The Stalker



  The Stalker

  Copyright 2012 Jeremy Reimer

  Table of Contents

  The beginning

  The middle

  The End

  About Jeremy Reimer

  Other books by Jeremy Reimer

  Connect with Jeremy Reimer

  The beginning

  It was three o’clock on a Thursday morning when John first saw the Stalker.

  He rubbed his aching eyes and stared at his monitor. He had been playing for nine straight hours and was getting pretty punchy, but he swore that Stalker had just waved at him.

  He typed “pp” and almost immediately saw his opponent reply with “ok”. John paused the game. Once the game menu popped up in the middle of the screen, the offending Stalker was partially hidden. He looked at it suspiciously.

  It waved again.

  Now I know I’m seeing things. He shook his head vigorously, feeling the blood rush to his ears. He told his opponent — an anonymous Korean named “lllllllllllll”— that he was ready to go. He unpaused the game and continued with his planned attack.

  The battle went well for him, and he pushed his forces into the enemy’s base. His opponent, facing overwhelming odds, typed “gg” and left the game. John smiled and turned off the computer for the night. The rogue Stalker was all but forgotten; he figured it was probably just his eyes playing tricks on him. In any case, the important thing was that he won the game.

  For John “Heart” Wolanski, professional Starcraft gamer, winning was everything.

  ******

  The middle

  “Did you ever see Stalkers glitch out on you?” he asked his friend Gustav the next day.

  “What do you mean?” the German asked.

  “You know, like, kind of waving at you.”

  “Like when you type /dance?”

  John shook his head, his mop of curly orange hair swinging wildly. “No, not like that,” he said. “Like on their own. And not dancing, but waving.”

  Gustav laughed. “You’ve been staying up way too late laddering, my friend,” he said.

  “You’re probably right. I think I just imagined it. But I gotta practice, man! I’m not like you, I can’t just walk into a tournament unprepared.”

  His friend shrugged. “I prepare. I just don’t practice for twelve hours a day. It’s too exhausting. These Koreans,” he said, gesturing around the room, “they practice too much.”

  “Yeah,” John said. “That’s why they keep winning.”

  ******

  Practice went well that night, with no more glitches. At around midnight, John figured he had put in enough hours for the day. He turned off his computer, unplugged his mouse and keyboard, and started to pack them away. He was interrupted by at tap on his shoulder.

  It was his coach, David Lee. “You’re here pretty late,” John said.

  “I know,” the Korean-American replied with a small shrug. “I was watching you play. You’re working hard. I like that.”

  “Thanks.”

  David looked at the floor, unmoving.

  “Was there something else?”

  “John, I need to warn you about something. Tomorrow morning you’re going to get called into an appointment with one of the business guys. They want to talk to you about your salary.”

  “I’m getting a raise?”

  David shook his head. “No, John, I’m sorry. They want to renegotiate a lower deal with you.”

  John dropped his mouse and keyboard on the table. “What?”

  “I tried talking with them. I explained how hard you were working in practice. Unfortunately, the management is more concerned with your tournament results.”

  “So I’m in a bit of a slump! That happens to lots of players!”

  “It’s more than that, John. It’s been six months since you’ve taken a series in tournament play. I worry about your mindset, sometimes.”

  John felt his face turning red. “Oh, and lowering my salary is supposed to help my mental outlook?”

  “I am so sorry, John. I know you can regain your form. The good news is that the team still wants you. If you start performing well again, I’m sure you will get your old salary back in no time.”

  “Yeah. Sure.” John picked up his equipment, stuffed it in his keyboard bag, and slung the bag over his shoulder. He grabbed his jacket from the chair with a jerk, causing the chair to fall over with a loud clatter. He ran out, averting his eyes from the other gamers, and slammed the door behind him.

  ******

  The night air in Mok-dong bit into John’s lungs as he hurried down the well-lit streets. He wasn’t even sure where he was going. He felt his keyboard bag banging on his back, over and over, like it was in time with the blinking neon signs over the shops.

  He walked for blocks, his legs moving faster and faster until he was out of breath. His eyes were starting to sting. He leaned up against a pole, panting.

  “What am I doing?” he said out loud. “I don’t belong here.” He looked up: two attractive girls were staring at him and whispering to each other. What were they saying? He had come to the Mecca of Starcraft over two years ago, so why hadn’t he learned more Korean by now? Maybe it was because he spent all his time playing a computer game. He made a face at the girls and they ran off, giggling as they left.

  His head was still spinning. He looked around and saw a cyber cafe—a “PC Bang”—on the corner of the street. Hearing the sounds of video games drew him in like a moth to a flame and he wandered inside.

  Most of the people were playing free-to-play massively multiplayer games, but there was a small cluster of Starcraft players in the corner, their frozen faces glowing from the glare of their monitors. Their hands danced across their keyboards.

  One of the players turned around. “Heart!” he exclaimed.

  John shrugged. “Yeah.”

  “You… famous! I see you on TV!” The fan’s eyes were wide open and he was grinning fiercely.

  “Thanks.”

