2.
I work in a call centre doing custor service. I make 350 pounds a week, and spend 200 just on rent. My house is a narrow shithole in a place with such a violent history that the BBC refers to it as 'the notorious Moss Side area of Manchester'. You know, when they're announcing a shooting or whatever. It's pretty much the only area I can afford to rent a house on my own.
I overslept, but when I finally did wake up, I felt fine. Not groggy, no hangover.
I decided to turn up for work after lunch. My boss asked why I was late and I blagged it. "I told you I'd be at the doctor, rember?"
She didn't rember, but I was the employee with the best stats, and call centres are all about stats. Also - I didn't take the piss. When I called in sick, I was sick. When I said I was late because the bus crashed, I showed her a selfie of and the cri scene. She pursed her lips and suggested that maybe next ti I could put my doctor’s appointnt in writing. Absolutely, my dear. Next ti I have an out-of-body experience, I'll let you know in advance. I stayed late to make up the hours, and also because for once the job felt good. It was normal, you know? Our custors always had the sa problems, so most of the ti the job was pretty mindless. Solve the problem, end the call. Solve the problem, end the call. My stats were great.
I left work feeling better. Whatever had happened the night before, hadn't happened since. I'd gone past thousands and thousands of people and not seen any more numbers. I'd even seen a group of lads in their kit on the way to have a kickabout. Nothing.
I was looking forward to getting ho, making a tea, and dunking those chocolate hobnobs until they got devilishly soggy. I hopped onto the bus, went upstairs, and peered out of the window. Curry place, second-hand shop, terraced houses. Red bricks, modern Tescos, student flats. The sa things I'd been seeing day in, day out, since I left 6th form. The big park. Wait, what? I stord downstairs, but too late. I'd fallen asleep or sothing and missed my stop. I wasn't, like, in south Manchester or anything, but it was still annoying. I could get a bus back a couple of stops or walk a little extra. It was a nice evening - easy decision.
Platt Fields is pretty famous in Manchester. It's a huge park nad after Platt Lane, a nearby road. It's not that far from Maine Road, where Manchester City's ground used to be. If you haven't heard of Manchester City, they're quite well known in the area. There's a decent sports complex on Platt Lane that City's academy used to use.
My feet were operating with a mind of their own. I was halfway through Platt Fields, heading towards Platt Lane. Where I knew there'd be so football going on. I grunted and turned myself more north, to where my house was. But then again, I couldn't avoid football for the rest of my life, could I? If I saw a football match and there were no numbers, then last night had simply been a hallucination.
I turned left again, and ambled towards the all-weather football pitches. I heard a referee's whistle and all the hairs on my neck stood on end. I took a deep breath, and walked faster. Let's get this over with...
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Conrad EtuhuBorn 28.9.1999(Age 23)Nigerian/EnglishAcceleration 4Stamina 1Heading 2Strength 2Tackling 2Jumping 5Bravery 7Technique 1Pace 4preferred foot RPassing 1Dribbling 1Midfielder (Right)
I stood, stock still, on the sideline, trying not to have a complete freakout. The numbers hovered over every player. It was like one of those augnted reality apps that took what your phone's cara was seeing and added monsters or balloons or whatever. In this case it was showing the attributes of people playing football. Including their nas, nationalities, and birthdays! What the actual fuck.
The longer I stayed there, watching the ga, the more I cald down. Yes, this was insane. Yes, this was an identity thief's dream co true. And yes, maybe that crazy old guy had used advanced hypnosis techniques on . He did look a bit like Derren Brown. Or maybe he'd injected with nanobots that were hijacking my brain? Most likely that Scottish money carried a curse. Like an actual curse. Isn't that what Macbeth is about? Witches and curses and everything?
But...
But it wasn't hurting . I looked around and nobody was reacting to at all. If my eyes were turning pure black every ti I 'scanned' a player, surely soone would have maybe asked to stop?
So... I could see the attributes of these football players.
So what?
I did a very slow 360, taking in the scene around before focusing on the football again. Basically, everything else was normal. Totally normal. Yes, I'd see a jogger and rate her out of 10. But I didn't actually see the number. I was just being a superficial misogynist pig. That wasn't new. And there were so guys playing rugby on the next pitch. That didn't trigger any pop-ups. No weird visions from rugby.
So I focused on Conrad Etuhu again, and compared him to what I rembered of Steven McGough. Steven had acceleration and pace 5, while Conrad had 4s for both. And yes, Steven might have seed a little faster. But maybe the other players were just slower? Or the ga wasn't as serious? Were these numbers absolute or relative to the particular match I was watching?
Both had 1s for passing and technique. I kept my eye on Conrad, and honestly, he didn't seem that bad to . Certainly not 1 out of 10 bad. But it wasn't out of 10, was it? Steven had bravery 11, and a couple of the other players I was watching had scores of over 10. So it was... out of 100? That seed ludicrous. But then again, the whole thing was ludicrous.
So where had these numbers co from? Nick, the old Pole with the Scottish money? But he thought a famous composer was a star player. He didn't know the first thing about football.
All I could do was to keep watching and see if maybe the numbers changed during the ga or sothing like that. They didn't.
But when the match ended, sothing changed. Instead of seeing the attributes of the players, there was a little tiny envelope icon in the bottom-right corner of my vision. It didn't stop from seeing anything in the ‘real’ world, and it was transparent unless I stared at it. I an, it wouldn't have caused to crash my car or anything like that.
And it didn't take long to work out how to ‘tap’ on it and open the ssage. Pretty much just had to ‘will’ it.
When I read the text, I knew that I was in for a hell of a ride.
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