Page 7 of Tapeworld Induction

On the floor were the shattered remains of the glass she had held a few seconds before, the one part gin to three parts tonic now mingled with other liquids accreted on the floor, a perfectly cut segment of lime barely visible near the bar’s trim.

He pointed at it. “G&T?” His dark eyes waited for an answer, his body already turned back toward the bar.

“Oh, you don’t have to—” she said, but he was already gesturing to the eyelinered bartender. Despite his looks, he had a bit of trouble catching her attention. Dylan sensed frustration as she overheard him ordering the replacement drink.

Isaak – cute name – seemed to be flying solo tonight. But he didn’t come across as someone with a plan. This wasn’t something he did regularly, chat up girls in Aftershock. She believed in that. It was something in the way he spoke, and the way he held himself. There was confidence, but it felt frayed. Wary of being hurt.

“Here.” He handed her the crisp new G&T, her third tonight, though the second had barely passed between her lips.

She looked up. His lips were brown-pink.

Catching herself staring, Dylan took a sip of the drink, the dripping wet of the globed glass not unwelcome in the warm club.

“Thanks. Again!” she said.

Then he spoke, but she couldn’t make it out. The music had gotten loud again, everyone dancing and moshing and making a mess of the place. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a couple kissing amid the chaos. The guy looked way too old for the girl, and Dylan gripped the slippery G&T harder. Isaak huddled towards her, brown-pink lips to her ear.

“How about we go somewhere we can talk?” he shouted, still barely audible.

She nodded a yes, and noticed he kept his arms and hands to himself, despite leaning very close to her. Another tick box filled.

Isaak led the way. He walked with a slight limp that only endeared him to her as they made their way to a corner to sit down on plush sofas, away from the madness of the dance floor.

He wore all black apart from his t-shirt, which was white with a ReSports team logo on it, the London Lazarus. Wait. The Lazarus? She used to be a fan of theirs, watched every game.

Fuck. That was it. She hadn’t recognised him because of the beard he had now, but he was Isaak Powers, team captain of the Lazarus!

Well, ex-captain. He’d disappeared a couple of years ago. The team had never been the same.

She tried to keep it together as best she could. The G&T lingered in her glass untouched as she inadvertently stared at him. At his eyes as he spoke. Not that she wasn’t listening. She was. And not that there was anything wrong with looking someone in the eye – it was encouraged even. But it did feel kinda creepy, after she’d watched who knew how many hours of him running, diving, and shooting his way through ReSports matches.

Catching herself before she stared at his face for too long again, Dylan purposefully looked down at her drink. She finally took a sip and, noticing the conversation quieting down, decided to risk it.

“So you were telling me about your illustrious ReSports career?”

“Never said I had one…” His voice was coy, cheeks reddening.

“Well, it’s either that or you’re a big fan of the Lazarus,” she said, nodding at the logo on his chest, hoping her bluff would work and he’d own up without her having to admit that she’d had a crush on him in the past.

He looked down. “Oh, this? I didn’t even realise I had it on.” He looked embarrassed. Dylan couldn’t believe that he hadn’t realised what he was wearing, convinced he was just playing the fool. But it was cute.

He let out a heartfelt chuckle as he thumbed the logo. His eyes met hers. “Do you follow ReSports?”

Like most people her age, she’d grown up in the glow of the team battle royale played in virtual reality. “I guess. It’s kinda hard for people our age to not have followed it.”

He sat back and nodded. “The Dark Year.”

She shivered. The Dark Year – when the Apocalypse Revolt took over the world, and changed the course of history. “For a while televised ReSports was the most exciting thing we had, what with the enforced curfews and bans on online interaction.”

Isaak turned away from her and faced the dance floor, his eyes lost in the menagerie of dancing bodies. His smile dropped. She got the sense the conversation was upsetting him.

“Was it something I said?”

“It’s nothing.” He glanced at her, but soon enough his eyes shot back to the distance again.

Was this because he wasn’t playing anymore? Or was it something else? There was speculation at the time that Isaak had left because of what happened to Ghostwalker, one of the biggest ReSports streamers. The fandom had become pretty toxic, and Ghostwalker – the target of a lot of that toxicity – had ended up taking his own life under the pressure of it. The sport had waned in popularity over the past few years, especially after that…

“I’m sorry, you probably don’t want to talk about ReSports,” she said, only realising afterwards how it sounded – as though he would be ashamed of his career. She thought of taking it back, but it was done. She looked down at the sticky floor.