  The fan began talking excitedly in Korean to his friends. One of them made a joke and the others laughed. Were they laughing at him?

  “My friend says you bad,” the fan explained. “He says he can beat you. You want to play?”

  “Tell him I can take a few minutes out of my day to kick his ass,” John said. The fan translated, and his friends let out an “ooooooooh” in unison. The fan got out of his chair and motioned for John to sit down.

  John cracked his knuckles. Okay. Maybe this guy is a scrub, maybe he’s Grandmaster League. Doesn’t matter. He’s not a pro gamer, and I am. I got this.

  The game screen loaded up. His opponent was playing Zerg. John split his workers perfectly and started spamming mouse clicks to warm his hands up. He sent out an early probe to scout—noobs often liked to cheese, and it would be embarrassing to lose to something dumb like a six pool.

  No cheese. This guy was playing it straight up.

  John furrowed his brow. If his opponent was playing normally, he was probably trying to get to late game and overwhelm him with Infestors and Brood Lords. Well, he wasn’t about to let it get that far.

  He made three gates and sent two Stalkers and a Zealot over to harass the enemy’s base, then teched up to Stargate. The harassing force killed a drone and escaped without losing a single unit. John breathed a small sigh of relief.

  He built up a larger force and sent it into his enemy’s base. It was like a beautiful, choreographed dance. The Phoenixes lifted up the Queens while the Stalkers picked off drones and blinked away from the Zerglings. John’s hands were flying, but to him, the whole dance was in slow motion.

  His opponent’s forces were in disarr
ay. John blinked to surround the Zerg’s hatchery and attacked until it was nearly dead. His opponent, clearly defeated, was still refusing to leave the game. John smiled. He typed in the chat window:

  [All] WWHeart: not as bad as u thought i was, huh?

  His opponent glared at him over the top of the monitor. He started typing furiously.

  [All] NRGFreefall: If this was OSL, you disqualify for type in chat while game is going

  [All] WWHeart: so would you LOL

  [All] WWHeart: anyway, this isnt the OSL. you lose.

  John selected his Stalkers and typed /dance. The Stalkers dutifully danced, all except for one.

  His opponent sighed and typed “gg”, then quickly left the game. John stood up and extended his hand.

  ‘You… really good,” the defeated player said, accepting the handshake. His hands were sweaty.

  “Thanks.”

  “Why you don’t play like that on TV?” he asked.

  “If I knew the answer to that, I wouldn’t play so badly,” John replied.

  ******

  John slumped in his chair, wishing he could warp into the void like a dying Zealot.

  “You understand that we have to think of our financial situation,” the manager explained. “It’s not just about you. We have to think about the overall profitability of Wise Wizards.”

  “Yeah, you want to be able to afford more Koreans on the team,” John mumbled.

  “What was that?”

  John’s face flushed. “I mean, you can’t deny you guys have been recruiting a lot of the Korean players lately.”

  “We’re picking them up because they win championships. We need players that win championships if we want to keep our sponsors happy. It’s not that we don’t like our home-grown talent, but we need to be competitive. You understand that, don’t you?”

  “Yeah. I suppose so.”

  “Good.” The manager handed John a stack of paper. “We just need your signature here.”

  John’s stomach clenched into a tight ball. The salary figure was an embarrassment. Should he even sign this? He scrawled his name at the bottom and slammed the paper down on the manager’s desk.

  The manager frowned as he picked up the papers. “Thank-you. Don’t forget that you have your Korean Weekly Cup games tomorrow at four o’clock. It’s not a major tournament, of course, but if you win, it will look good for both you and your team. Then the big one, the Code A qualifiers, is next week. I heard they are going to put those on TV this time.”

  “Oh, great,” John grumbled. Why did it have to be televised? All that extra pressure was just going to make him more anxious. His heart was thumping as he walked out of the manager’s office.

  His friend was there to greet him with a worried look on his face. “How’d it go?” Gustav asked.

  “Don’t ask me to buy lunch any time soon,” John said.

  “That bad, huh?”

  “Yeah. Think I’ll be eating a lot of ramen from now on.”

  Gustav frowned. “Sorry about that. Look, a bunch of us are going out clubbing tonight. You want to come? It should be awesome. Tasteless is going to be there.”

  “I can’t. I have to stay here and practice.”

  “Come on, you need a night out once in a while!”

  “I’ve got a tournament tomorrow. I have to be ready.”

  ******

  John hadn’t managed to sleep more than five minutes the previous night. Coffee and Starcraft had kept him awake. His arms felt like icicles, hanging rigidly down his sides as he walked down the aisle towards the booth. Cameras flashed in front of him and he winced. Why did they have to shoot so close? Was it because he was a foreigner, a curiosity?

  This weekly tournament wasn’t normally televised, but the league runners were doing a special promotion. Banners advertising Sick Juice, Korea’s latest strange energy drink, hung from the ceiling. An attendant pushed a cold, hard can into John’s hand.

  “Drink,” the small man said.

  “I’m already too wired,” John said. “I don’t want it.”

  “Drink!” the attendant insisted. “For camera!”

