by Isaac Stone
TEAM DEATHMATCH
"Killstreak"
By Isaac Stone & Timothy Mayer
Copyright 2017 by Isaac Stone
Chapter 1
Kurt Silva felt the ground rumble as the latest shell burst upon the sand not too far from his position.
This wasn’t good. He glanced up at the sun in the sky and realized they were trapped in the wadi without much water or food. It was at least 95 degrees in this hot sun and he knew his vitals would lunge into critical if they continued in their current location. He felt the stock of the assault rifle under his hands and looked down at it. Good old FRK-47, the old battle axe of the army. Some people wanted the latest and greatest, but he was happy to stick with the tried and true. He tapped the banana clip on it. Still mostly full, even if it was his last one, and that was saying something considering how the day had been going so far. He had that much going for him.
“Golan 85 at six o’clock!” Hamid yelled from his position on the sand dune. He’d been up there for the past two hours, so Kurt decided to go up there and see for himself. By now, the five men who remained in his squad were interested and wanted to go up and see too. They'd weathered several firefights already, but the last few hours had been spent digging in and boiling in the hot sun.
“Wait down here,” Kurt told them. “I’ll let everyone know.”
Kurt scampered up the side of the dune and swung around to look at the others behind them. Friendly fire was always a problem and the boredom of sitting in dry riverbed didn’t help matters. The last thing he needed was for one of his “comrades” to ignore the helmet display and decide he was one of the enemies.
Hamid, a young guy of barely eighteen years, was hunkered down at the top of the dune. He pointed across the floor of the desert at a large motorized death machine, which was headed in their direction. All the tank had to do was drive around the dune and use them for target practice.
“Jesus,” Kurt commented as he saw the rumbling mass of steel headed toward them, “We have to go. Make for the neared save point. It's supposed to be two hundred yards to the right.” Kurt pointed to the direction after he consulted the mini-map in his display screen built into the helmet.
“We don't have enough time,” Ralph spoke as he joined the two men at the top of the dune. “I think I can get it with my grenade launcher.” Kurt turned to the rest of the squad and signaled for join them to come up to the top.
He watched as Ralph pulled out a Krith and Besson .44 automatic pistol. He pulled the slide back to chamber the first round. This one was equipped with a grenade launcher mounted to the bottom of the barrel. Kurt stared at it, a bit surprised. He was told such things existed, but they weren’t very effective. Kurt started to say something, but Ralph cut him off.
“Wanted to use this thing since the day I bought it,” He explained and popped a grenade into the mount. “Don’t even try to stop me. I know I can get that tank.”
Kurt gritted his teeth and decided to let him have fun. The worst that could happen would be the tank would find where they were located. It would learn soon enough once it cleared the latest sand dune. Maybe they could run fast enough.
Ralph pointed the gun up at a 45-degree angle and looked across it at the advancing tank. “Yeah, that’s right,” he said to himself, although the others could hear. “Bit further. Right over there. Yes!”
He pulled the secondary trigger. There was a loud bang and the grenade was fired into the air.
They watched the projectile arc through the air and fall. Kurt was ready move out, sure the grenade would never land anywhere near the tank. The moment the spotter in the tank noticed any explosion, he’d trace it back to their position. All it would take would be a burst of machine gun fire and they’d be out. Best to move while they had time.
The grenade struck the tread on the tank and exploded.
It was hard to believe. Kurt swung back in the direction of the tank and watched it come to a halt. The front of the tank was on fire! Somehow, the grenade hit a vital spot. He gazed on in disbelief. It was a beautiful thing to see.
“Run you bastards!” Hamid screamed as he began to fire his rifle at the fleeing tank crew. They were in full flight, away from them. Their metal killing machine gone, they had to get away. But Hamid and his rifle were too far away to hit one of them with enough damage to slow them down or finish them off.
“For God’s sake, hold your fire!” Kurt yelled at the others, who’d begun to shoot at the tank crew too. “You’re wasting your ammo; those guys are out of effective range!”
He was about to tell them they’d lose any chance of reaching their objective when the drone flew overhead and dropped a very large bomb on top of them.
Kurt saw two things. One, a big flash. Then he saw the words “You Are Dead” appear on his helmet display.
“Four hours wasted,” he grumbled a few minutes later while he pulled the deathmatch helmet off his head. This was a newer model that could heat up or cool down to simulate the environment when you were inside it.
Next, he stripped off the gloves that matched the movement of the character he played in the game. Most of what he saw in the Final Option game was through a screen in front of him, but the gloves simulated the feel of a real rifle under his hands. He placed the gloves in the container to his front. The people who worked for the studio would pick them up later. Then he removed the arm and leg sleeves that responded to whatever scenario his character might be found. The rest of the VR suit followed into the same container.
Kurt looked around the small room and saw the other men stripped down to underwear too. It was time to head for the showers. This afternoon was over.
“Maybe better next time?” Hamid called out to him. “I think if we didn’t get hit by the drone, we might’ve reached our objective.” He grabbed a towel off the rack and headed back to the showers.
