashe was, Rudy, in many ways, was still a child emotionally. He was also prone toforgetting things. In this case, he had forgotten to stock up on Code Red. Rudylooked at the clock, adjusted the glasses on his freckled face, and decided towalk up to the store. It was the weekend, and there were plenty of gaming hoursto burn. He looked at the water tap in his kitchen, contemplating whether heshould pour himself a glass of water and keep going. "Fuck that," hesaid out loud to himself.
Rudy walked into his bedroom, and peeled agray, hooded sweatshirt out of a dirty pile of clothing. He gave it a goodsniff, and then slipped it on over his head after deciding it smelled"good enough," which is single-person code for "No one is goingto get close enough to me for it to matter." Rudy grabbed his wallet andkeys from the top of his dresser and headed out the door.
He huffed down the stairs, enjoying the silence of thebuilding. If only he could limit his time out in the real world to the timebetween 1:30 and 5 o'clock in the morning, then he would be happy. All thoseannoying people tucked snugly in their beds, no lines to stand in, nothing butcool air, silence, and a complete lack of human interaction... unless youcounted talking to convenience store clerks as human interaction. He did not.
Rudy pulled his phone from his pocket, and pulled up hisnew favorite game. He loved the game's angles, math, and predictability. Heshambled through the lobby, oblivious to his surroundings. If he had looked up,he would have seen the trail of blood that led into the security office.Instead, he flung a bird dressed up like Luke Skywalker across the screen ofhis phone with the flick of his finger, while he wondered if Luke Skywalkercould use the force to bring himself a bottle of Code Red from his apartment.
Chapter 4: Teach
The napkin around the base of his beer was soaked withbrew. The bartender seemed to have a difficult time pouring a glass of beerwithout getting as much on the outside of the glass as he did on the inside.Teach reached for the glass and upended it, letting the cold foamy liquid washover the scar tissue where his tonsils had been. The night was young, schoolwas over, and he had no papers to grade the next day. Now if he could onlymanage to pay for some air conditioning in his house, then life would beperfect.
He supposed his wife and ten-year-old son were fastasleep at home. For a brief second, he felt a pang of guilt. One night a monthat the bar wasn’t too much to ask he supposed. As he finished the last drop ofhis beer, he smacked his lips and ordered another.
The bartender, either lazy, a simpleton, or bothattempted to pour another beer. He watched as the lanky dude set the glassunder the tap, opened it fully and allowed foam to pile up. He tipped the glassand spilled foam out into the drain underneath the taps. So much beer wasted…it’s as if
