Getting Hard (Journey of a Tank)

My eyes opened wide as I awoke with a jolt.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Phone! I combed the table beside my bed, nearly knocking down the glass vase with fresh daffodils in my haste to find it. Where did I put—where am I?

A scantily furnished and unusually overclean room. There was an annoying antisepticky smell that tickled my nose. 'Antisepticky’—was that a word?

Throbbing headache plagued me as I quickly sat up to examine my surroundings; it was like I left my brain on my pillow. I reached up to massage my temples, hoping to find relief from the pressure against the back of my eyes. My fingers ran over the bandages wrapped around my forehead. What happened to me?

I yanked off the white bedsheets covering me; I wore a similarly-colored loose gown. Very breezy between my legs. Several circular white patches were plastered at different points on my body. I scratched the end of one of them and peeled it back—it was holding a tiny sensor in place. All of them did.

Stuck to the wall behind my bed was a machine with display screens showing what appeared to be my vital signs. It must be receiving data from the sensors.

This is it.

The one thing I feared had come to pass.

The machine overlords of mankind had selected me and decided my fate. I was going to be turned into a cyborg to fight the war—

Right…I’m confined at the hospital because of the accident last Friday. When I was bored, I’d imagine ridiculous scenarios—a habit I hadn’t lost since my childhood.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

The WeeCee on my wrist continued its alarm, blinking and vibrating like a time bomb. I waved my other hand over to shut it up. The light continued to flash. WeeCee? It came back to me that no one uses phones nowadays. Almost six years had passed since I last held one. Why was I looking for my phone?

“Did I miss a call?” I grumbled, my voice still raspy from having just woken up. Pressing the blue light caused a projection to pop up that nearly blinded my still watery eyes. “Fucking high beams!”

No one was calling. It was just my alarm.

“A…false alarm. Ha-ha.” Witty and charming even having just woken up. That’s me, Herald Stone. “But also…a true alarm,” I said, amused at my joke.

12:10 p.m., March 21, 2028. Check notification?

The note attached to the alarm reminded me that I had a visitor coming soon. Another wave of my hand caused the hologram to dissipate. Rubbing the glare of the WeeCee from my eyes and trying to reorient my drowsy brain, I thought to myself, Twenty-first of March…so that’s Tuesday. The doctor had told me I could be discharged tomorrow.

Then I facepalmed when I remembered how I landed here.

A couple of days ago, I had a meeting with a new business partner, Mr. Armand of the famous Phoenix Hot Wings, taste-testing the menu we’d offer for MotherCon, the Mother Core Online Convention, next month—our companies were planning to tie up our products for the huge event. Their wings were addictingly delicious with a satisfying kick.

As a compliment, my stupid mouth blabbed that I ate so much I’d need to burn off all the calories. Mr. Armand then invited me to work out at one of the gyms he owned in the city.

I, Herald Stone, definitely a man-at-peak-fitness assuming it was Opposite Day, took on the challenge. In retrospect, that probably wasn’t a challenge but rather a polite offer I wasn’t meant to accept. He was probably just showing off the other business he had.

And thus, I stepped inside a gym for the first time in my life.

I was doing fine for about half an hour—if fine meant nearly dying from exhaustion—when I suddenly fainted in the middle of the session. My body couldn’t take the physical exertion due to several years of unchecked hypertension fueled by copious amounts of stress and an unhealthy lifestyle in pursuit of fucktons of money.

To add insult to injury—or more injury to injury—my head hit the edge of the dumbbell rack as I fell.

Heavens above wasn’t prepared for my ascension just yet, kicking me back to this mortal plane to continue being awesome. It would’ve been embarrassing if that was the way I went out of this world, but would also have a poetic tone—I would be the one who defeated me.

Fortunately, my test results showed no lasting damage. The scar on my forehead was lasered off and was healing nicely beneath the bandages. Now that I had more time to think about it, I did regret having it removed; it looked badass as hell and I could’ve told people I survived wrestling a bear while hiking in the mountains.

Can I just smash my head again? Or fight an actual bear?

Although my brain was fine, my doctors did tell me something I always knew but ignored—my body was one unhealthy piece of shit. Not those exact words; make it more professional sounding with medical jargon.

That was sort of, kind of, might be, probably true. I did have a habit of putting on a strong front and ignoring stress and fatigue from overwork so I probably had this one coming. The fainting thing, not the bumping my head into the dumbbell rack thing. Maybe that too.

“This can be my next Goal,” I said to myself as I scrolled through ‘The List’ in my WeeCee. What number was I at again? One-seventy should be next.

The List.

