Gameover

Chapter 1

Hannah moved through the dark room with her carbine aimed in front of her. She has been in this room, in this situation, several times before, and just like those previous times she pulled a grenade from her vest and tossed it into the next room. The calls of several men hollering tells her the room is clear and she walks through, seeing the bodies lying on the floor. She ignores them, knowing they cannot hurt her and she looks into the stairway on the opposite side. She knows the stairway is clear, but takes her time climbing to the roof just in case something different happens this time.

The door swings open on the roof and she looks around to see an empty space with a flagpole in the middle. Hannah rushes to the edge of the roof where she replaces her carbine with a sniper rifle that was secured on her back. Looking through the scope she sees a man across the street from the building she stands on.

Are you there yet? a voice calls out over her headset.

Of course, she says. A second later the man is running towards the building through the front door. Bullets follow his movement and Hannah watches tracer rounds fill the space where the man had been only a few seconds before.

Next time could you give me a heads up, the voice calls out again.

We can talk about it later, Hannah replies as she sees a group of men move towards the building. How are things back at home? she asks through the headset.

All secure, a different voice calls out.

TypeO+, make sure they aren't allowed to get inside, Hannah orders the man that had entered the building behind her. The clock is ticking.

You think I don't know that? TypeO+ replies.

Hannah can see the return of gunfire from below her position and the men in the street take cover.

Hannah checks the time on her headset and notices there is only thirty seconds left until their mission is complete. Checking her ammo, she sees that the sniper rifle has only five bullets left in it. She counted five men in the street but she always assumed there was more that she missed.

The men in the street return fire towards the entrance to the building and Hannah focuses on the flash points of the rifles. She doesn't want to waste any ammo but can't risk losing the mission now.

What are you doing up there? TypeO+ hollers out into the headset.

You worry about your own job, Hannah replies. I have this. A grenade rolls down the street towards the doorway. Take cover! Grenade! she hollers out, but it's too late. She sees the flash and hears nothing from TypeO+. The connection is lost and she is on her own.

The men move into the street and Hannah takes aim. She hits the one closest to the door then focuses on the next in line. She hits the second man and watches as the rest duck for cover. A third man rushes for the door and her bullet misses. Now she has to worry about the man climbing the stairs to her position. The two in the street are no longer a concern. Switching back to her carbine she focuses on the doorway and waits for the man to come rushing through. Fifteen seconds are left on the clock. She tries to remember how long it took her to run through the building, but that also included clearing two rooms before she could move. Was there enough time to reach her?

Hannah pulls a grenade from her vest and waits. All she has to do is wait.

Five seconds remain. Four, three, two...

The door pops open and Hannah tosses the grenade. She aims her rifle and unloads the magazine as the man shoots at her.

One...

The screen goes blank for a second and her team name is listed as the winners for this round of Capture the Flag. The game is still new; Total War 3 was released less than a week ago, and Hannah is already in the top rankings online.

The controller drops to the floor as she exhales and looks at the clock. The time is 1pm and she still has to sleep before her next shift at the local Shell gas station. The third shift hours are rough but it affords her some freedoms that she would otherwise not have.

Picking up the controller, Hannah logs out of the program and crawls into bed.

Vicksburg is a small town in southwest Michigan that had seen its economy come and go with the times. At first it was a small farming community until the paper mill was built. The town grew and the two cultures clashed until the mill closed in the late 1980s leaving the farms to continue with business as usual. The smartest children left for the big cities leaving aging parents to run the farms until corporations bought them out or banks took possession from overdue loans.

Behind the gas station where Hannah worked were large grain silos where the surrounding farms dropped off their harvest for the trucks to pick up. Those were the busiest days of her job. The smell of diesel and men who had not bathed in days filled the station while she ran credit cards and took cash from those that still used it.

The bedroom smelled of stale air and she fought to wake up before the alarm clock went off. She hated the sound of the alarm with its car alarm sound that made one panic more than awake from a gentle sleep. She slid the dial over and sat on the edge of the bed. The locks on her bedroom door were exactly the way she had left them.

The house was paid for in the span of a few years by her father who worked at the paper mill. That was during a time when a man was paid a living wage for his work instead of the scraps handed out after a CEO was given his share. His pension was still paid and her mother took advantage of it long after he had died. Hannah often wondered how that money continued to come in the mail in the form of a check long after the mill closed and the town lost its main source of income.

These days she didn't bother to shower before work. The worse she looked the less likely men would hit on her at three in the morning as they were passing through. She learned a lot about men at her job. Alone, in the middle of nowhere, men seemed to think they were in a fantasy world where they could say crude things and maybe get some action in the back room. This never happened but it didn't stop them from trying. The less likely she was to ever see them again the more likely they were to proposition her. This rule applied to everyone except her stepdad.

