Football singularity

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[Date: 20 April 2020 | Lockdown Week 4 | Time: 12:44 AM | Location: Victor Parker – Penthouse, NYC]

A couple of days later, Victor had finally had a good night's sleep and even managed to catch a long overdue shower. He had been ridden with guilt the next day, but his resolve was affirmed once he got the notification that all the assets in the inheritance trust had been resolved into liquid funds. So, he put all other thoughts behind him as he began planning his next steps, looking for ways to save himself.

He had realised no amount of pleading or begging would help, as no one was coming to save him. Wall Street was inherently a shark pond, and these predators would rather attack an injured shark or simply let the piranhas in the pond devour the scraps. For this reason alone, he had no qualms in taking a shot at Enzo if that meant that his fall would be less tragic.

Ding: The transfer confirmation pinged. A sterile, two-tone chime that should have sounded triumphant only scraped across Victor's nerves. Balance remaining in May's inheritance: $0.00.New balance in the "Joseph Memorial fund": +$323,711,467.12.

Victor exhaled, a ragged, wheezing gust that fogged the laptop screen. Barley fretted over the fact that he was using his late brother-in-law's fund, which was meant for charitable donations. He ran a trembling hand through his hair, slicking sweat back from his temples, and opened a secure line to his backroom. It was too late to consider any moral considerations, so he simply began transferring accounts to and from different holdings.

~~~

Darkness shatters like glass as I gasp for air, my lungs clawing for the breath of life. Before I even open my eyes, I can feel a sticky mixture clinging to my skin. 'May was right, I should have dragged myself to the shower no matter how tired I felt,' I find myself thinking as I try hard to drown out the noises that swarm my senses.

It worked after a while as the pain from my brain being rattled awake reduced to an annoying drone. However, that's when a thick, oily scent floods my nervous system as I can almost taste it on the tip of my tongue. Frowning slightly as I try to identify this new scent, a damp but sour metallic scent emerges.

Moving my body slightly, trying to shake these disconcerting sensations, I feel the rough texture of my cot rubbing against my bare back. It somewhat works as the scent becomes less overwhelming, allowing me to adjust to it. 'Wait a minute, Cot? What happened to my Egyptian cashmere and mohair memory phone mattress?'

With fright, a jolt shot through my body as I found myself sitting up right, my eyes struggling to adjust to the different lights as I frantically tried to make sense of my current situation. It took a moment, but I managed to regain focus, and the visual feedback I received caused my world to freeze. The cot underneath me creaked, the metallic legs screeching faintly against the mud-packed ground.

I blink again, and the blurred ceiling begins to focus as I take in the hustle and bustle of my current location. I had somehow not noticed that I was in the middle of a huge medical tent with groaning boys receiving varying injuries, receiving treatment. A buzzing sound drills at the edge of my hearing, and it wasn't the sound of my $500 AC. It's flies, a swarm of them.

A few flickers crossed my vision, dancing along the walls of the tent and strung up from the ceiling. Only now did I notice that the light in my vision was coming from lanterns. Subconsciously, choking up, my mouth feels drier than I ever remember it being, and my lips feel cracked. Looking around, used bandages and gauze drenched with old blood littered the ground.

I try to swallow, but it's like dragging sandpaper down my throat. This all feels so familiar, but I can't bring myself to believe it to be. I was given a second chance, right? So what is this BS? 'Hey Eva, are you there?' Silence was all that met me as I watched the tent walls flap sluggishly with the humid wind leaking in from the jungle.

'Don't do this to me, please tell me I'm just dreaming,' I thought, more like begged, hoping for it to all be a feverish nightmare. But yet again, my question was met with silence as the beating of my heart intensified, sending a jolt of panic through my system.

The air is so thick with heat, blood, and sweat that it clings to my skin like a second layer. I shift slightly, wincing at the pressure around my abdomen. That's when I notice the bandages — rough, tight, and crusted with dried pus and sweat. My fingers tremble as they trace them, sending a real jolt of pain through my system as memories of the injury flash through my brain.

'That's right, I got shot in the fifth offensive, but that doesn't explain the bandages on my head.' I thought as I remembered my squad being bogged down in a gun fight as we were sent on a suicide mission by General Kofi.

"No one over 16," I subconsciously mumbled out loud, recalling the saying the soldiers here had for the general. It wasn't an outright rule, but kids around fifteen get sent on more challenging missions that usually ended with them dying.

A cough wracked my chest, dry and violent, nothing like the healthy lungs of an athlete that I had gotten used to. The difference was like comparing Intel Xeon processors to the Pentium 4; there was simply no comparison. Right now, he felt much older than he actually was; he was a battered existence of life that had followed the thread of fate.

This version of him hadn't fled the trafficking ring in Cuba, hadn't snuck onto the going Mary, and worst of all, had never tasted the sweet taste of hope. Dread and despair were all this version of him had ever known as he was beaten and indoctrinated into obedience. "How did I even survive that grenade?" I found myself wondering as fragments of the mission returned to me.

We had managed to dispatch an enemy squad, only for one of them in a last act of a f~@k you to drop a grenade. 'Sami', the smiling figure of his senior, flashed me, causing me to remember that he had speared me to the ground, protecting me from the blast.

'Yes, someone eventually found me and I was brought here, but didn't I die from COVID?' I wondered to myself as the last pieces of confusion settled with the final fragments of memories.

"You look like shit," a crisp voice sounded from the side, gripping his attention as the silhouette of an old man entered his vision.

"Dr Kwame?" I subconsciously asked the man's name, which appeared in my mind almost naturally.

He stood a pace away, wearing fatigues two sizes too big and surgical gloves stained with iodine. His chest was bare beneath the flak vest, ribs sharp against dark skin, a mess of tribal scars and bullet holes carved into his body like history books. A dirty cloth mask was tied lazily around his neck, and his eyes were sunken but sharp.

"Oh, Rakim... you're awake, eh? Looks like you managed to beat the fever," he said, approaching with a limp, his wooden foot piercing into the ground. His eyes flicked down to my bandages before returning to my face. "Didn't think you'd make it, not after the way you were burning up last night. Some of these fools were saying the mamba spirit had come for you."

I blinked, trying to focus, but he kept talking, as if filling the air so I wouldn't slip back into the dark. "I don't know much about this 'Covid' thing the radio was talking about, but if that's what had you twisted up, then this"—he gripped the back of my head after removing his glove, measuring my temperature—"this is a good sign."

I said nothing, simply letting him do as he pleased as I pieced together shards of broken memories. His fingers were still on my scalp, cool and coarse, when the floodgates opened.

A kaleidoscope of memory bled into the present—disjointed, violent, sweet. Emma's giggle. May's scent on my sheets. Lisa, my mother, cheers at my games and training, and my Dad, who had taught me what it meant to be a man in a world that seemed to redefine that definition. I jerked my head away from Kwame's hand, breath hitching. The canvas roof above me suddenly loomed like a shroud. Everything tilted, and darkness engulfed me.

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To Be Continued...