The sleep was restless. Always dreamed the games on loop--the sprint, the head shot and the victory. It wasn't fun. It was haunting. A ring suddenly played in the D-7. Everything seemed to melt to black. Yael finally woke up to reality. He fumbled around his blanket finding his phone, that vibrated and rang somewhere in the blanket. Finally he finds it and switches it off.
The harsh sunlight--unforgiving and bright, cut through the gap off in the curtains he had forgotten to fully close. The bright light--lit up the dust on his empty food containers and water bottles that were on the right side of his mattress. The room looked even smaller by the day. It was pathetic.
Remembering the email from yesterday, he quickly opened the phone and the screen was bright which burned his eyes.
3 New messages.
One from his mobile provider, one from a game update. One from his mom, sent at 5.43 a.m. At the moment it was 6.31 a.m.
Mom "It's nothing important, child. Just wanted to ask how you were. I also found your fathers, old watch, while cleaning. It reminded me of you. Don't worry about the call."
A heavy weight suddenly was on his heart--the rib cage tightened. Suddenly feeling guilty. Yael typed quickly.
"Love you, mom. Will call before the stream."
He threw his phone on the mattress before he could overthink it. Standing up and stretching--his arms above his head, his back arched--a few crack sounds were heard from his back--popping the air bubbles from his back bones--relieving him.
The manager's email--was the real red light beeping for its deadline--two weeks. Next week he should be getting about 50 000 papp. And he had to pay about 25000 papp to the manager--that was half of his payement-leaving him with only 25000--which went to his monthly subscriptions, upgraded gear, rent and bills. Leaving him roughly 883.5 papp.
His stream was growing, but not fast enough. He dragged himself to the computer--the monitors blinked to life--waking up in a cool glow. The familiar icons were comfort. He opened his streaming dashboard, checking the stats from last night. The numbers were good-Better than good.
The first platinum-tier sub from 'thorno-PaX' was a bright, welcome spike in his revenue chart. The username nagged him--but not more than the message from last night.
He shook his head. You're overthinking this. This is nothing, just a fan with an edgy username...
The morning ritual was mechanical. Brush your teeth, go shower. Stare at the empty fridge with a rotten mustard jar in there. Then head out and go to the cafe and order--a coffee and a cheap sandwich--which he calculated, so no money was used more. The less, the better.
While he waited he watched his favorite streamer-who was always masked, his name, his everything unknown. All that was known was his name-what wasn't even his real name--Orson.
It was his comfort--idol he had always loved. The performance of Orson's game, the silence in his room the way the viewers--including him, always cheered and got excited. It was meditative.
That was until he got his food--his moment of peace broken by someone giving him food. Even tho he shouldn't have been pissed off by it, he still got kind of pissed off. He smiled and took it, taking his leave back to his apartment.
As he reached and ate his food. A notification popped up from the above of his phone screen. It wasn't from anyone-but from a game. Which was pretty rare and unusual.
sender: Wraiths_19biggest_fan
Invitation to private call.
Decline. Accept.
Suddenly his appetite had gone. Who the hell is this?
Yael was unsure of whether or not to accept. He declined--throwing his phone to the mattress. Leaning back against his gaming chair. The time slowly on his computer was silent but he could hear the ticks in his head.
He shouldn't be surprised it happened a few times already by different people. But he had blocked people from asking for calls unless he had them added. So how'd that fan call him.
How. How. How. How.
Why. Why. Why.
Stop. Stop.
Panic.