“You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means.”- Inigo Montoya, “The Princess Bride” (1987)
December 3, 2019,
22:04 local time,
Alfred Edwards’
Apartment,
City of Marian,
Marian Capitol Region, Republic of Marian
Junk mail...junk
mail...junk mail...more junk mail...
Alfred Edwards shook
his head as he kept sifting through the mail, nonplussed as each item proved
even more worthless than the last.
Eventually, he came to
an item that actually had interest for him, although he wasn't sure if he
wanted to open it.
“A Message from Arkham
Apartments,” he said, looking at the envelope. “OK...I'm not sure what they
want, but if they're messaging me it must be important.”
Alfred then opened the
envelope and began reading the letter. The anxiousness over its contents soon
led to anger and then outright disgust. He got so mad that he lost his head,
throwing the junk mail on the ground not caring if it was anywhere close to the
garbage can as well as ripping the letter to as many shreds as he could.
He then went outside to
let out as loud a scream as he could before finding some rocks and giving them
a good whack with his boot. Alfred then decided he needed to go for a walk to
cool his head. He didn't go on a specific route and he was out for a long
while, but Alfred didn't care- the letter from the complex really made him mad.
When he finally got
home, he opened the door to find Niege, his daughter, standing in the hallway
with her arms crossed.
“What are you doing
still up?” said Alfred, taking a look at his watch, revealing it to be 01:34.
“It's a school night, you'll need to be up in about five hours.”
Niege continued to give
Alfred a cold stare. She sighed and shook her head before answering.
“What are you
doing still up?” she said. “You also need to be up in five hours because you've
got work. You didn't come back when you were supposed to so I got worried.”
“Oh Niege,” said
Alfred, taken by his daughter's concern. He then pulled her in for an embrace,
one which he hung on to for quite some time which Niege noticed.
“Dad,” she said. “Are
you OK?”
Alfred continued to hug
Niege, rocking her back and forth slowly as the hug was soothing for him. He
still did not provide a response, which worried Niege to the point of tears.
“Dad,” she said,
starting to grip tightly herself as her own anxiety started to set in.
“Dad...you're worrying me...you...you...”
Niege then began to
cry, which prompted Alfred to kiss her on the cheek before he lost control and
began to cry himself.
They both stood there,
holding each other and crying on each other's shoulders for quite some time
before both had enough composure to sit down in the kitchen and talk about what
happened.
“Well,” said Alfred, as
Niege looked on with the same amount of concern as her father, “there's no easy
way for me to say this but...we can't afford this apartment anymore.”
Niege gasped.
“What?” she said.
“Why?”
“Our wonderful
President,” said Alfred, “and his brilliant idea to end rent control have
struck. I got a letter from the apartment complex saying they're raising the
rent from $200 a month to $2,000 a week, and it starts tomorrow. They also said
that I have two weeks to pay the new rent or else they're going to evict us on
the spot.”
Niege didn't try to
hide her shock. She briefly put her head in her hands and paced around a small
spot in the kitchen before re-assuming her seat.
“$2,000 a week?” she
said, still gasping. “That's...that's...what are we going to do? What can we
do?”
“The only option I
have,” said Alfred, “is to go to Thomas tomorrow and ask for a substantial
raise. He may just give it to me because I work hard for him...I practically
live at his house anyway.”
“There you go,” said
Niege, feeling relieved. “Problem solved.”
She then kissed Alfred
on the forehead, gave him a quick hug and then headed off for bed. As she
walked away, Alfred sighed and shook his head.
If only it were that
easy, he thought. If only
it were that easy.
He then let out another
heavy sigh before determining it was time for him to salvage as much sleep as
he could on this dark and dreary night.
December 4, 2019,
21:52 local time,
Marian Park,
City of Marian,
Marian Capitol Region, Republic of Marian
“OK everyone!” said
Amanda Isley grabbing the microphone as she took her place in front of the
makeshift podium in the middle of the field. Amanda, along with a plethora of
scantly-clad nubile women and chiselled young men, took to the centre of the
field to lead the entertainment to fill the halftime break of a game Marian
City FC was leading, 5-0.
“How is everyone doing
today?” she said with a wide, beaming smile that was echoed by the joyous home
crowd. “Do we have something special in Bruce McCrain or not?”