One hundred and sixty-seven Goals—that was with a capital ‘G’—completed over the last sixteen years, with two currently underway: Goal #101, buying back and renovating our old house; and #133, opening branches of our restaurant here in my hometown, Egret City, were both near completion.

Can a city be called a hometown? Home-city? Sounded weird.

Whatever it was, I needed a new Goal. I was too fixated on finishing each of them that I wasn’t able to make more. Focusing on my health would be fitting as #170. Way more plausible than fighting a bear.

And this was the perfect opportunity for such a Goal as I had more time after recently passing the CEO position in the family company to Nelly, one of my younger sisters. I was now mainly focused on smaller projects like opening new locations. I did plan to turn my attention to new business prospects, expand my horizons, and also have more free time to finally enjoy the fruits of my labor.

It went without saying it’d be hard to ‘live the life’ if…I wasn’t alive.

Having a health-related Goal was a first for me. Nevertheless, as with all the other Goals on The List, I’d certainly complete it.

I always did.

Almost always.

Knocking interrupted my musings. Without waiting for my answer because hospital doors didn’t have locks for obvious reasons, a stout middle-aged man entered with a food cart. “How you doin’, Sir?” he said in an overly enthusiastic tone. “Here’s lunch for today,”

And thus, began the day of Herald Stone—exceptional entrepreneur, philanthropist with a heart of gold, girthy tower of morality, anchovy aficionado, occasional bonsai gardener, mini-golf enthusiast, and an all-around great guy.

I usually didn’t begin my day in the middle of it. However, watching the Mother Core Online Channel after dinner had kept me up all night, bringing back fun childhood memories—that explained my peculiar dream about the bygone days—and also reminded me of the ill-fated Goal that could no longer be completed.

“Thank you…” I snapped my fingers and pointed at the food cart guy, an amiable smile on my face. “Ron-Ronald? Yes, Ronald. Did I get that right?” I recalled his exact name; my little skit was to make me appear friendlier.

“Yes, Mr. Stone, sir. Ronald, that’s me.”

“Thank you for delivering lunch, Ronald.” Showing gratitude in a formal way, especially from someone of my stature to a hospital food worker, painted me as down-to-earth. Repeating the man’s name, usually unnatural in conversations, added a sprinkle of sincerity. “And ‘Mr. Stone’ sounds too uptight, doesn’t it? Call me Herald.”

“Just doing my job, Mr. Herald, sir.”

Ronald wasn’t the visitor I was expecting. However, I was getting hungry and it’d be great to have lunch while waiting for him to arrive. This was also an opportunity to present Herald in the aspect of The Man of the People to one more wayward soul.

My stay here in the hospital wasn’t long, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t going to make sure everyone in this place knew how swell of a guy I was. Employees gossiped with each other at a rate faster than the spread of wildfire. Their topics for conversation would center on the ends of the spectrum—the asshole patients and the friendly patients.

Ronald seemed to have worked in this hospital for years and was likely very chatty with his co-workers; that was the read I got of him. He’d be the best vehicle to spread the word of my greatness in the short time I’d be here.

And why did I want these people, whom I didn’t know nor gave two shits about, to think I was benevolence personified?

Because they should.

Ronald arranged my lunch on the small table beside the window. “We got the tomato soup you ordered. A fresh batch. I was there when they were making it in the kitchen, yes sir. Main course is baked chicken stuffed with—” and he droned on and on, explaining why this hospital food wasn’t wads of soaked cardboard.

Okay, to be fair, the food here was passable.

The only other time I had eaten hospital food was when Pops was confined in one when I was a kid. I asked for a taste of his food, and it turned out bland. It could’ve been the diet prescribed by the doctor rather than the food being actually bad. Surprising I remembered it even if it was such a long time ago.

My WeeCee beeped to inform me I had a message. “Excuse, me a bit,” I told Ronald, interrupting his energetic description of how healthy the prepared food was.

It was from my sister, Nelly. [I heard from Mr. Armand that his son will visit you. Don’t you dare pull your nonsense and mess with him.]

[How could you think that of me, my beloved sister?] was my response.

[You’re going to do it, aren’t you?]

I didn’t reply to her, a smile on my face. Nelly knew she couldn’t stop me. I noticed Ronald had finished setting the food. I graciously thanked him, and he pushed his food cart across the room towards the door.

“Oh man, I almost forgot about this.” Ronald stopped beside the Holo-TV on his way out. It had turned on, spreading a three-dimensional projection in the front part of the room.

Sleepiness claimed me at around three in the morning before I could switch off the HTV. But it was set to go into hibernation mode after fifteen minutes with no input so it wouldn’t disturb my beauty sleep. Ronald passing by to deliver food might’ve reactivated it.

