Titan Fall

Tommy's appreciation for the pass and catch dissipated. He thudded back into his seat, looked at Jackson, saw the mess of emotions crossing his face. Like a raging storm, each lightning flash showed something different: anguish, despair, anger. He grabbed Jackson's shoulder.

'Hey, it's going to be okay. They still have time. They could come back.'

'I gotta go.'

Jackson shrugged off Tommy's hand, then shuffled past him.

'Jackson, wait,' Tommy said.

'I gotta go to the restroom.'

'Jackson…' His parents looked at him with concern.

His eyes darted from Tommy to them. '… I promise I'm fine, I just … I need to get away from this. I'm okay, though. I promise.'

He turned away, heading down the stairs. The parents turned from him to Tommy. Tommy sighed and got up. He followed Jackson out of the stands and to the restroom in the nearby building. Jackson entered the room, but Tommy stopped outside the door. There he waited, leaning against the door.

As the Titans prepared for the kick-off, Freddy looked around. Where he usually looked for support and resolve, he found nothing but disheartening ghouls in place of his teammates. His gaze darted to the scoreboard. "There's still time. It's only… we can comeback from seventeen points, can't we?"

Once again, there wouldn't be a return as the Sentinels weren't taking chances and boomed the ball out of the end zone.

Freddy hurried to the huddle, reaching Pete before anyone else did. Pete seemed surprised by his appearance, taking a moment to remember—once the others converged—that they were here for the huddle.

As Pete mumbled the instructions, Freddy felt smaller than ever surrounded by the downtrodden spectres. 'U-Um…' He cleared his throat and snatched his courage by the scruff of its neck. 'Um guys? We can still win. I'll do my best, so let's all keep trying. I'll even, I'll even score if I have to. Follow my lead, okay?'

He looked around. The others stared blankly at him. Freddy should've expected as much. He wasn't a talented speaker; he wasn't a leader like Coach Otsen. But if he couldn't inspire them with words, then he'd have to try through his actions.

The Titans shambled to their positions. Freddy couldn't keep his eyes in one place. It really was down to him. But that was okay. It made sense, right? Kenny had to contend with that enormous slab of a man, and even that chiselled, imposing LB had been focusing on Kenny.

On the other side, Rudy had his hands full with one of their star captains. Rogers was deceptively fast and strong. His scrawny build seemed like a facade. Unfortunately Freddy's wasn't.

Pete had little time to throw with that huge O-Lineman breathing down his neck, and Lonnie was stuck trying to help against said Lineman.

Who was stopping Freddy? Freddy looked at the boy across from him. He didn't look special, more like the generic default template for Madden. He WASN'T special. Freddy could get open, Freddy could score.

Vincent snapped the ball. Freddy scrambled forward. A shimmy got him away from his opponent's press. He continued forward, then cut in with a short Cross. He was open! He called for the pass, hand raised.

Pete—drifting away from Bryce's pressure—looked over the middle and saw Freddy. He whipped the ball across, but overcompensated on his drift and threw it too far out in front of Freddy.

Freddy dove, but couldn't lay a finger on the pass. Freddy ate dirt thanks to his dive, but he bounced back up, a wide smile on his face as he returned to the huddle. He didn't blame Pete, it was his own fault; he needed to get MORE open, so Pete didn't feel like he needed to lead the pass so much.

Coach Otsen—observing from a distance, having a greater viewpoint on the field and the players thanks to such—saw one flickering hope left. Already—thanks to Freddy's upbeat attitude and continued effort—he could see the embers of that hope kindling other flames. He needed to keep that flame alive.

The next play was a Jet Sweep to Freddy. This time, they ran away from Bryce's side.

Freddy sprinted into the hand-off, tearing the ball away from Pete as he raced towards the edge of the Line. The Line collapsed.

Bryce might've been on the other end, but with him there, the Sentinels were confident enough in his ability to stop the run so they could overload the opposite side. When the Jet Sweep came, they were expecting it, and crushed Freddy underneath a wall of his own teammates.

The Titans lost yards on the play.

Before Freddy picked himself up, two hands reached out to him. They belonged to Vincent and Isaac. Freddy smiled and took their hands. They hoisted him to his feet.

'S-Sorry. I wasn't fast enough.'

'Nah … we weren't strong enough,' Vincent said.

Isaac laughed, then nudged Freddy. 'Little tip, Freddy: never blame yourself for a bad run when you can blame the Linemen.'

Freddy smiled, and Vincent sighed loudly while Isaac kept chuckling.

A Draw came next. Coach Otsen needed the fire to spread. Isaac and Vincent's embers had to grow back into their own flames. Plus, it should've caught the Sentinels completely off-guard.

It certainly wrong-footed the Sentinels. When Pete handed Isaac the ball, Vincent charged forward and smashed through whoever stood in his way. Isaac followed behind the formidable block. They surged forward, and their momentum was strong. It didn't look like anyone could withstand Vincent's fury. … But he never saw Zane slip in from the side.

Zane darted around Vincent's block and speared into Isaac, taking him down after a gain of 7 yards.

Coach Otsen groaned. He didn't know what more to do. The Sentinels' lead wasn't impossibly large, but it felt insurmountable. It was a bitter truth, feeling like an excuse, but the Titans were outmatched. "A better coach could've helped his players overcome a difference in skill like this. You've got no one to blame but yourself."

'Sir?' Coach Knight said.

Coach Otsen looked into the sympathetic eyes of Coach Knight. He wondered if the OC could hear his thoughts.

'I think we should go for it with a fake punt. If we have someone like Freddy punting now, we can run for the first down.'

Coach Otsen looked out at the field. His aggressiveness had already cost them earlier. But he still believed it was the correct decision. "If my players had been better, is that the excuse you're using for that shitty play-calling? And now you want to fuck them over again? You're sickening."

