Chapter 2

Three months later

"Fantastic! Amazing! The whole nation is congratulating our heroes whose brilliant play tore the victory from the hands of the Chinese team! HiG was marvelous. If not for his sniper attacks, our team would probably have fallen short of the championship. Yes, I mean it. Right now my colleagues are telling me he's been awarded the Best Player award and has become the happy owner of a Lamborghini super-car! Congrats to Drones and all fans of space battles! That was unforgettable!"

Lying on the sofa, I listened to the TV presenter go into raptures over my past team's victory, my mood worsening with every word. There was no one present who could drag me out of my fortnightly melancholy; Masha was far away in Vancouver.

A couple of months had passed and I still hadn't made up my mind on what new career to pursue. My inbox had two dozens of offers, including those sent by foreign teams; offers I couldn't accept. Since no one knew the details of my termination agreement, everyone was rather surprised that I still haven't joined a new team.

Masha will get great prize money. Tardily, I realized that my apartment, and its luxurious spot and surroundings, would no longer seem incredible to her. That money would buy her an apartment just like mine if she wanted it. This realization worsened my mood even more.

"A state courier service staff member is waiting. Should I open the door?" The apartment AI's hologram appeared by my side as the doorbell rang.

"What service?" I was surprised. I'd never heard of a state courier service in our country before.

"Linking to Wiki," the AI told me instantly. "The State Courier Service is…"

"Hey, stop," I interrupted. "I'll read that later. The guy's waiting out there. Open the door."

"Yes."

Five minutes later, I was looking at a mailman in a blue uniform, with a military gun on his belt. I must have been peering at him too closely. The guy smirked, although he had a poker face when I opened the door.

"Sorry," I said. His smile embarrassed me. "This is the first time I meet someone from… from your organization. I didn't even know that it existed."

"No problem," he laughed openly. "A package for you. Sign here, please."

I put my finger onto the package, then onto his bag. Having my retina scanned, I finally got my hands on the hard cardboard package littered with red stamps: MINISTRY OF DEFENSE and PERSONAL.

Parting with the mailman and scratching the back of my head in confusion, I returned to the living room and tried to open the parcel with my hands, but the cardboard was so thick that I had to use a knife. Inside of it was a single sheet of paper with several typed lines:

The Ministry of Defence of the Russian Federation is inviting Viktor Maximov to take part in the candidate selection process for a military project.

The project information is top secret. Security clearance level required: AAA or higher.

Upon successful completion of the selection and testing process, all participants will be enlisted in the military service at the rank no lower than that of a Lieutenant, and given allowance according to their rank.

The salary paid during the testing process will be 700 rubles per hour. The salary paid to those enrolled in the project will be determined individually at a level no lower than 1,500 rubles .

Application letters should be sent to the email below. Use your personal ID to apply.

"What bullshit is this?" I was immensely surprised. I've never served in the armed forces, never came in touch with the military in any way—and yet I got this weird letter. "Rubbish." I would consider this a bad joke had the package been slipped underneath my door, or delivered by snail mail. But a uniformed, armed mailman was too much. No one would go to such lengths just to play a trick on me.

"Home. Browse the web for the words 'ministry of defense', 'game', and 'recruitment'."

"Ten relevant results found, Viktor. Displaying them onto the wall," the AI replied instantly and showed me a bunch of very old links. The newest one was two years old.

"Hmmm." I went over the letter again. A great idea popped into my head. Why not? I don't have anything else going on anyway, and a $50,000 salary is hard to come by.

"Home. Open the console. I need to type a message."

When the projected keyboard appeared beneath my hands, I quickly typed a consent message and sent it to the email mentioned in the letter. I received a reply almost instantly, confirming my registration and stating the date, hour, and the address of the test site. I was pleasantly surprised that the spot was close to my place; it was a ten minute walk away.

"Perfect!" I rejoiced. "Home. Schedule a reminder two hours before the start."

"Reminder added. August 2nd, 2050, 7AM. Attend an event at Admiral Nakhimov Street, 15."

"At last." My forced idleness, albeit free of money worries, had long felt like a burden, so this strange invitation came in handy.

***

Coming to meet Masha at the airport with flowers, I joined the line of ecstatic fans waiting for the plane from Canada. The first-ever victory in the world tournament won by a Russian team excited many young minds. The news of their arrival spread like forest fire across social media networks. I got lost in the crowd. Lots of placards, banners, and flowers—they would try anything just to get spotted by the adored team. When the familiar faces appeared at the gate, the arrival hall was filled with a thunderous applause, whistling, and shouts of delight.

