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This is almost, but not quite, entirely unlike a speculative mini-story, in that it involves MT characters several years in the future (perhaps five), but doesn’t follow a storyline Fred would ever possibly take. I was told that this probably wouldn’t be welcome in CW, so I’m posting it here.
Warning: This story involves grave bodily injury to one major character. It is not described graphically, but if you don’t want to read about such things, please don’t read this.
--
It was a typically rainy day in London when Largo stood in Heathrow Airport, with a pack slung over his back and satisfaction in his eyes. This had been a successful trip, but he needed to return home—his students could rarely stand more than a couple days of substitutes, after all. His gaming career gave him prestige, but it barely covered hardware and travel expenses, let alone food and shelter. They were called “professional gamers”, but in reality they were nearly amateur, and all of them needed other jobs to feed themselves.
Still, the job had some serious perks. He got games for free, either from the Elite Gaming League to practice with or from companies trying to get a good review from a world champion. And the fans were great—he’d chatted with three fans from a group calling themselves the “United Fangirls of Largo-sama” before the flight. He probably wouldn’t see them on the plane, though—he had long since collected enough flyer miles to travel first class, and on a flight this long he appreciated the extra legroom.
It was somewhat surprising that they even recognized him, though. Though he had retained his l33t personality in public and with his students, time had mellowed him significantly, and when not in the spotlight, he was much more reserved than he had once been. Courtesy of Piro, he mused. It was amazing that one event could change a person so much.
He hated waiting, so as usual he didn’t get on the plane until the attendant said that it was the final call. There were only three people in line, so the wait was short and the security checks brief. A quick trip down the jetway, a nod to the (r4ck3d) flight attendant, and he found his seat.
And was surprised to see who was sitting next to him.
-- He was running on a catwalk, looking disparately for a body to frag. Every second he wasted was a second when she could score the final pint, claiming victory in the London Gaming Tournament. Finally, he heard it—footsteps on the level below. He quietly crept to the edge of the catwalk and spotted her.
Quickly, he jumped down and put a proximity mine on her. His eyes left his screen, finding hers in the real world as they widened in shock.
Their eyes held in the few seconds before the mine blew up. --
“Fancy seeing you here,” Miho said as a familiar face came into view.
Largo took off his backpack and put it under the seat. “Only so many flights to Tokyo, I guess,” he said, taking his seat. The flight attendant started droning on about the safety procedures, but both gamers had flown enough to ignore the lecture.
^I haven’t talked to him since . . . time flies.^
After a moment of awkward silence, Largo spoke up. “Sorry about . . .”
“The proxy mine?” Miho finished. “Don’t apologize for your frags—I sure don’t. Besides,” she said with amusement in her eyes, “that mine was pretty clever.”
Silence reigned again for a few moments, but this time it was Miho who broke it. “So, what have you been doing between tournaments?”
“Same old. English teaching at Shiritsu Daitou. How about you?”
“I’ve been expanding Evil Corp. We opened our first U.S. Cave of Evil three weeks ago—it’s been doing quite well so far. No crossbow attacks yet.” This time, the amusement reached past her eyes and into her face, her lips twitching upwards slightly. “Why did you attack the CoE in Tokyo, anyway? It took two days to clean up the blood.” Around them, the plane rattled with the forces of takeoff, but neither of them really noticed.
Largo sighed. “I honestly thought that the place was full of zombies. I really didn’t have any idea what was a zombie and what wasn’t. I’ve learned it since then.”
Miho’s eyes shifted to the window, and to the wet runway rushing by beyond. The plane had long since left the ground when Largo spoke again.
“Why did you claim to be queen of the zombies?”
It was now Miho’s turn to sigh, her expression shifting to guilt. “I . . . it was amusing. I thought you were playing a game with me, and it was fun to play along. I didn’t realize that you were serious about it until . . .” she trailed off.
“. . . yeah. I . . .”
“That’s another thing you shouldn’t apologize for, Largo.” The guilty look deepened. “I led you to that. It was my mistake.”
Largo merely gave an unconvinced nod, and the conversation lapsed again into an uncomfortable silence. Miho unconsciously started playing with her hair, pulling the ribbon out of the right side and then threading it through again.
-- “You shall not stop me from defeating you!” he yelled.
“You have no idea, ‘Great Teacher Largo’, how close I am to you . . . how easy that defeat would be . . .” --
The plane broke through the clouds, red sunlight flooding through the window on Miho’s right. Now that they were above the clouds, it was clear that sunset was rapidly approaching. Cloud cover obscured the ocean far below.
A flight attendant asked them for drink orders. «White Zin,» Miho ordered, «please.»
The flight attendant handed Miho her drink and glanced to Largo. “And you?”
«Sapporo, in a glass. Thanks.» The attendant hid her surprise well as she found the drink.
As the attendant walked to the next aisle, Miho finally broke. «When did you learn Japanese?»
«I started four years ago,» he replied. «Piro taught me . . . he had a free year or so, I guess . . . »
Unsurprisingly, the conversation lapsed again into guilty expressions.
Largo eventually reached into his bag, pulling out a laptop and a pair of headphones. He slipped on the headphones and listened to some music.
Miho turned away, looking out the window and trying to hide the tears.
-- Miho was perched atop a stone wall, observing the scene, when Piro finally found Largo.
“Largo, I got my last paycheck. Put down that crossbow and let’s go.”
“I cannot go yet. I have not defeated the 3v1l 0n3.” --
Largo’s attention snapped back to reality as the flight attendant appeared. He slipped the headphones off when she asked for their food orders. Miho seemed to hastily wipe her face before turning to the attendant and ordering sushi; Largo asked for filet mignon. The two ate their dinners in silence.
The silence continued after the meal was cleared. Miho turned her eyes back to the window, which by now held only a pitch-black sky. She didn’t notice Largo staring at the side of her face.
They stayed in this position until the attendants dimmed the lights for night. Both gamers retrieved their pillows and blankets and leaned their chairs back to sleep. Once she was laying down, Miho once again turned towards the wall, closing her eyes and searching for oblivion.
Largo lay down facing the ceiling, and the two fell into an uneasy sleep.
-- “Largo . . . there is no ‘evil one’. Miho may be creepy, but she’s not evil.”
“But she . . . how do you know the name of the 3vi1 0n3?”
“She’s Ping’s friend, I’ve met her before,” Piro explained. “She’s strange, but I don’t think she’s evil.”
Largo seemed to stop short at that statement.
‘. . . how close I am . . .’
His eyes narrowed. “Of course you would say that—3v1l m1n10n!” --
“Miho . . .”
She was sound asleep, and actually, so was he—otherwise he would have figured out why he was so warm.
“For what it’s worth . . . it wasn’t your fault either.”
-- “Largo?” Piro’s eyes widened as Largo brought his crossbow to bear. “Largo!?” He started running as Largo pulled the trigger. The bolt whizzed over his shoulder, but Piro kept running, down the block and into the street.
The bus hit Piro with a sickening crack.
“Piro!” Largo yelled.
“Piro!” Miho yelled.
--
Miho’s eyes snapped open in the darkened cabin, ending the nightmare. ^Not a nightmare—a memory.^ One that had haunted her for years, and would probably continue for years more.
As she returned to her senses, she wanted to sit up. But it was so warm, and she was tired . . .. Instead, she snuggled closer to the seat heater and went back to sleep.
It never occurred to her that there was no seat heater.
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