Looking at the locks on her door reminded her every time of why they were there. The memories of her father faded over time and with that came the loss and anger of his absence. Why did he have to die? The accident in the mill was a fluke that left the mill panicking about a lawsuit. The lawyers settled early on and Hannah's mother took a lump sum that was set aside by a local accountant. There was also the pension money, but when Hannah looked into it the small fraction the government was covering from the mill closing was nothing like what was promised. The men in town blamed China, Richard Nixon, and Bill Clinton for the loss of their jobs, but the real thieves were the men who left town leaving behind large mansions nobody could afford to buy or maintain if they did.

Sneaking out of her room and locking the door behind her, Hannah made sure her property would be safe from the man asleep on the couch. The smoky smell of bourbon on his breath filled the room as she went to the door and walked outside. On the lucky days, she didn't have to put up with his comments and abuse. This was one of those days.

The car door opened and she sat in her beat up, rusted out 1969 Mustang. Every couple of months her money would be poured into this car to keep it running. She had plans to restore it, make it the vehicle her father had bought when he was in high school. Besides the house, the car was one of the only things she had left of him. It's difficult to remember how somebody was if you are five years old when they die. A few years before her stepdad tried to sell the car for gambling money but the title had been switched into Hannah's name. That wasn't the start of their disagreements and it wouldn't be the last time that they fought this war of control in the house. Her mother always chose to side with the man that had no blood relation to either of them. One night after Bobby had stormed out of the house in a drunken rage Hannah asked her mother why she stayed with him.

God told me I was to be with him.

Whatever bond she had to her mother before that day was gone the moment the words came out of her mouth. Hannah didn't know if she should consider her mother crazy, mentally ill, or suffering from Stockholm Syndrome. At that moment, Hannah realized she was alone. Even with three people living in the same house, she was alone.

By the time Hannah asked her mother that question, Bobby had already started standing in her doorway at night looking at her. She would wake up and see the outline of his figure and wonder when he would change his mind from thinking about coming inside and just standing there. She started to close her door at night and there was a fight about it afterwards. When he threatened to take the door off of the hinges was the moment she put the locks on.

Driving down the street she passed the row of empty shops she never remembered being in business. The old barber shop still had the candy-striped sign that never worked in her memory. Every day she looked to see if the closed sign on the antique store would be turned around but it never was. She asked locals at the gas station about it and they said the owner died years ago. The bank was too lazy to take possession and clean it out. They considered the town a loss.

At the end of her street was Main Street. This was where the mayor's house and all of the mansions from the mill's managers still stood with their busted windows and spray painted walls. She pictured the houses the way they once stood with fresh colors and a clear lawn. There was a time when she would have been proud to live here. That time was not now.

The old mill crumbled behind the chain link fence with signs warning people to keep out, more of a liability measure than a real safety concern. The brick walls were brittle and the checkered windows disappeared as time went on. At first it was from the local kids throwing rocks and busting them out. These days a storm would cause a few more to disappear.

In high school, a few of her friends convinced her to sneak in with them. It was a rite of passage back then and she wanted to see the place that her father had worked, and died. The openings in the fence were never repaired and easy to find, looking from the road. The ceiling was caving in at certain places and while some people still had dreams of the mill opening its doors again, anybody could see that was never going to happen. She never found the spot where her father was crushed, although at any time she could have been starring straight at it.

The Mustang was parked behind the Shell gas station as she always did and waited as the evening shift person counted their drawer.

It's been a slow night, the girl said. She was a few years older than Hannah and lived a couple of streets over. There was enough age between them that they didn't go to high school together, but there was enough in common between them that Hannah felt like she was seeing her future every time she came into work.

Placing the new drawer into the register, Hannah turned the key and started her shift. It would be another eight hours before she could escape and join the only life she enjoyed. The life where she was in control. The life where nobody could tell her what to do or force her to do things she didn't want to do. She waited to continue her life online.

Chapter 2

The night shift was slow while Hannah waited for her eight hours to pass by. Was this how life was for everyone, waiting for the time to pass so we could enjoy what we really enjoyed doing? What was the point if we were slaves allowed to have limited time doing what we really wanted to do?

The mop slid across the floor as she cleaned the gas station; a task assigned to her shift. Once the floors were dry she would walk through the aisles and check the supplies on the shelves. She stocked the candy bars and bags of potato chips. Being the only 24-hour store in town they also carried other odds and ends as a convenience store. Once 3 a.m. hit she would be alone for the next four hours. Very rarely did she ever see anybody during that time. The few people she did see would be 24-hour delivery trucks that were passing through. The occasional person with insomnia. The mother who ran out of formula with a frantic child that would not sleep. These were the rare occasions when people would come in and buy something. One thing she noticed was that they never bought gasoline during those times. She might make $20 in sales, an amount that did not justify her being there. Still she had her job and her hours and the owner would keep things the way they had been for thirty years.

