The human player got out of the VR booth. A camera drone hovered nearby. His human face, tired and worn out, projected on the screens. He forced an awkward smile.

Back in the hotel room filled with empty booths. The walls displayed the nearby show and the audience on a mosaic of screens. There was a standing ovation. Maybe it was for him.

He leaned on his booth, exhausted. A quick look around. Art Delvers were still in there. Three of them at least. He could see what they were doing on a few screens. Grinding, of course.

He looked over his shoulder, expecting a snarky comment. Nothing.

A table stood way up there at the back of the room. People beside it. Unimportant shadows to his mind. The food shined, beaconing him. And the energy drinks, glowing neon colors. His feet moved on their own accord. His dried throat swallowing gulps of conditioned air. His pasty tongue licked his teeth.

The contestant slapped one of the active VR booth as he passed. Hoped it was Anton. He couldn’t remember.

Another series of hesitant steps and his hands leaned on the table. His hand felt the tablecloth textured by micro holes. Black on gray with silver hexagons of different shades. The game logo in gold. His fingers slithered to an energy drink. Yellow flavor.

The sugary beverage rushed down his throat, relieving its itchiness, delivering copious amount of caffeine and taurine. Good. It felt like a buff.

He scrubbed his tired face with both hands. Tilted his head to the ceiling, hands still on his face, took a deep breath and shook himself. Ready or not, he had to move on. Not before another huge gulp of liquid yellow.

Some human gathered around him, threw words at him. Some kind of jumble with laughter. Congratulations and all. He had to admit he’d done better than expected. Much better.

He looked behind his shoulder. No purple glow. A human insisted more than the others. White tunic, golden jewels and an animated plastic card. An official. He let her pull him. Two corridors up to a new room, a big island of screens in the middle, similar snack tables and players on rows of hotel chairs. Some watched the screens. Some argued in groups of three or four. Other had left their body, browsing the web.

He was happy with a second drink. Purple to go with the concept although he immediately regretted it. He didn’t care much for the purple taste. He edged out of the room to the washroom after an interaction with an official to half explain where he was going. Apparently, he had to hurry.

A long piss of concentrated urine and, most importantly, a stealth dump of his purple drink. He tanked the official as he came back to the room, picked up a yellow drink and sat, content.

The game continued on the multitude of screens. Mayhem descended on Art Delvers. The Bird Spider rained Siege Spells on them. She wielded a pink sword with a bundle of wand at her waist.

Anton’s barrier broke. He flew backward, half dead. The Spider’s clones divided. The fake army fell on the elite group. The Healer and the Rogue died quickly. The Mage started a prolonged war of contingencies. Spells canceled Skills, items cured debuff, teleportation saved the Mage, the Blink Blade brought the Assassin back to him. On for a few minutes. Quite the display.

The player had to admit, his last fight was even less closed that he had thought. His killer had been in control the whole time with plenty of safeguards left to survive his counterattacks.

In game, the Assassin blinked behind the flying Mage. Grappled him. A puff of teal powder enveloped both, a powerful Antimagic consumable. They plummeted toward the ground. The mage shouted in rage. The Assassin oblivious, fully dedicated to her physical control. The bodies hit the ground with a cloud of dust. The Mage stayed immobile. The Assassin rolled to her back, panting.

The player took a fourth drink, a yellow one, and sat. No one behind his shoulder. He checked.

***

“Enoch, Enoch, Enoch.” He walked toward the scene. Navigated the tight corridor jam-packed with production stuff. The commentator, the one from the competition, rifted on the player’s last game has he closed the distance.

“Known by precious few, he went under the radar of other contestants. Of to a great start, almost killed by Quad Nail numerous times, beneficiary of Art Delvers largesse, and with incredible looting luck, Enoch offered a masterclass in Mobility, tactical use of consumable. He pioneered an early build for the new Bonded Artifact. Raise thunder for the Continental Final third place, as a Solo Player, as a newcomer, ENOCH.”

The crowd followed, “ENOCH, ENOCH, ENOCH.”

His hands were shaking. His feet brought him in the open. He froze two feet in. Reality sank in. He was in front of thousands. Millions with the total views. His gaze found the eclectic boards of the scene. Individually worn and washed out, together they formed a distinguished composition.

The chant died out. He looked up to the silent crowd. Forced his left foot forward. Forced his right one to follow. That worked. He advanced one step and carried on with the same motion, alternating his left and his right. In silence now that the cheers had died down.

“Choo Choo!” shouted a blessed soul, anonymous in the shades of the theatre.

“CHOO CHOO, CHOO CHOO, CHOO CHOO,” picked out the crowd.

The commentator touched the solo player’s arm. She talked in her microphone. Stared at him. Waited two second.

“It’s a pleasure,” managed the player. The words hung on his lips for painful seconds before he said it again, “It’s a pleasure to be here.”

The crowd approved. Panic found the commentator’s eyes. Weird that she wasn’t more familiar with gamers’ legendary charisma. Or he was worst than the average.

“I followed my game plan up until the players killers decided to waste their own game on me.” He realized something, added, “on the second day.” The crowd laughed. Good. He just wished he knew what the original question had been.

“And we have mom and dad from the farm to congratulate him.” The commentator pointed at the biggest screen.

His family appeared. Awkward smile on the parents, shit eating grin on the brother. They exchanged banalities with the commentator.

The co-host came beside him. Former champion. Stunning women. Great dress. She had ten years on him. Life’s unfair.

Warm smile and a quick invite, mic off, “interesting playstyle. Hit me up online. I’d like to practice with you.”

His device gave him two satisfying vibrations has her contact info transferred in. What a day.

“And we’re so proud of him,” finished his mother. The whole family waved. The parents smiled. He waved back.

He stood there. Smiled in that direction. The rest of the show passed in a haze. Before the player knew it, he was walking back to his apartment in the rainy night, barely acknowledging reality.