The sold out 60,000
seat arena cheered in response. The game was against Cape Coromin United in the
semi-finals of the Starmakers' Cup, an invitational tournament that offered the
winner a chance to qualify for the International Club Championships. The tournament
organizers offered MCFC the spot because of Bruce, who gained worldwide
recognition after a string of sterling performances in the pre-season against
many of the world's top sides. Some pointed out that those teams- who were only
going to Marian to show that it was, indeed, a “world class city”- didn't take MCFC
seriously, but those doubts were put to rest against CCU, the champions of the
Malabar Coast League on the Indian subcontinent.
With such a high-profile
game, Amanda had a chance to really promote her matchmaking business, so she
brought four of her best women and four of her best men out to the pitch to
make them perform various tasks as a “showcase” for potential customers. Most
just sung and danced- with one busty woman performing an alluring striptease-
but the real attraction was saved for last.
“OK fans,” said Amanda,
bringing out the final act. He was a slender but buff young man, with perfectly
bronzed skin, long, blonde hair that effortlessly flowed and a clean-shaven
face with deep blue eyes that made hearts go aflutter. Amanda described him as
having “the body of a god” and few would disagree with her, especially since it
was on full display as he wore nothing but tiny blue trunks with MCFC's logo on
the front and back.
His name was Roderic
Jane, but Amanda didn't tell the crowd that. Barely 18, his father was the
former conman turned police investigator Patrick Jane, though his father didn't
know it either since he was the product of a tryst Patrick had during his conman
days. Roderic originally didn't use his father's surname, but it changed after
he fell into Amanda's clutches six years ago. Fooled into thinking he was
signing up for a soccer team in his native Los Angeles, Amanda spent
considerable time with him “grooming” him into her top product and, while she
treated him well, Roderic longed for the day he could break free.
Especially because
Amanda loved “exhibiting” him...like tonight.
“Now fans,” said
Amanda, finally getting around to Roderic's act, “this lovely specimen isn't
going to sing and dance for you...oh no, oh no...he's going to do something
better!”
Amanda then put her
hand on the front of Roderic's trunks, feeling for and eventually fondling
Roderic's penis. It physically aroused Roderic though he didn't enjoy any of
it, but he was in no position to actually protest.
“As you can see,” said
Amanda as she continued to fondle, “he's well-endowed!” She then let go
of Roderic's penis. “So we're going to play a little game. On your phone, you
can download The Love Tree App- which can also match you with the love of your
life- and, after you do so, go to the 'Games' section and go to 'What's My
Size?'.”
Amanda then paused to
wait for the fans to do as she told them.
“After you do,” said
Amanda, “you'll be asked a very simple question- how big is this man's lovely
penis? I'll give you all a few minutes to punch in your answer, and the closest
one gets a prize of $1,000, courtesy of The Love Tree!”
Amanda then waited as
the fans furiously put in their guesses. The game was programmed so that her
phone would input the correct answer at her own request, which would then be
matched with the fan(s) with the closest result. Multiple winners would mean the
prize would be split.
Amanda already knew the
answer, but she had a product to sell and thus wanted to be extra dramatic.
After several minutes, she again went to the microphone.
“OK fans,” she said.
“Now the moment you've all been waiting for! How big is this man's d***?”
Amanda then marched
Roderic to the centre of the pitch, where a camera was trained on him. She then
pulled out a ruler and ordered Roderic to lower his trunks. Roderic took a deep
breath and sighed, as every ounce of him was disgusted at even the mere thought
of having to carry out this act. He was proud of his body, but, at the core, he
hated being forced to show it off when he simply didn't want to and that lack
of control ate at every inch of his soul.
His hesitation only
built up the tension in the stadium, which Amanda liked though she was annoyed
that Roderic wasn't following her orders. She then barked at him incessantly to
“not be shy”, with her tone getting more aggressive each time.
It eventually broke him
down. He first clutched at his trunks and barely pulled them down, doing so a
few times before he gave up and just dropped them down, showcasing his penis
for all to see. Since the app asked for the size when erect, Amanda grabbed his
penis and stroked it, getting it fully aroused. Roderic's penis was actually
just above average, but, for Amanda, it was long enough, being the perfect size
most women tell her they're looking for in a man. Once she tallied the official
measurement by marking it on her ruler, she put her mouth on his penis and
began sucking on it, doing so until Roderic ejaculated into her mouth.