“Did you see the way I nailed the tank?” Ralph said with excitement. He jumped up and down as he put the last of his gear in the container. “Right on the tread! I hit something that made it burn! Low yield explosive and I get a tank with it! I don’t think anyone ever did that before.” He showed his excitement to everyone.
The game console room smelled of hormones and excitement. It reminded Kurt of an athletic field in high school. Surrounded by pumped athletes and young guys who wanted to go out and kick some butt, it was hard not to become infected with the excitement. Kurt grabbed his towel and turned back to Ralph.
“It makes no difference,” he told him. “Your little stunt took out the tank, but we forgot about what else the enemy could send after us. We’re all dead and will have to go back to zero the next time we jack into the game. Jesus Christ, we’d still be alive if you all hadn’t decided to empty your clips on a target out of range!”
Ralph was silent for a few seconds. “Suppose I could’ve sent another grenade at them,” he said in his defense.
“Which you didn’t do!” Kurt snapped. “And which would’ve killed one or two at most if it landed anywhere near them. Also a waste, as they were running away!”
“Come on people!” he yelled at the remainder of his crew who’d hung back to hear what he had to say. “You wanted me to come along because I have the experience. Next time listen to me!” Kurt marched off to the showers.
He felt the warm water flow over his head and wash away his anger. How had he sunk this low? At one point, he was one of the rising stars of the whole Team Deathmatch franchise. Then things hadn’t worked out and he found himself on a downward spiral. Drugs and Fame were a nasty combo, and he'd been burdened with an abundance of both. Now it was bootleg games played for cash unofficially instead of for above b
oard game credits and leaderboard status. Today was supposed to be an opportunity to get some bills paid and maybe save up for a shot at some official bouts. Tactics was his strong point and the guys who wanted to follow him across the simulated burning sands to find the virtual treasure hadn’t listened at a crucial point. It didn’t matter that Ralph landed a lucky hit on the tank. They ignored the dangerous situation their team was in and paid for it. Everyone knew from the briefings that there were predator drones deployed by the opposition force out there that could kill you.
They’d wasted ammunition on a target out of range and were all dead from one bomb. What an achievement. In his mind, he heard the sports commentators talk about the rising star Kurt Silva and how he’d failed in his quest for the top slot in the Deathmatch games. You were only as good as your last battle. The one he’d left today was a disaster.
He avoided the other players on the way out of the game center and made his way toward the nearest electric bus. He remembered when they were smelly gas-driven things, but these days there wasn’t that much fossil fuel to go around for public transport. Or even the private ones, for that matter. His parents’ own internal combustion engine care sat out back slowly rusting away, much like all the other old heaps in the neighborhood. When the last Gulf War went nuclear, there wasn’t much oil left over for frivolous pursuits. People made do with the expensive electric cars or took the public transportation. Kurt had always been a bit suspicious that power hungry gaming consoles were cheap, but the extra efficient vehicles were still high priced tech. A paranoid person might start to thing that restricting people's mobility was the point. Keep the masses entertained and they won't piss too much about the infrastructure of civilization crumbling around them.
He tried to concentrate on a handheld screen book. It gave him something to do on the way home. At least there was enough money left over for home electronics. They’d become efficient over the years and his electronic book reader only needed a charge every six months. His dad still had plenty of old paper books in the house when he needed one.
With transportation so expensive, people could no longer afford to travel much, so they learned to live by the Internet. Over the years, electronic games became a super popular form of entertainment. It surpassed all other professional sports since anyone could play from their home. People with more money could afford better game consoles, but even poor people could use the public game centers, for a small fee, which boasted the best hard and software available.
“First person shooter” games were an old style of electronic game that continued to be popular. The latest version had realistic display screens mounted into helmets that were synchronized with the movements of whatever character he or she “played”. Combined with electronic body suits to simulate the terrain and location of the player in the game, it was possible to virtually enter a battlefield at any point in history, or anything the programmers could dream up. The player still had a screen in front of his face, but research was underway that would put anyone into the game from a brain interface. Kurt wasn’t so sure he liked that idea. Too much control of your head given away wasn’t a good idea as far as he was concerned.
The bus arrived at the small walled neighborhood where his parents lived. Until the riots faded, walls were everywhere. Most were hastily thrown-up to keep away the angry mobs from the energy unrest, but that was over. Or not. Kurt wondered what would happen if the government authority couldn’t get enough power to the grid. It would be a lot worse than the last time if the power went out. At least they knew what to expect.
He opened the gate to his neighborhood and shuddered at the empty sentry box at the entrance. He could remember when it was manned 24/7 by either a member of the local community or whatever soldier the government could spare. It was years ago when the fuel almost ran dry, but he never forgot those days.
Kurt walked through the neighborhood and nodded at a man who tended a grove of apple trees in his front yard. Another lady worked to keep the sheep enclosed in her backyard. He could remember when all these yards were for decoration. Now, if you had land, it was a good idea to put it too use. The government encouraged it as a way to keep the food rations under control. Besides, all those protein crackers they distributed tasted dull after a while. It didn’t matter to him how good they were supposed to be. He couldn’t stand the taste of seaweed.