This Friday night the local high school kids came in. They were part of the class five years behind hers and she wondered when she would read in the newspaper that a handful had died in a car accident. If they weren't getting drunk in one of the local corn fields they were driving around the back-country roads until they lost control of their vehicle and another tree stood victorious against their car. Hannah would swear on a bible that this happened every year. Yet, the culture would not change and they would lose two or three kids a year. Part of her wondered if it was natural selection, the process of weeding out those that should not procreate. After a few generations of this behavior she had to wonder what Darwin would think of this town.

The door chimed, five minutes before she had to turn anyone down for alcohol sales. Three boys and one girl walked into the gas station. A fourth boy was at the pump waiting her to turn it on.

Twenty on pump two, the driver of the car said. His hair was thick and full, a brown mane that stood out compared to the shaved head and crew cut his friends had.

Hannah took the twenty-dollar bill from the counter and slid it into the cash register.

One of the boys went to the cooler and pulled a six pack of beer out. She rolled her eyes knowing they were still three to four years shy of being able to buy it.

One of these as well, the boy with the crew cut said.

ID, she asked. The boy took out an old driver's license and showed it to her. You were born in 1982?

I look good for my age, the boy said. She could tell it was his father's driver’s license by the resemblance the two men had.

Nice try, she said taking the beer off of the counter and placing it out of reach from the teenagers.

Oh, come on, the driver said, trying to use his charm and good looks to leave with the beer. This is a capitalist society. So how much is that beer really worth to you for us to walk out of here with it?

Hannah lifted her hand and didn't have to see where the camera was to point it out. The four-people standing behind the counter looked over and spotted the camera.

So what? the kid with the shaved head replied.

So, if I sell you the beer, it's on camera and I lose my job, Hannah answered.

Let's just go, the girl suggested and pulled on the driver's jacket.

Do you know who my dad is? he said.

Hannah's head dropped half an inch and she looked at him through her brow. A look of sarcasm and annoyance shined as she waited to hear the important news.

Unless what you are going to say is going to change the law than I suggest you leave with your full tank of gas.

The boy didn't answer and looked out to see his friend replacing the pump handle.

The four teenagers were silent as they walked out giving dirty looks to Hannah for ruining their party. She had seen people fired before when they sold to underage minors. While nobody went to jail here for it she needed her job to get out of her house and give her the freedom she needed outside of her home.

The kids walked out and Hannah looked at the clock. Five hours to go until she was free. She took her cell phone out and found several messages waiting for her. None of them were from her family. Instead they were members of an online forum talking about the latest games and the formation of teams. It wasn't uncommon for her to get several invitations to play since her score was listed in the top 100 for several first-person shooter games.

Her collection of video game systems and the games she would play was limited by her income. When a new game was going to be released she saved her money and knew the moment she bought it that the game was an investment of her time for the next few months.

Scrolling down the list of emails she found a message that wasn't like the others. Several names she recognized while many were online nerds hoping to add a good shooter to their team. This one was from TypeO+ and he appeared to be excited, writing in all capital letters. GIRL WHERE HAVE U BEEN? WE NEED TO TALK! Leaning against the counter she opened the message and started to read it.

Do you remember that conversation we had a few weeks back about becoming professional gamers? Not the kind that tested the game play and threw the disc into freezers and stuff like that, but the kind who only got paid to test and play the games while being designed? It's happening! Call me or I will see you next time you log in. You won't believe this.

Hannah had just talked to him earlier that morning when she was holding the building in Capture the Flag. He said nothing over the headset. Had he learned something in the last twelve hours that she didn't know about? When did this guy sleep?

Replying to the message, Hannah wrote an email before getting back to work.

I will be online at 7am, Eastern Standard. The usual.

Turning off her screen she slipped the phone into her pocket and decided to change the flickering florescent light in the ceiling. With her luck a customer would come in and have a seizure.

When Hannah's replacement came through the door the register was already counted and she was ready to walk out. Her shift was over but now it was time for the real fun to begin.

Finally change that light? the guy smirked as he looked around making sure everything was stocked and ready for him to start his shift.

A little early to already be in asshole mode, isn't it? Hannah took the drawer out and placed it in the manager's office for the owner to go over later that day. The guy continued to smirk as if he already had done his job for the day.

Outside Hannah walked around the building to her car. The moment she saw the vehicle she knew something was wrong. The front driver's side tire was flat and it wasn't from a leaking valve stem. Looking closer she could see the cut in the sidewall and knew it was those kids she wouldn't sell beer to.

Sons of bitches, Hannah pulled her keys from her purse and popped open the trunk of the car. She thought about calling the police. The local guys would be at the diner ten miles down the road eating breakfast. They would get