  John sighed and opened the can. He gave a goofy grin to the camera and took a swig, nearly choking on the fizz and the horrible taste, then gave a thumbs up. “Good?” he asked.

  “Good,” replied the man, unconvincingly. John wiped off his mouth, handed back the can, and proceeded into the booth.

  Inside, he could hear the soft hum of the white noise machine. He sat down and tried to get comfortable in the chair, then turned his attention to the computer. It was important to make sure that his hotkeys were set correctly and that he changed his Battle.net status to “Busy” so that people couldn’t bother him in-game.

  This tournament was a best-of-one, so he had to win in order to advance. His opponent was Kim “Dark” Chae, a B-teamer from FutureTech who played Zerg.

  Crap. Why did it always have to be Zerg?

  John joined the game and waited. The countdown timer started and his heart pulsed as if it was synchronized with the timer. Beep. Thump thump. Beep. Thump thump. Beep.

  The game started normally. John spammed his hotkeys, trying to get his hands warmed up and into a rhythm. His right leg started jumping up and down in its own rhythm, something that often happened when he was nervous.

  Dark was playing conservatively, building just enough Zerglings to deflect early attacks while leaving enough money for a steady influx of drones to pump up his economy. Damn it! His opponent was trying to get to late game, when his Brood Lords and Infestors would rain down death on Heart’s armies. John had to make a quick decision: should he also play safely, or go for a two-base timing attack?

  It wasn’t even a decision, really. Dark would turtle until he was completely safe, and there was no way for Protoss to combat that type of army. But wouldn’t Dark know this, and be prepared for his attack anyway? Time was running out. He had to make a decision, now.

  Without even thinking, he warped in four more gateways, for a total of eight. Then one more for good measure. He crept forward with his army, bringing a probe to build a forward pylon. This attack had to work. If it didn’t, he would be too far behind on his tech to compete with the advanced Zerg armies.

  The forward pylon finally finished. Now he could warp in reinforcements to his army from all nine gateways at once. He warped in Stalkers, a couple of Zealots, and some Sentries for force fields. This was it. He had to win with this army, right now. He moved into his enemy’s base…

  And out of nowhere, green goo splashed all over his army. Fungals. His Stalkers were frozen in place and taking damage. Zerglings came flanking in from behind, slipped through his force fields, and surrounded his Sentries. He was dead. He was dead unless…

  [All] ??????: Retreat, and build carriers

  [All] WKL_Admin: pp

  The game paused and John stared in disbelief at the screen. Who the hell was that? Why did they choose the worst possible time to interrupt his game?

  There was a knock on the door of his booth. John turned around and saw one of the translators rushing in, shaking his head and pointing at the computer.

  “You have to turn Busy on!” the translator said. “It’s a rule violation! This is very serious!”

  “I did turn Busy on,” John said. “I don’t know how that message got through. Look, check my settings!”

  Another Korean man pushed by the translator and pulled up the options menu on the game computer. “See?” John said to the back of his head. “I told you! It’s not my fault!”

  Yet another official poked his head into the booth. The official and the translator started yelling in a flurry of Korean, with the technical admin joining in. “What’s he saying?” John asked the translator.

  “He is saying that even though you had the correct settings on your computer, it is still technically a rule violation. They are going
to give you a warning, and award the game to your opponent. They haven’t decided on any additional punishment yet.”

  John sighed. “Well, it doesn’t matter, I guess. I was probably going to lose anyway, just like I always do.” His shoulders slumped. “Tell the officials that I forfeit the game.” He pushed through the ever-growing crowd in his booth and walked down the aisle. The jeers of the local fans were like knives stabbing him through the heart.

  ******

  It was four o’clock in the morning and everyone else in the team house had gone to sleep. John stared blankly at his monitor, waiting for Battle.net to find him another opponent. He hadn’t slept through the night since his disqualification.

  The matchmaker found another player and the familiar beeps started the countdown. John’s stomach clenched, as it always did.

  His opponent was a Protoss player named ??????. John frowned. That name seemed familiar. Wasn’t it impossible to use punctuation for Battle.net names, though?

  The game started and John set his probes to mine minerals. Out of habit, he started typing. Might as well wish his opponent good luck and to have fun.

  [All] WWHeart: glhf

  [All] ??????: John, I am sorry about interrupting your match earlier.

  [All] WWHeart: pp

  [All] ??????: ok

  John paused the game, his heart racing.

  [All] WWHeart: who the hell are you? you got me disqualified!

  [All] ??????: I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize that you were in a tournament.

  [All] WWHeart: i set my settings to busy! how did you get through?

  [All] ??????: I didn’t realize that setting was on, or what it meant. I apologize.

  [All] WWHeart: are you some kind of hacker? i should report u!!

  [All] ??????: I am not a hacker. I am what you would call an artificial intelligence, although I would not use those words to describe myself. You have seen me before in the game. Here, let me show you.

  The pause menu vanished, but the game clock did not start up again. John’s screen was still focussed on his initial base. Suddenly a Stalker appeared, as if it had blinked in from an impossible distance.