The MCO Channel was back. This time, it displayed a narrow pass bordered by sheer mountains that opened into expansive plains. A castle sat at the mouth of the pass, besieged by a massive army.

“Victores Sors declared war on The Syndicate this morning, yes sir!” Ronald excitedly said. “Aderenthine Fortress, it looks like.”

I have no idea what he’s talking about.

Our company had secured food stall permits for the MotherCon, but I was from familiar with the game. My only exposure to it, other than watching their HTV channel yesterday for far too long, was their ads. Boatloads of them everywhere, MCO being the biggest game played in the world. But I barely paid attention to any because I was busy with work. Now that we were going to sell food to their players, it might be a good time to familiarize myself with the game.

Of course, I wasn’t going to admit to Ronald I knew jack-shit about MCO. The aspect of Herald, The Man Who Knows About Everything—or, at least, had some vague knowledge of something—was taking center stage. “This morning, you say? I had an inkling that these guilds were going to fight today. I stayed up until three to wait for the declaration of war, but I fell asleep.” Talking out of my ass, chef’s kiss.

“Yes, Mr. Herald, sir. About 6 a.m. I saw it before I left home for work. You must be in the know, sir, to predict they’ll start the war today.”

I nonchalantly shrugged. “Just hearing things here and there. Unfortunate that I missed the declaration itself. Finally, these two guilds are going to fight. I know everyone’s been waiting for it.” Actually, I don’t know. Based on his reaction, I simply assumed this was the case.

“The top one guild fighting the next-in-rank.” That explained his excitement. He slowly clapped his hands, eyes glued to the HTV. “Yessiree, this is going to be the biggest fight of the year.”

“The year? It’s only March.” Herald Stone, Stand-up Comedian. Both of us laughed like we were the best pals ever. “When you think about it,” I continued, “this isn’t going to stop with just the two of them. Their allies will join and we’ll get bigger battles.”

“Right you are, Mr. Herald, sir. Man, I can’t wait to watch the replay with my son when I get home.”

“Father and son bonding time? That sounds delightful.” Delightful? Was I a posh, upper crust, tea-sipping grandaunt? I had half the mind to make up a story that Pops also shared a hobby with me when I was a kid but decided telling the truth would have a better emotional impact. “I’m sure your son appreciates it very much. How I wish my own father played computer games with me back then. Do you alternate using one unit or…?”

“Got two AU-VR helms at home, one for me and one for my boy. Helms got a lot cheaper now compared to a few years back, erm, but still expensive. The two second-hand units I got, I pay for on installment. Worth it so that we can play at the same time.”

“You’re a good man, Ronald,” I said, squeezing every drop of sincerity out of my ass. “I’m sure your son appreciates the time you spend with him.” I might be overestimating my charisma, but I think I saw a hint of wateriness in Ronald’s eyes. Or I might be making shit up.

Touching the hearts of others and making up stuff, Herald, The Man of the People, was at it again.

Knocking made the two of us turn to the door.

Through the rectangular window, a redheaded young man in a stylish navy blue suit waved at me. I hadn’t met him before. From the hair color and features of his face, he must be the son of Mr. Armand, here to visit me on behalf of his father.

“Looks like you got a visitor, Mr. Herald, sir,” Ronald said. “And I have to deliver all of this.” He gestured to the rest of the meal packages on his cart, remembering all the other patients he condemned to a late lunch. “Enjoy your food. And just give us a call if you need anything else.” He tipped an imaginary hat to me before leaving.

“Mr. Stone?” Mr. Armand’s son hesitantly knocked on the door that Ronald left open.

“Come in, come in.” I beckoned for him. “En-Enrico? Yes, Enrico. Did I get that right?” His father talked at length about how proud he was of his son that the name was burned in my mind.

Enrico put his right hand over his heart and slightly bowed, greeting me in the customary Eyriesian way. “Yes, sir. I’m sorry my father can’t personally come to visit because of prior engagements, but he’s looking forward to your meeting next week. How are you feeling Mr. Stone?”

“Doing quite well, thank you very much for asking.” Another performance called me. Extending my hand for a shake, I tried to get up from my bed but then stopped and winced. I slowly laid myself back down. “Ah, still a bit light-headed, I suppose. I hope you won’t mind that I’m lying down.”

“Of course not, Mr. Stone.” With his forehead wrinkled in worry, he hurried to my bedside and shook the hand I continued to hold out for him.

“And ‘Mr. Stone’ sounds too uptight, doesn’t it? Call me Herald.”