The guys, apparently surprised by such a welcome and a mob of fans, smiled hesitantly and looked around, heading for the square where they could take a taxi or get into their own cars. They spotted me, but I ignored all of their invitations to come closer. The team no longer existed for me. After their betrayal, after them robbing me of the victory that was already close at hand, I decided to forget them for good.

All of them but Masha... The anger and bitterness that gnawed at my heart when I saw her signature on that document were still there, but love eventually overcame anger. I pretended that our relationship was the same as before just to see what it would eventually come to. But one thing I knew for sure: our past carefree romance was gone.

The girl saw me, but getting through the crowd of fans was not easy; they surrounded her from all sides, begging for an autograph or a memorable kiss. I had to step in and take her away, despite the crowd's din of displeasure. They tried to stop me, but I elbowed our way outside and to the taxi that had been waiting for us.

Giving the flowers to Masha and getting her seated, I tossed her suitcase into the truck, then plumped down by her side.

The taxi drove off once we fastened our seatbelts.

"How are you?" I reached for her and got a kiss.

"Dead tired," she confessed. "Craving for home, hot bath, and two-three days of sleep."

"I promise not to wake you." I caressed her arm. "I can wait to hear how things went."

She was surprised. "Didn't you watch it?"

"Sure I did. I'm your biggest fan, after all. But I'd love to hear how it feels to play in a world tournament." I did my best to appear carefree, although I couldn't stop thinking about my stolen victory.

She paused to think. "It's nothing special. Yes, dear, I mean it. It's just like any other tournament. More pompous, though." She gripped my hand. "How are you? Have you found anything yet?"

"Not yet." I shrugged. "Got one offer. The interview's tomorrow."

She seemed interested. "A different game?"

"Don't know yet." I decided not to tell her that the offer was sent by the Ministry of Defense. "Tomorrow… I'll tell you then."

She put her head on my shoulder. "I'd kill for some rest."

She fell asleep during the ride. I had to wake her once we reached our destination. Half-asleep, she followed me like a zombie while I, carrying the suitcase, opened the doors for her.

Masha didn't even go to the bathroom—she just collapsed onto the bed and fell asleep. Closing the bedroom door, I switched on the news in the living room.

"We've interviewed the Drones captain, Stepan Mazzur Mazurenko." Once I activated the video wall, it turned on the channel that I had been watching that morning, and the captain's huge face covered the entire wall. "Our reporter met with him at the airport."

"How are you, Stepan? How does victory feel?"

"We didn't expect such a welcome, but we are really pleased. I'd like to thank all our fans for supporting us in this tournament. We could feel your support. It gave us the strength to win."

"How was the team? The last battle was very challenging. Were your opponents stronger than you expected them to be? Whom can you give special credit to?"

"I'm very happy with the whole team." He thought it over for a moment. "Sure there were minor issues that we'll be fixing in the future. But, overall, each team member gave their 100%. This victory was truly deserved."

"But who was the best?" the reporter insisted.

"Our fifth. HiG," the captain said reluctantly. "His hit percentage was something special. The tournament committee made him MVP for a reason."

"Do you think you would have won if your past sniper, Viktor L0St Maximov, was in his place?"

"No comments," he snapped angrily when another man intervened. Seeing him, I couldn't help but gnash my teeth.

"I'm sure we wouldn't." The manager's face was asking for a slap. "70% hit success is too low for a champion."

"But the game's average is about 60%." Why is this reporter so interested in me? "Indulge me, please; our audience is really curious about this sudden transfer. You took a great risk by accepting a new player in an already-flying-together team right before the world tournament. Did you fear that he might not fit in and that your performance would suffer?"

"Sure there was a risk." Brushing Stepan away, the manager spoke alone. "But Nikita's performance in group practice convinced us that he could do it. I don't want to criticize Viktor, but he was falling short of the new performance standard the team had set in preparation for the world tournament."

These words brought me to the end of my rope. I switched the channel.

Ungrateful pig. Weren't you kissing my feet until recently, begging me to sell my ship? Had I not agreed, you wouldn't have gotten this victory.

Anger and depression came and went in waves. One moment, I was itching to see the manager and punch him in the face, and in the other, I wanted to collapse onto my bed and stare at the ceiling.

***

I was having breakfast when Masha came out of the bedroom, wearing nothing but her underwear. "Are you leaving?"

"Yeah. The interview's in half an hour. I told you about it yesterday." I finished my sandwich and washed it down with some tea. "Don't know how long it'll take. If you want to go out, go alone. Don't wait for me."

"I'm not going anywhere." She plumped down into my lap. "I'll be relaxing at home. Come back as soon as you can. I have plans for you."

Stroking her leg, I moved her aside hastily. If she kept teasing me like that, I wouldn't be able to go anywhere. I had things to do.