Roderic- feeling very
defeated and worn down- pulled his trunks back up when Amanda was finished,
upon which Amanda declared that if the fans visited The Love Tree, they could
purchase Roderic for marriage- or just have him for a date, of which Roderic had
been on far too many.
At this point, it was
time for the game to resume, which it did with MCFC winning comfortably, 8-1,
with Bruce scoring twice more. For Amanda, that wasn't the real highlight once
the game was all said and done.
After the game, a woman
with double blonde pigtails, dolled with makeup and wearing a white MCFC tank
top, blue “bun hugging” briefs and sneakers walked up to Amanda's booth with an
envelope in hand.
“I'd like Roderic,”
said the woman, confidently displaying the contents of the envelope. “That's
$200,000...twice your asking price.”
Amanda's eyes widened
when she saw the haul. It was a bearer bond bought from the Columbian Treasury,
valued at $200,000.
Amanda could tell the
bond was real- she had an app on her phone that verified the bond- which
allowed her to bring this mystery woman to Roderic. Amanda then allowed the
woman and Roderic to have alone time in the room Roderic was in, a small room
that was usually used as a storage closet.
As soon as they met,
the woman and Roderic had instant sparks. Within mere minutes, the two of them
were all over each other, kissing, nibbling, sucking and fondling all over
their bodies in a fury of esoteric ecstasy. The sex too was quick but mind-blowing,
a euphoric moment of fulfilling pleasure that forged an instant and deep
connection between the two.
Once it was over,
though, the woman led Roderic quickly out of the stadium once they caught their
breath and put their clothes back on. The woman then opened the door and tried
to usher Roderic into her car but Roderic put the metaphorical brakes on.
“Hold on,” he said.
“What we had was magnificent...the happiest I've felt in years...but...I don't
know anything about you. What's your name?”
The woman responded by
cupping Roderic's face and kissing Roderic passionately, which they did for a
few minutes. She then answered Roderic's question.
“Harley Quinn,” she
said. “My mom named me after the doll, in case you're wondering...and you are
Roderic Jane.”
Roderic stood there in
stunned silence. It was already enough for him to process that Harley was named
after the iconic doll but to also know that Harley knew his name?
Especially one he never used outside of The Love Tree?
Boy did he have
questions.
“Roddy,” she said. “We
can't talk about them out here. Come with me and I'll give you whatever you
want...because I have a lot of questions of my own.”
Roderic sensed that
Harley was sincere, so he obliged, causing Harley to drive away with him.
December 5, 2019,
11:11 local time,
Capitol Building,
City of Marian,
Marian Capitol Region, Republic of Marian
The sun was shining
directly on to the steps of the Capitol where Marianite President Pancratius
Danilis “Daniel Duke” Ducatus had gathered the press for a press conference
while Parliament was in session. He spent the better part of twenty minutes
boasting of his government record, as economic data for November showed that The
Republic of Marian had- once again- experienced exponential economic growth.
More importantly, Duke
also announced that The Republic of Marian had now gone a whole year without a
“major violent incident”- meaning peace was finally a reality on the continent.
However, that was far
from the minds of the reporters gathered for the press conference. Despite The
Republic of Marian's economic boom, the underlying numbers revealed that very
few were actually enjoying it- depending on the economic variable used,
anywhere between a quarter to one third of The Republic of Marian were living
below the poverty line, with indicators showing things were only going to get
worse.
The official party line
from the government- who removed almost all restrictions and taxes on business
operations in the fall budget- was that employers would funnel their extra
wealth on to their workers, with the idea that employers would need to do that
or else they'd risk losing their workers.
Instead, what happened
is that most workers simply took what they could get (including working lots of
overtime or working several jobs) rather than quit their jobs and lose the
relative security of a regular paycheck, as they had bills to pay. Knowing this,
employers mostly decided to pay their workers as little as they could, using
whatever rationalization they could.
There were a few who
did decide to pay their workers well, recognizing their plight- but they were
few and far between.
The truth was, in The
Republic of Marian, if someone wanted good pay, they needed to either figure it
out on their own, have a special skill or work for the government- otherwise,
the employers held all the power in their relationship with their workers, and
they rubbed the workers' noses with it all the time.
