That's why Hunter's parents raised him to stay away from heavily trafficked areas. Even though they lived in the South Side of Chicago, they managed to keep their household clean. Both parents worked downtown and instructed Hunter to stay away from the local parks. Parks were the centers for trade—they were like flea markets. Peddlers surrounded the baseball fields and open grass with their wears. Police weren't there to stop them. The government barely penetrated its power into any of the gang-controlled territory—they're too busy penetrating the Kabish-controlled territory in Yemen. They institute democracy abroad and let it rot away at home.
Yet Hunter didn't usually find articles about the gang violence. He only heard about it from his friends at school and from his parents—who usually found out about the violence from their coworkers. The media was too busy covering America's fight against terrorism.
The thing was—Hunter was terrified of his local gangs.
Hunter could never hang out with his friends—his parents wouldn't let him. He didn't complain to them. He understood that they were looking out for him. Hanging out on the streets gave him a high chance of being recruited, killed, or sucked into drug usage. Hunter's life was a plate of steak whose smell carried across miles and attracted hundreds of wolves surrounding him. He either could become a meal for the wolves, or he can eat the steak himself, a form of self-cannibalism. Either way he was screwed.
His parents had considered moving out of Chicago for years now, but finding a job in a different city wasn't easy nowadays. That was why Hunter was with his father in New York. He had been granted an interview at an advertising firm in Manhattan. On their spare day of the weekend trip, he had taken Hunter to a Giants game. Everyone in the house loved New York sports teams, mainly because both of his parents were from New York. There was no love for Chicago. The only reason they lived in Chicago was because both dad and mom met while at Northwestern University and found jobs in Chicago. Thus they settled down in Chicago when it wasn't as explosive. Now, over 15 years later, they are inhabitants of the country's very own war zone.
So Hunter, with his day off, went to do one of the only things he could do to pass the time—play video games. When he logged onto his Omega, the new leading console in video games since 2020, he found some of his school friends online playing the popular shooter game, The Call to Serve. He joined in on their party and began to tag along.
"Invite me," Hunter requested after joining the party.
"I'm so glad they canceled school today," Thomas huffed through his headset as he invited the party to the game.
"Gives me enough time to finish that paper for Mr. Poos," Matt acknowledged with a slight giggle.
"Still can't believe that guy keeps his last name. If my mother named me Poos, I'd probably bitch slap her then go change my name," Thomas exclaimed.
Matt laughed. "Please, your mom would beat the shit outta you if you try something like that."
Thomas chuckled. "I know, but a nigga can dream."
Hunter joined in on a match and began customizing his character. What made the Omega system so advanced was the virtual reality helmet called the O-Helm. Once you put on the helmet you were in the game. You could see the gun you were holding, the grenades besides you, and the outfit you were wearing. You operated the controls no longer with your hands, but with your mind. If you think about moving forward, the O-Helm would sense the brain cell activity and move your character forward. If you wanted to reload you could think about reloading and your hands would move with such dexterity you'd think you were an Israeli soldier trained from youth to fight. If you wanted to spot out an enemy, you simply shout the position of the enemy, and on your mini-map he would appear for both you and your teammates. You could call in air and land support, and even drive tanks and summon the iron suit, which was an infantry support armor that allowed a person to take more damage and fly around the map—a fan favorite for the game, but very difficult to get.
While waiting in a lobby to start a game, Hunter asked, "Did these terrorists blow up any of the schools?"
Matt laughed. "I wish. That way I wouldn't even have to bother with that paper."
"Shouldn't you be doing that now instead of playing?" Hunter scolded.
"Nah, I got plenty of time to do it later. First I gotta rape some noobs on CTS before I get some work done."
Hunter rolled his eyes and wondered, "Well if the school didn't get harmed, then did they catch the guys who wanted to do it?"
Thomas answered. "Nah, shit was anonymous. Ain't nobody catching dem fools anytime soon."
Hunter thought, "Then if they can't catch them—are we not allowed back to school until they do?"
Matt prayed. "I wish. But, they'll probably just send us back in tomorrow."
Hunter and his friends found a lobby and Thomas shouted. "Damn! Look at these niggas' stature. These niggas are 10th stat and got golden squad tags. Maybe we should back out before we get raped."
Matt backed out of the lobby. "Ain't bouta lose my asshole virginity today. Let's move to Harvest."
Harvest was a game mode that called for both teams to infiltrate the enemy team's base and steal valuable information. Once in the enemy base, one had to approach the terminal and insert a device that would download all of the enemy's valuable information. Once downloaded, one had to return to the base with the information to win the game. It took strategy and communication to get a man in the base, defend him while he downloaded the information, and protect him enough to escort him back to their own base. Another fan favorite game mode that would scare away the noobs who couldn't handle team coordination, or the try hards who wish to be lone wolves and end up getting destroyed on the battlefield.
They found a lobby instantly and the match began to load. They were playing on a desert map called "Dust Storm." The map was simple. There were two bases at two different elevations. One base was up in the mountains. The other was on the ground. The mountains had the advantage of an aerial view of the battlefield and could pick off soldiers trying to boost jump up into the cliffs. However, the ground base was fitted with sentry guns that could easily mow down anyone descending the cliffs and even those on the ground level.
Hunter and his friends spawned up in the mountains and they had played this game long enough to know which team they were.
"We're the Kabish," Matt growled. "Better positioning but I hate these guys."
"Me too," Thomas agreed. "But it's just a game. So let's kick some ass."
The countdown was in the center of their O-Helms. Giant numbers counting down from ten like a countdown to a new year. At five Hunter had selected his weapons and spawned in. At three his entire team was besides him. At one he felt his O-Helm shift and his feet fumble. At zero, he heard a loud explosion.
YOU ARE READING
Paranoia ✓
General FictionHunter is a young African American teen growing up in the "American war zone." Rashad is a 14 year old boy being recruited into a terrorist organization after his life was stolen from him. Conner is fighting an uphill battle against "zombies" to b...
VIII: Hunter - No School!
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