Hunter was glad to have visited his extended family in New York and to have seen a Giants game. However, now he was back home in Chicago sitting bored at home after his school was closed today due to yet another scare.
Hunter's mom usually came in to wake him up at around 6:30 A.M. for school, which began at 8:00 A.M. His routine was simple, shower, eat, relieve himself. Today however he found himself waking up on his own at 7:30 A.M. He freaked out, thinking he missed his mom's wake up call. He got up and ran to the bathroom about to jump into the shower when he spotted his father coming out of his parents' room.
"Did mommy try waking me up?"
His father shook his head. "Nah. You have no school today. She just came to kiss you on the forehead."
Hunter was taken back. Hunter was a light sleeper and rarely did he not hear someone entering the room, let alone touch him. But he was more surprised about the school closure. "No school? Why?" Usually Hunter would leap for joy at the mentioning of no school, but most of the time it came along with snow and a fun time. Considering it was sunny and dry outside he was wondering why was the school closed.
His father went into the bathroom and started to do his tie. "All the schools in Chicago are closed today. They say they found evidence of threats being made against multiple schools in Chicago—terror threats. So mom decided to let you sleep. She already left for work, and I got to follow behind. You know the drill, keep the stove off and don't open the door to anyone you don't know."
He finished tying his tie and made his way back to the closet in his room to grab his coat. He wore a nice black trench coat. Match that with his multi-color white, gray, and black beard and his umber skin tone, and you have yourself a detective. All he needed was the fedora. He checked his brown metal watch and noticed it was almost 8:00 A.M.
"Gotta go, see ya later," his father patted him on the back as he made his way down the stairs.
"Be safe," Hunter signed off and went back into his room. He sat down on his bed and took out his phone. He searched up Chicago school closings on Google and found hundreds of articles from local and national newspapers commenting on the school closures. The authorities say it was a necessary precaution. Parents are worried for their children now more so than ever...
And rightly so. Chicago was a dangerous place. They called it, "the war zone" for a reason. Various gangs controlled sections of the city, but it all splits down to two major gangs, the Reapers and the Locust. The Reapers controlled North Chicago, and the Locust controlled the South. The Locust occupied the poorer areas of Chicago. They made their money off of drugs, prostitution, and gambling clubs. The Reapers, occupying the richer areas of Chicago and its outer suburbs, made their money off of the same things—they just charged a higher price for it. Their clientele were lesser in number, but they had more money to spare.
They both constantly collided with each other over territory rights. They were like two nations on the brink of war—and the civilian casualties were unmanageable. The gangs ran Chicago to the point that the police officers were scared to enter any neighborhoods that were considered a gang territory. In a city where criminals with light machine guns mowed down police officers, the cops have a reason to be scared. In order to take down these gangs, they needed an army. But that army is armed for one purpose only: to tackle terrorism.
The one area that the gangs did not control was downtown Chicago. That area was still protected by the government. It was there where you'll find police officers with assault rifles patrolling the streets with K-9 units searching for bombs instead of for drug peddlers or pimps. Getting drugs and a night in bed with a stranger was so easy in this city that some of Hunter's friends had already bought drugs from local gang cells and purchased sex from local pimps dishing out woman as if they were products. The gangs made no distinction about age. They had no morals. Money was money no matter what source it came from.
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.