He squashed the tiny, annoying voice in his head and nodded at Coach Knight. 'Let's do it.' If they pulled it off, it could be the exact thing they needed to revive their hopes. And if they failed? Well, he could tell himself the game was already over.

After Freddy heard the plan, when he stood back awaiting the snap, he had to keep wiping his hands on his pants. It didn't help. The nervous sweat returned immediately.

It was just 5 yards. He could do it. He took a steadying breath, then called for the snap. Thankfully, he caught it in one clean grab, then immediately tucked the ball and ran.

The crowd exclaimed in surprise and horror. The Titans side screamed for him to run, whilst the Sentinels drowned them out, announcing that it was a fake to snap their team to attention.

Just 5 yards. That's what filled Freddy's mind as he rushed towards the marker. 5 yards. 4, 3. He was almost there! 2—Sentinels swarmed. Freddy lowered his shoulder.

A hideous crunch echoed across the field. Freddy collapsed on top of the ball. He was short. The Sentinels would take control.

Freddy rolled onto his back, head ringing as he spat his mouth guard out and tried to catch his breath. One thought pierced through the ringing: why was he here? Memories fluttered back into his mind. He remembered his decision to help the team when they needed players, and to satisfy his parents' desire for him to be more outgoing and join a sports team. He wondered if the team wouldn't be better off if Jackson were in his position instead.

The crowd's roar shook the restroom. Jackson knew something good must've happened for the Sentinels. Another needle of doubt and self-loathing slipped through the cracks.

The only person to blame for this outcome was himself. If he hadn't made that dumbass mistake all that time ago, if he'd just said ANYTHING to ANYONE, then he'd be out there on the field instead of in some grotty, disgusting public restroom. He could've changed the game.

He knew he'd let not only himself down, but all his teammates, too. He'd screwed them. They were supposed to be his friends, and he'd betrayed them.

He splashed water onto his face. Staring into the mirror, he realised the grind had already begun. This season was done, but there was always the next. His journey for State supremacy, and his own redemption, began now. Even with all that time to prepare, he knew he'd have to give it his all.

He stormed out of the room. When he marched past Tommy, Tommy stuck a hand out and stopped him.

'Jackson—' Tommy hesitated when he saw the look in Jackson's eyes. His concern vanished. 'Hey, this year might not've worked out, but next year is yours. Heck, it'll be OURS. We've got this.' He held a fist out.

Jackson bumped Tommy's fist. 'We decide how far we go.' The two returned to their family.

There was no chance for the Titans to punt. The Sentinels were almost in the red zone already and they hadn't even run an offensive play yet. They were guaranteed to score; a touchdown was almost certain. They didn't take long to make the latter a reality.

Rogers started it, slicing away from Kenny with too much speed and agility for Kenny to keep up with this far into the game. The burden of the deficit, and what a loss meant, made Kenny sluggish.

But it wasn't just Rogers who was getting open. Neanderthal too broke away from his coverage and secured a catch. Frustration and defeat consumed Rudy; he'd run out of patience with defence.

No matter where Zane looked, there was always an open Receiver waiting for him. Every pass came exactly on time, and with pinpoint precision. There was nothing the depleted Titans could do to stop them.

The Sentinels made quick work of the Titans and soon celebrated another touchdown with their fans.

The fourth quarter came shortly after, but it was uneventful—the Sentinels had already won the game.

Neither team scored in the last quarter. The scoreboard was stuck on 31–7. When time ran out on the Titans season, a multitude of emotions afflicted the team.

Coach Vasquez slumped against the bench. His feverish cheering finally ended only when the game was officially over.

Coach Knight stood as stiff and silent as a boulder, staring at the measly 7 points his offence scored. He needed to become more adaptive, better utilise the talent he had.

Coach Carson massaged her temples. Her defence was a mess, less of a wall and more of a low hedge that was simply a nuisance to get over. She needed to trim the useless edges away and nurture it into something impenetrable.

Coach Otsen had accepted his failure. There was a lot to learn, and it was going to be a LONG off-season for him and the JV squad. But he wasted little time on the defeat. Soon, his mind turned to the upcoming varsity game.

The players suffered too. Rudy stormed off, not even shaking the opposing teams' hands. He went straight to the locker room, got his shit, then started home, bus be damned.

Vincent lay on the field, chest and belly heaving as he refused to get up for several minutes, dealing with the exhaustion from the season, and the weight of the loss.

Owen had lost his chipper mood and his voice, mouth shut and set in a frown.

Pete held his head in his hands. He'd failed. As the QB and a captain, he could only lead his team to 7 pathetic points. He'd never make it off JV like this.

Lonnie trudged around the field, picking up his teammates and guiding them to the bench, patting them on the back. It distracted him from the nauseating feeling spreading throughout his body.

Isaac collapsed on the bench. His whole body ached like all his muscles would drop right off the bone and into a sludgy goop. He didn't want to see a football ever again. Tomorrow he'd be back on the field, but right now he wanted to be as far away from football as possible.

Freddy had tears in his eyes. No matter how many times, or how hard he wiped them away, they always came back. It was all his fault. It was worse than any "B" on his report card had ever been.

Kenny sat on the field, right where he'd been when the last play ended. He stared at the scoreboard, burned it into his eyes so that he'd see it that night when he lay down to sleep. It wasn't the most painful loss of his young football career, but it reminded him of those painful times in middle school. He etched the feeling into his heart, so this game would always be with him, and moved on.

Seton Catholic had eliminated the JV Titans from Regionals. Their season was over. As they all came to grips with this knowledge, Jackson—whose season had failed to launch—accepted the harsh truth. Like Kenny, he was already looking ahead with a promise in his heart to claim State next season.