So that was the number
one question on the minds of all the reporters- how would “The Duke” address
the growing disparity between the poor and the rich? Would he finally allow
unions to form? Would the government start providing some kind of social assistance?
Would the government levy taxes on the rich so that The Republic of Marian
could pay for its own infrastructure and stop forcing its citizens from footing
the bill?
“No,” said Duke
emphatically, going into a rant to answer the torrent of questions he received.
“We in The Republic of Marian do things differently. We are not going to
do the things other countries do because we've seen, time and again, that they
just do not work. We're here, building the greatest country in the world
and we're not going to do that by making the same mistakes other countries
make. I don't know how much clearer I can be!”
“So,” said Valerie Vale
of the Marian Gazette, “what is your solution? The people of The
Republic of Marian...they want answers. We have people living below the
international poverty line...they need answers.”
“...and an answer,”
said Duke with a smile, enunciating every word with gusto, “is what I will give
them!”
Awkward silence then
befell the scene before Duke finally chimed in.
“It's something I call
'voluntary serfdom',” he said. “As our legislation will spell out, we will
allow people to voluntarily give up their freedom in exchange for being
guaranteed basic rights-such as food, shelter and medicine. The contract
between the serf and their new owner must be mutually agreeable, with the serf
and the owner agreeing to all the terms of the serfdom, including what work- if
any- is required of the serf, where they will live, what food is available to
them, and many other things, most importantly being the length of the serfdom.
Before anyone worries about mistreatment, our legislation will outline minimum
requirements that must be met for the serfdom to be legal, chief of which is
the ensuring that the serf is not overworked, is given adequate food and
sheltering and is taken care of from a medical and a physical standpoint. We
will also spell out that when an owner takes on a serf, they take on everything
that serf owns- including their debts.
“How will this solve
our poverty crisis? Well, it guarantees that the poor have a home and food they
don't need to pay for, as well as ensuring that their other needs are looked
after by someone else. See, the biggest problem with being poor is that you often
don't have the money to take care of your needs, but you get that money doing
work for someone else. Well, if you are working for someone else, your work
must have value to them- so we are simply saying that, as an option, instead of
being paid, the poor person has the option to give themselves up to their
employer, whose only obligation now is to take care of their employee's needs.
Isn't it simple?”
Awkward silence befell
the scene as the gathered press were all stunned by what they just heard.
“Voluntary serfdom?” many would chatter, “how would that help the poor?”
Some, though, did actually think there was brilliance in the idea, as the poor
willingly becoming the property of someone else meant that they no longer
needed to worry about taking care of themselves, which was hard to do on their
meagre budgets. Others, though, didn't like the idea of the poor losing their
freedom, wondering why the government couldn't do what other countries did and
tax the rich so that the poor may have a chance one day to, well, not be poor.
One person did manage
to say what many of the reporters thought but didn't have the courage to do so.
“Um, President Duke?”
said Esme Errons of the Vicendum Chronicles, “aren't you describing slavery?”
Loud murmurs could be
heard as the reporters reflected on Esme's observation. The din got louder and
louder by the second, which aggravated Duke to the point where he audibly
snapped on the stand.
“Enough!” he shouted,
visibly angry. “I should have known better than to let the left-wing nutjobs of
the Vicendum Chronicles come to this press conference! Only the left
would seek to destroy the very foundation of the success and the wealth
that millions of Marianites enjoy, because you left-wing pinkos are so jealous
of other people being successful that you'd rather ask them for handouts
instead of working a day in your life like the rest of us do!”
Duke let out a roar and
slammed the stand, taking in a few deep breaths while still seething with
anger. He eventually did calm down to the point where he could continue the
press conference.
“...but no, Miss Errons,”
said Duke, trying to readopt his confident swagger, “it's not
slavery...slavery involves the people entering the relationship
involuntarily...this is a voluntary arrangement. No one is forced to
become a serf if they do not want to.”
Duke then glanced at Esme.
“By the way,” said
Duke, noticing Esme's dress shirt, which was unbuttoned just past her chest.
“Nice of you to let the puppies breathe on a day like today. It's too hot to
cover them up.”
Esme, who had her shirt
unbuttoned simply for comfort, as the press conference was hastily called and
thus she had to borrow a shirt from a friend, was angered by Duke's comment, as
she felt he was shaming her for her attire. She knew, though, that he was trying
to get under her skin, so she refrained from getting visibly upset.
