EPTSuddenly, a group of blank-shouldered Marines approached me. They all had teal uniforms and grim expressions. There was something familiar about the color, but I couldn’t quite place it… One of them stepped forward and introduced himself: -“Good morning, fabled Chodorkovskiy. We didn’t want to disturb you, but for our dire need. I am one known as Rekrul on the dark world of Shakuras and I seek your assistance in a matter of great importance to my people.” Now I remembered: they used the ancient TLC texture for their armor. It was literally older than this universe. Quite ridiculous, if amusing. I responded in a ceremonious tone –“Shakuras. You’ve come a long way and gave up a lot of credit to ask for my favor. What can this humble Terran do for you?” It was a cruel joke: Rekrul, although famous, was still a Dark Templar and could not manage to work his way further up the ranks. There were rumors of BW veterans being unable to cope with the new controls, although these were laughed at publicly. Particularly, in TLC space. I could see he was contemplating, whether to remove the neural helmet and risk offending me, or keep it on and risk exposing too much of his feelings. Eventually, his face took upon a calm and determined expression. All business.
He said: -“As you may have heard, the Team Liquid Commonwealth is falling apart. We cannot cope with all of our members’ need for security, as our space is constantly under siege.” I decided to tease him some more: -“Why, I don’t see a problem here. Just hire some able recruits and under your wise leadership, the TLC will soon be knocking on its neighbors’ doors itself!” The Marine’s eyes flashed with fury, then went blank and emotionless. He looked around casually and lit up a cigar. The helmet was off all the way. Probably took some skin with it, too. I giggled inside. Still, the man continued: -“It is against the Commonwealth’s law to hire outsiders. We, Team Liquid, rely on our own skills in battle, as you well know.” Oh, I knew well. Long have I lamented my shameful exile from the old TeamLiquid. The memory burned in my mind for countless days, driving me on to crush all who stood in my path, just so I could one day be one of them. Here I was, the gosu. And here were they – the n00bs. It was a dream come true.
I finally decided to end it: -“So, pray tell, why approach me? Am I not just another outsider?” The Marine chewed on his cigar indifferently, but I didn’t need direct feed from Rekrul’s brain to tell me what was going on in there. He took a long pause, then gave up: -“Chodorkovskiy, you once used to be one of us. Join our ranks once more and we will restore honor to the true StarCraft legacy!” This was the moment I waited for, all these years. I took a deep breath and gave my reply:
-“StarCraft’s legacy? Or yours? Fight your own battles, nerd.” I turned around and walked off. Behind me, I could hear a commotion, as power suits scraped against each other, Rekrul trying to get within challenging distance of myself and his men stopping him. The last thing they needed was another high-level loss. The noise finally subsided. The crowd of n00bs had gradually dwindled and I was now walking all by myself. I heard mechanisms whir inside the walls and whistled along, surveying the corridor merrily.
I arrived at my destination and stopped before the massive door. Taking a deep breath, I put my hand on the panel to its side and let the barrier slide open. Inside, I was shocked to discover a cave. A dark, damp cave. The walls were covered with bones, skeletons. People’s skulls were decorating a fireplace carved into the rock and a massive anvil was standing in the center. Beside it, was an Orc. I opened my mouth to speak, but words failed me. I just watched, as the vile creature, clad in strangely familiar, black rags, went about its business: it took a skeleton from the wall, dismantled it, then used a wooden hammer to shape it into a primitive weapon. It then tossed the weapon in the fire, thick smoke spreading across the room. The hammer was covered with dried blood.
I finally managed to speak: -“What’s going on? Is this WoW?” The Orc turned to face me and shook its heavy head. It took another skeleton from the wall. I interrupted it again: -“Wait a second! What is this? Who are these people?” The monster produced an emblem from its rags. It read “TLC”. I grinned. Then it produced another one. This one read “GG.net”. I watched in silence, as the green hand extracted about a dozen emblems from all manner of pockets. The emblems were all bloodied, some torn. One read “…gacy”, another – “pusan”. One caught my attention in particular. It was almost completely whole, beautifully ornamented with an intricate design. It would be perfect, if a piece wasn’t missing in the center.
A piece shaped like MBS. The emblem read “StarCraft competitive gaming”.
Trembling, I recalled my career. It was victory after victory, without a single flaw. I crushed Protoss, despite their tricky proxy Pylons, I crushed Zerg, laughing as their pitiful worms popped up among throngs of Siege Tanks. I crushed Terrans, rolling over them with my superior forces. I was so caught up in winning, that I never stopped to think why I wasn’t losing. I remembered now, that the only news I ever heard were those of fleets and planets changing hands, not epic duels or tournaments. But worst of all, I never remembered the names. For the life of me, I couldn’t recall a single name of a StarCraft II player, bar my own. I could name maybe a hundred of my old foes, those who made my life on the Brood War servers miserable. I even remembered a pubbie hacker, who, after raping my base, asked where I was from. But I didn’t remember any of my opponents from StarCraft II.
I asked the Orc: -“And who… who are you?” And at the same moment, I knew the answer. The rags were torn, but there could be no mistake: he was wearing an Admiral’s uniform. The Orc Admiral looked at me with his sad eyes for a long moment, then vanished. I was alone in the Armory, holding the Digital Wand of Upgrading in my hand.
I awoke with a start, covered in cold sweat. It was as if a curtain was lifted from my eyes: I had to return to TeamLiquid as a humble student. It didn’t matter how right or wrong I was, or what the next game turned out like. It didn’t matter, to me at least, what the mechanics would be. All I knew, was that what would make or break the experience in my eyes, would be the gamers. Progaming would be fine, as long as we stayed Human.
Also, I really needed some help with my TvZ.