As his boots tramped on the ground, Kurt thought about the latest innovation in the Team Deathmatch franchise. Called “Killstreak”, this was supposed to be something really big. It was supposed to be a campaign mode game where the top players would get to travel across one intense scenario to the next. They could compete against each other. He wasn’t too sure about his own ranking and needed to check it. Today’s fiasco shouldn’t count as it wasn’t an official ranked game, but he didn’t want any of the major professionals to hear about it.
Supposedly, only the Top Hundred players would be invited to this new Killstreak scenario. The company hadn’t released much information about it, but it was supposed to involve intense urban combat and war in the countryside too. Kurt wanted to get his hands on some of the graphics he’d heard about over the past few months. People were talking it up and claimed the system had a level of visual reproduction no one had experienced before. As the Deathmatch company kept most of the information secret, there wasn’t much you could find about the new system.
The reaction time on the new game system was supposed to be beyond anything played. The suits had impact sensations so you could know when you were physically struck. As before, the suits could heat up or cool down to simulate your environment. These suits also gave your entire body a tactical sensation. Should you lean on a tree, your body would feel the tree. The suit was built to keep you from “falling” through the tree, always a problem with VR games. Kurt remembered when it was a good strategy to walk inside a virtual table. No longer, the suits prevented you from walking through any obstruction that existed in the game.
But the real excitement was the weapons a game player could use. Any gun from the past was there for the choosing. All you had to do was select one and you could bring it along once you left the staging area and entered the battlefield. Kurt had a few favorites, but he wanted to try out some of those old WWII machine guns he’d heard about. That and to fire a bazooka. He really wanted to try out a bazooka.
Kurt walked into the small house his parents owned. He opened the door and went inside. His parents never locked it, since the wall around the neighborhood kept out the riff-raff. Every now and then, someone with bad intent would get inside the wall, but the security drones usually took care of them. One of the drones circled around him on the way in, but veered off once he appeared on the approval screen. Kurt worried the day might come when one of those drones might not register him on the safe list. They usually gave you two warnings, but not always.
“Letter for you,” his mother said as he walked inside. She was in front of the screen mounted on the wall and watched some old movie from before the Crisis. His mother lost a lot of her family in the disaster of ’25 when everything turned into a big mess. She found a way to connect with her old life by the old shows. It bothered him a bit. However, his dad said it was not a problem. Kurt decided to just let her be and not worry.
He didn’t see his dad anywhere. Kurt’s father spent most of his days out in the garden, which occupied the rear of the house. He was able to grow quite a bit of the family’s food supply, but they were still dependent on the government stipends. It was a hard to believe that family gardens were one time a hobby for most people and not a prime source of food.
“Letter?” Kurt said to her. “Are you serious? How did it get here?” He looked around and saw an envelope sitting on a table. This had to be it.
Postal mail was almost outdated. Deliveries were made at the front of the neighborhood in a secure box that was near the old sentry post. It was almost impossible to open it from outside the wall and anyone expecting a pack
age knew far in advance when it would be delivered. Sometimes letters could languish for days until someone had a reason to check for a large package.
This one lacked a return address. Kurt picked it up and looked the envelope over. No recycled paper on this one, here was a clean, bleached white envelope with his name and neighborhood stamped on it. Kurt carefully uncurled the flap over the top and peeled back the adhesive used to seal it. Once the adhesive was free, he pulled out the contents and looked at it.
It was a small coupon printed on a thick-coated stock, but only on one side. A gold band encircled the coupon. He held it up to the light to get a better look.
It was from Team Deathmatch. The letters on it, printed in large letters so he would get the message loud, informed Kurt he was one of the Top Hundred Deathmatch players in the country. He'd been afraid to check for a long time, afraid that he'd see that his position on the leaderboards had dropped so far that there was no coming back. Apparently he'd been grinding enough points out of the few official games he did play that he'd managed to cling to the bottom rungs of the hot shot club. He was invited into the big campaign that would take place soon, and was freshly glad that most of his defeats were in bootleg cash games that didn't affect his official standing. It had a special number to access to the Internet and was signed by Mr. Rashid Al-Sayed himself, the mysterious billionaire who ran the company.
"Well Charlie," Kurt laughed to himself as he flipped the ticket over and over in his hands, "Time to visit the Chocolate Factory."
Chapter 2
Other than knowing he came from what used to be Mesopotamia, no one knew much about the founder of Team Deathmatch. He’d made his fortune in government contracts and energy exploration over the years. Al-Sayed was one of the latest playboy power-magnates of the new world. After the oil nearly ran out, a few of the more creative types were able to find some underused wells and pull more crude oil out of them than anyone had ever done before. After he perfected the technique, his company went around to the other underutilized wells found across the planet and began to find ways to get cruder out of them. It wasn’t enough to restart the planetary economy, but it was enough to make him and a few select men very rich. It was after he’d earned enough to buy pretty much whatever he wanted that Al-Sayed turned his sights onto something else: online gaming.