Instead, she shot back.
“So, President Duke,”
said Esme with a smug smile, “are the people who are in your 'dating industry'
voluntary serfs too? Why don't you want to put the rumours to bed and finally
tell us just where McCrain Enterprises is getting the people to fuel that
industry, and maybe you want to tell us just what on Gaia's green earth is
going on in Pickle Lake?”
Duke again got visibly
upset, seething with a rage so heavy that his head turned beat red and looked
like it was literally going to explode at any moment. He hyperventilated so bad
that he clenched his teeth and his fists at the same time, eventually letting
out a loud grunt while doing all he could to stop himself from letting out a
scream of fury, though he got close.
He then loudly banged
the podium and loudly declared that the press conference was over before
storming off into Parliament. Duke's press secretary then abruptly ended the
presser, leaving the gathered reporters dumbfounded.
Esme walked away with
her head held high. She was already deep into the investigations at Pickle Lake,
and, by rattling Duke, it told her that he knows more than he was letting on.
The challenge, now, was finding out just what that was.
December 8, 2019,
20:01 local time,
Tarpon Bay Stadium,
Sanibel, Emporium
Municipality, Empire Bay Region, Holy American Empire
After the final whistle
roared, The Bulls's players all slumped to the ground in defeat. Leading their Elite
Pro League match against fellow title contenders the Buffalo Bills 5-1 in the
75th minute, the Ravens somehow blew the lead, losing 6-5 in a
result spurred by Bills substitute Edison Cavani's hat trick. The result meant
that The Ravens fell all the way to fourth, three points behind the Bills, Karachi
FC and Toronto FC who were all tied at the summit, with the Bills leading based
solely on goal difference. It wasn't a crippling blow by any stretch- it was
still early in the season and The Ravens still hadn't yet played the other two
contenders, as well as the “return” game against Buffalo in the second half of
the season- but it did mean that a Pro League title run would now become an
uphill battle for The Ravens, considering they now needed help to reclaim the
top spot.
Still, what bothered
the team- especially manager Angela Carey- was not just that they lost such an
important game but how they lost that game. Late comebacks happened quite
frequently at the “lower” leagues in soccer, but in a top league like the
Premiership, teams just don't blow leads- let alone four goal leads with
fifteen minutes left- all that often because the execution levels are that much
higher among the players.
At least it's supposed
to be.
During her post-match
interview, Carey didn't hold back in ripping her team's effort. She usually
held her cool in public and was usually conciliatory, but she knew her fans
would be disgusted with the result- as they should be- and she hoped that her
display of passion publicly would light a fire under her team and remind them
to start caring about the game and its results, because she did. The few
veterans on The Ravens knew what she was trying to achieve, but the younger
players- many of whom had never been in this kind of position before- saw
things differently, as if Carey was outright insulting them.
So when Carey rejoined
her team in the dressing room after the game, she entered to a room where
almost everyone was hurling insults and pejoratives at each other, as each
player tried to shift the blame for the horrible loss on to other players.
It got so bad that
goalkeeper Ewan Cox and defender Joe Gomez nearly came to blows in the centre
of the room, with team captain Sergio Ramos- who had tried fruitlessly to play
peacemaker throughout the entire ordeal- having to step between them to stop a
full-blown fight.
“Guys!” shouted Carey
as soon as she walked in. “Guys! That's enough!”
The team saw that she
meant business- it was written all over her face- so they ended their bickering
and all fell silent, allowing Carey to take centre stage. Carey asked Ramos
about what happened and when Ramos told her that the worst of it was just some
people shouting at each other, she acknowledged it and let Ramos take his seat
at his stall.
“I think the first
thing I need to ask,” said Carey, sternly but calmly, “is where was all this
passion, all this emotion on the pitch tonight? If you guys care so much
about the game now, why didn't any of you care when we actually
playing it?”
“I don't know gaffer,”
said Cox. “If you cared so much about winning the game, why did you take Harry
Kane off? He had a hat trick and no one was scoring.”
Kane, the star striker
who was making his debut for The Ravens, quietly shook his head while his
strike partner, Kyle Edwards, got up and pointedly addressed Cox, literally.
