| Generated by Google Flow text-to-video AI software, powered by Omni Flash 1.1 |
Zelda and Jolanda both do a lot of exhilarating activities. Framed one way,
they sit on opposing sides of the spectrum. Zelda likes to lose control. It
is absolutely possible to be bad at an extreme sport, but once you learn how
to do it, a lot of it involves letting go, and allowing the forces of nature
take over. Gravity is a big one for them. Jolanda’s thing is all about
taking control. When she’s inside of the car—or when she literally
is the car—she makes every decision about where it goes, and what it
does. For both of them, the work is very tough and strenuous, and they’re
all sports, but a certain kind of sport. What they’re doing right now is
exploring one of the other kinds.
“Fellow treasure hunters, please allow me to be the first to welcome you all
to...Sportsdome,” Rage says dramatically. It’s a surprisingly unpopular
dome. That might be a harsh word to use. It’s not as popular as it would be
if you picked the whole 83-kilometer diameter dome off of Castlebourne, flew
it to Earth, and dropped it somewhere. The problem with this dome is it’s
simply a collection of all sports fields of play. There’s nothing innovative
about it except the fact that it’s all consolidated. You can get each one of
these games anywhere, and for much cheaper than the energy credits it takes
to travel to this world. Basically, if sports are your thing, you’re
probably better off staying put wherever you already live. Castlebourne is
for niche experiences.
“I played one of the ancient games once,” Colley says. I think it was called
bolleyball. And I think I only played it because it rhymed with my name.”
“You’re thinking of volleyball,” Jolanda corrects. “I’ve played a ton of
these, but only in VR. A lot of people hate that because it isn’t pure, but
if you have a halfway decent physics engine and synaptic integration,
there’s really no difference these days.”
“What are we doing here?” Zelda asks. She sounds and looks bored.
“Zel, I would have thought you loved this stuff,” Elise points out.
“There are too many rules,” Zelda complains. “I don’t like rules. I mean,
back when dying once meant dying forever, I understood the rules for safety.
And I even understand them today for the purposes of continuity, pain
aversion, and convenience, but these little sports have such arbitrary
rules. They’re all, like, you can’t bounce that with two hands, or,
it’s gotta bounce once and inside of these white lines. A lot of the
rules have to do with bouncing and dropping. I just don’t find it exciting.”
“We’re not here to be excited,” Rage clarifies. “We’re here to learn the
mechanics of gameplay. Some of you use your minds, some of you use your
bodies. Traditional sports marry the two. Those rules you hate, Zelda, are
part of that. You have to remember where the ball goes and how to get it
there. You have to see the obstacles in real time, and find a way around
them. Half the audience is cheering you on, half of them wanna see you fail.
None of you has done activity on behalf of someone else. Even I, who has
usually been part of a team, sees an escape room as a private
accomplishment. I share the joy of accomplishment with my team, but my mind
leans on what I personally got out of it. Sports athletes can’t think like
that. Their sole job is to serve the team, even if that means sitting on the
bench during a play and encouraging their teammates. That’s why I signed us
up for the Total Lifestyle Experience.”
“What’s the total lifestyle experience?” Elise asks as Rage is walking off.
She and the others rush to catch up. “Hey, what’s the total lifestyle
experience?” she repeats.
An hour later, the six of them are standing on the grass field. They
expected a big fancy arena, but this place looks like it’s been neglected.
They’re wearing the same uniform, which is a shirt, short shorts, tall
socks, and spiky black shoes. There’s another team of six people here,
Combined, they’re standing in a triangle shape, using the wall as a third
side. At the top point is a scraggly white-haired man. His shorts are even
shorter, and he has a whistle. It’s impossible to not notice his whistle.
He’s been whistling this whole time, apparently communicating with the bots
who are running around the field, moving equipment around. Now he finally
turns to sneer at the players. “So you think you’re good enough for league
football, do ya?” he asks in an English accent. “You’re the sorriest lookin’
excuses for players I ever saw this side of the meridian!” He looks at one
of the other team’s members. “Your shirt is on backwards, ya wanka! What’s
the matter, ya never worn clothes before?”
The youngish-looking girl tries to pull her elbow in to turn the shirt
around, but is too embarrassed to keep going, so she ends up pulling it off
all the way.
The boss guy, whatever his job is, shakes his head. “Girls in the league.
What are we gonna have to let in next? Billy goats!? I long for the days
when men were men!”
One of the other women on the other team begins to walk away.
“See, that’s my point. Women can’t handle the stress of being in a real
club. What’s your problem, young lady? That time of the month?” He laughs
and slaps Minotaur’s shoulder because they’re standing the closest,
expecting them to agree.
“I have a vagina too,” Minotaur snaps back, shutting him up.
The blonde woman comes back with a football. Without saying a word, she
tosses it towards the girl who was wearing her shirt backwards. The girl
does a backflip, kicking the football behind her. As she lands on her feet,
the ball ends up square in the goal, which is halfway down the field. “Any
questions?” the blonde asks.
Somehow, the old man shuts up even harder. He does eventually have to
continue, though. “I have to go make sure there’s no scheduling conflict
with the pitch. In the meantime, you can either run drills or talk about
your fee-fees.” He walks off.
The blonde from the other team, who appears to be in charge, smirks at the
hunters. “We’ve got you on toast. Who do you even play for? I earn your life
in a week.”
“Did you have to look up football slang, or does being an arsehole come
naturally to you?” Rage volleys.
“Rage, what are you doing?” Elise questions. “What’s happening here?”
“I told you,” Rage begins. “I signed us up for the total experience. We’re a
ragtag group of eclectic misfit underdogs. They’re the jerk pros who
everyone knows is gonna win the big game until the last second when the
shyest and least confident player on our team uses a random, seemingly
unrelated, skill from their life for a complete upset.”
The treasure hunters stare at Rage, still not quite understanding the point
of it, but also not getting the point of playing football in the first
place, so they might as well lean into it. Elise looks back over at the
blonde boss. “Wankuh.”
The blonde laughs. “Not quite how you pronounce it, but I’ll take it. Before
we play the big game,” she goes on with airquotes, “you should know
that we’re after the same thing. There’s a deeper level to Treasure Hunting
Dome. We’re gonna find it first.”
Rage looks extremely surprised and distressed. She clearly had no idea.
The blonde smirks again. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Miracle. Miracle
Brighton.”
