EPT
Jung Hoon Kim had always had a thing for games. When he was younger, his friends had struggled with the, to him, most basic concepts of games. Strategy had come easily to him – thinking three steps ahead, breaking into the mind of the opponent, it had all been natural. Whether it was mindless fighting games where the only goal was to brutally murder your opponent – games without finesse and purpose in Jung Hoon’s eyes, or games of the more complex kind – where strategy, tactics and planning played important roles, overall game flow had always come to him, as if a second self was assisting. Two years ago, Sora had discovered Starcraft, a strategy game unlike anything he had played before. It had all the action and speed of the most intense action game, but he soon found that the game had incredible depth. It wasn’t an action game, nor was it pure strategy, but a combination. He found that by combining his sense of strategy and his excellent planning with his almost baffling hand speed, he was able to do things his friends couldn’t dream of.
And yet… It wasn’t enough. Mysterious online entities with nicknames such as KTFlash, MaruPrime, MeatyOwlLegs and the mysterious, constantly active IIlllIIlIlII prowled the servers of the game looking for laughably easy wins and though Jung Hoon was able to put up a decent fight every now and then, not once was he able to beat the bearers of the golden star; the grandmasters of the game. Microscopic holes in his most devious, complex plans were easily exploited, thwarting his plans every time. Whenever he tried to establish a powerful economy on the Whirlwind-level, his opponents found it, seeking it out like sharks seek out blood. But Jung Hoon, hiding from the wrath of such strategic masterminds behind his alias Sora (a nickname his friends in school had grown fond of), persevered. He practiced day in, day out, crushing countless foes, eclipsing entire human colonies with the shadow of the colossus. When he lost, he rose again.
Sora’s phone rang. He disliked being interrupted in general, much less so when practicing. One signal. Two. He tried his best to shut the screeching noise out, focusing on the intricacies of the game in front of him. Four signals. Five. Sora gave a heavy sigh, paused the game and picked up the phone.
“What?”
“Your opponent is going fast 3CC. His defenses are inadequate. Exploit this.” Said a man’s voice, distorted by static and strangely twisted, as if someone – whoever was on the other side of the call, was distorting his voice on purpose.
The sour comment died in Sora’s mouth as he realized what he had just heard.
“Who… Who is this?”
“My name doesn’t matter. You’re what matters right now, Sora-“, Sora barely even recognized the fact that the man had used his nickname – a name used among close friends, not exactly the name you’d find him under through an online search. “-your opponent is going 3CC before rax, exploit it. Go on, I’ll wait.”
This was ridiculous. Unless this was some kind of elaborate prank, there was no reason for anyone to call Sora late at night, much less talk to him in this manner. Voice distortion, knowing the opponent’s strategy – it had to be a prank.
But he did what the man said, almost instinctively. The fact that he hadn’t hung up right from the start bothered him a little, but he was truly bothered when his forces marched into the opponent’s base only to find that the man in the phone had been absolutely right. The foe surrendered quickly, after which Sora picked up the phone once more, his hand trembling slightly.
“Are you convinced?” asked the man, an undertone of arrogance audible through the static.
“If you think some second-rate prank is going to startle me you’ve got an awful lot of mistaken on your hands” answered Sora, trying to put the confidence back in his voice. He found that he couldn’t.
“Your next opponent will construct two gateways just outside your base on Cloud Kingdom and accuse you of cheating when you find them and beat him. The following opponent will request a pause to throw you off your game before trying to kill you off with a horde of roaches. You’ll beat both and when you do, I’ll call you back.”
“Cut the crap and-“ Sora’s voice trailed off as he realized that the man had hung up on him. Unsettled and no longer in the mood for games, Sora shut down his private practice facility and headed home.
School next day was a bore. The science teacher had called in sick just before the day’s final lesson, and Sora found himself headed home two hours earlier than expected. Phil, the British exchange student had asked if he wanted to come along to the PC Bangs, but Sora wasn’t in the mood. In fact, he wasn’t in the mood for anything – his mind was elsewhere. He’d tried to shrug off last night’s prank call as just that, but he couldn’t shake the notion that there had been something else to it.
Something weird. Something real.
Closing the gate behind him, Sora went up the stairs and into his practice facility.
And everything played out exactly like the man on the phone had said. The gateways, the reaction – it matched the description perfectly.
But he’d waited a day.
How was it even possible?
Sora wiped cold sweat off his brow. The training facility, despite the heat generated by the quantum generators, felt cold. Attempting to shrug off his thoughts, Sora joined the queue for another battle. The timer ticked ominously as the search traversed the internet in search of a new foe.
The next game was more of the same. The pause came immediately, lasted for several minutes, and the roaches came soon after. Sora had been prepared, of course, with an army of immortal soldiers and strategic positioning to rival the greatest of generals. His opponent took off without a word.
Just as the day before, the phone rang. This time, Sora didn’t wait five signals. He didn’t have the nerves to. Hands glistering with sweat, he picked up the phone.
”Who are you?
There was a short pause. Infinitely long, the seconds ticked by. Sora felt as if the air in the room was charged with something incredible, something divine.
The answer came mere moments after the question, though it felt as if days had passed in the spacious practice facility.
“I am Nestea”
.
