His head was ringing.
It had to be. Nobody called him anymore, so it must be his head. Or in it. He was sure that the entire bottle of whiskey from last night was making its triumphant return, and demanded such fanfare. At least, he WAS sure. Until the ringing had stopped.
Slowly pulling his mangy blonde head from the depths of his pillow, Adam managed a groggy glance at his cellphone. 1 missed call.
Weird.
Calls were things people that talk to people get, and Adam certainly did not talk to people. He hadn't time for such trivialities. People were loud. People were depressing. People called him at times when he did not want to be called. People are-
Wrr wrr.
...What? A text, right? That was what a text message alert sounded like, right? Without voicemail, he could ignore a phone call. But a text? He'd have to read a text eventually. Whoever was on the other end was diabolical.
Finally climbing out from under his nonexistent covers and into the sunlight of the afternoon, Adam picked up the phone, thumbed it open, and read.
And read.
And re-read.
And his phone rang again, as the message stated it would. He scrambled to answer it this time, coughing out a garbled, "Uh... Hello?"
A voice on the other end, clear and well versed, repeated the message. It assured him that this was not a joke, and that he should be ready to go in about two hours. Adam thanked the voice as they hung up.
"...shit. Ho. Lee. shit." He said to himself, scratching his head. "I need a shower."
Water came pouring down in drops big enough to fully excuse the expression "Raining cats and dogs." It splattered the rooftops and sky scrapers with cold, hard wetness, the streets below flowing with the run off. People ran in between it all, not caring about the downpour. Seattle was pretty much known for its rain, after all.
"Grey." Is the word that went through Connor's mind as he walked through the mire of people starring at their shoes.
He wiped his glasses clean of the rain as he stepped through the thick oak wood doors. His sopping wet hair dripped onto his face enough for him to resort to shaking his head like a dog. Not such a good idea when entering a library.
"Dude," a light voice giggled in front of him. "You're gonna drench the books if you keep that up."
"Keep what up? This?" He nodded his head forward hard enough to spray the voice. She screamed and giggled and punched him in the arm as he put his glasses back into his face. Sarah appeared before him, all pink hair, perfectly tight t-shirt and a shining smile to boot.
"I just got my hair dry, you jerk!" She said, playfully ruffling his hair. Conner swatted her hand away with a smile.
"Yeah, yeah, what a tragedy. How goes the book keeping?"
"Same as always. Boring." She sighed as they walked past the front desk, waving to her co-worker.
"Oh c'mon. It's not so bad."
"Says you! While I toil away here in this prison of shelves and book return notices, you get to roam free."
"I'd hardly call it a prison. More like..." He paused to pull a book from a shelf. The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. "An adventure at every turn."
Sarah took the book from him and put it back in its place. "I don't want to read about adventures. Not anymore. I wanna live them, Conner! I wanna be out there, sailing across the seven seas! Or dueling with an English lord for my true love's honour. Or escaping ancient ruins, being chased by the cursed corpses of fallen adventurers!"
Conner laughed as he watched her, running between the shelves, disturbing patrons. He caught her in the children's section and promptly sat them both down on a beanbag chair.
"Did I hear something about defending my honour in that incredible rant, Ms. Harper?"
"Oh? Why Mr. Halloway, whomever said that I was talking about you?" She giggled, gave him a quick peck on the nose and said, "I've gotta get back to it. See you tonight?"
He nodded and headed back out into the rain, his phone ringing in his pocket.
"Hello?"
"Greetings, Mr. Halloway. I have a proposition for you."
The roar of the crowd. The flood lights shining down on his face. His breath flowing in thick clouds out of his helmet. He twirled his lacrosse stick in one hand, pointed at the other team with his other, then drew his thumb across his throat. Highly over dramatic, of course, but that's just how he likes it.
The ball came sailing at him and he caught it, flicked it to a teammate, and without a second thought, bashed the nearest opposition in the head. He pivoted, shifted his hands to the end of his stick and swung round to his left, clothes-lining another player. Seeing their fallen, two more rushed at him, sticks ready. He parried the left, dodged the right, sidestepped between them, and yelled, "Now!"
His team followed, ball in possession, with him leading the charge straight through the other's defence. The cold air biting. The flood lights blinding. The huge grin stretched across his face.
After a rousing hour of him literally pummeling the opposition, David strode to his sedan at the end of the lot. The evening air cold on his sweat soaked t-shirt, he climbed in and drive off without a word.
"Crazy bastard..." He had overheard one of his teammates muttering to another. "Just glad that monster's on our side, eh?" They laughed and pulled a beer cooler outta the trunk of a pickup.
He ignored them, as per usual. There he was, giving them a damn good defence the best way he knew how; by playing offence. And there they were, laughing at him. David scoffed. So much for that no "I" in team bull.
It didn't really matter in the end, though. All that did matter was that he got to play on a team again. Got to play for a team.
David got to his apartment and, after a hot shower, settled in for a quiet night in his shitty basement apartment.
Until his phone rang.
"Hello?" He grumbled.
"Hello, ." A velvety smooth, yet very masculine voice answered. "I have a proposition for you."
"...Who is this?"
"A... spectator. And as I understand it, you're looking for a new team."
"If you're some sort of scout, I don't want to go pro. Too much bullshit."
The voice laughed. "So crass, even in the face of opportunity." He paused. "No, I'm not a scout. At least, not for any silly professional sports. I have a proposition that may interest you."
"Look, if you're gonna dance around the subject, I'm hanging up. Get on with it."
"How about ten million dollars?"
Silence.
"Well, that caught your attention, didn't it, ?" He laughed. David could feel the voice's toothy grin through the phone. "A private competition, and the winning team gets the money. Ten million each, of course."
Countless thoughts sprinted about David's head, all screaming at him at once.
It's a trap.
How does he know my name?
Is this even legal?
"What kind of competition?"
A/N: Hello all! Long time reader/reviewer/editor, first time author. I would very much appreciate feedback of any kind. I'll do my best to post a new chapter on the Friday of every other week.
Thanks for reading!