“I scored! The Dragon
scored!” he said forcefully, the latter referring to young midfield wonder Vlad
Dragomir. “Don't put this on me or him or Harry!”
Carey chuckled.
“OK Jolly,” said Carey,
referring to Kyle's nickname, “Yes, you did score. You opened the scoring for
us. That was great...but, in the thirtieth minute, you had a chance to pass to
Harry and given him an easy tap in, but you decided to shoot instead...and you
didn't shoot with any power, so the goalkeeper saved it easily. Now, how many
times have I told you, Jolly, to trust your teammates. You are a
wonderful talent and you score more than I or anyone else has ever seen...but
you will get nights like this where not everything goes in for you...and
even when it does, you still have to pass the ball. One of the reasons I
got Harry was so you'd have a strike partner you could pass to...because, Kyle,
the more you hog the ball, the more defences will focus on you and the less
you will score.”
Carey then addressed
Cox.
“Ewan,” she said. “You
played brilliantly for 75 minutes...what happened in the last fifteen? You're
quick to blame Joe or Sergio or Danny, but you won't blame yourself.
When Cavani got his third goal, you weren't in the proper position...you were
off doing I don't know what but you sure weren't following the play like you
usually did.”
Daniele Rugani, the
“Danny” that Carey had just referred to, clapped his hands before Carey put him
in his place.
“...and Danny,” she
said, “why did you go for the sliding tackle, missing it badly and allowing
Kylian Mbappe to have a free run at goal? How many times do I have to tell you
to play smart?”
Carey then let out a
heavy sigh as the entire team hung their heads.
“Seriously guys,” she
said, “I could go on and on and on about all of you but I think all of
you know that will do us no good. I said it in the beginning and I'll say it
again now- when we win, we win as a team. No one player deserves all the
praise or the credit- we all do. The same thing happens when we lose- there's
no one player who shoulders the blame, we all do. Because in every game
there's things we did well and there are things we did badly.
Carey then sighed.
“Finally,” she said,
adopting a more sombre tone, “to further my point I am not without blame. I
shouldn't have taken Harry off when I did because he was doing well and he
wasn't as tired as I thought he was. I should have brought on Rodri and Fabinho
earlier to shore up our midfield and stop them from having free runs at our
defence. I should have also not been so conservative at the end of the game. I
should have also been clearer with our defensive responsibilities because it
was clear you were all confused as to who should cover what, and that happened
for the entire game. Believe me, guys, I'm going to have as much soul searching
about all this as you guys will.”
The players, listening
to their manager's words intently, silently acknowledged what Carey said, with
a few nodding their heads while others sat in silent reflection. Carey then bid
them farewell and left them to their own devices- in some cases literally-
while she went back to her office, silently reflecting on the game as well.
Before she got to her
office, The Bulls's young chairwoman, Billie Royen, stood in front of her door,
with a wry smile and her arms folded.
Carey knew why she was
there and sensed Royen wasn't there for idle chit-chat, but Carey still tried
to defuse the tension anyway.
“Well Billie,” said
Carey with a smile, “I'm glad to see you too.”
Royen continued to look
at Carey with her cool, icy glare, offering not a single word in response.
“Oh by Jove, Billie,”
said Carey with a wry chuckle, “maybe just once in your life you should loosen
up. You're too young to have your life ruined by stress.”
“Maybe you're right,”
said Royen, as she readjusted her pencil skirt and puffed out the collar of her
dress shirt, metaphorically looking down at Carey the entire time, “but if I
keep getting results like the one you just put out, it will be hard for me to
relax.”
Carey put her hands on
her hips and addressed Royen pointedly.
“I don't understand you
young tycoons,” she said. “Always expecting things to go so swimmingly
all the time...Billie, this is football. There are ups and downs all the time.
This ain't the first time I've had a reverse quite like this and trust me, I've
been on the wrong end of them far more times than I'd like...but you know what?
I learned you don't dwell on them...you learn from it and you take it to the
next match, because that's more important. Beating yourself up for a
loss just isn't worth it.”
Royen huffed and shook
her head.
“Whatever,” she said
dismissively. “You know what your expectations are. Achieve them.”
She then walked away,
doing so in such a fashion that she made sure the steps of her high heels were
as loud and purposeful as she could make them. Carey simply shrugged it off-
she'd been in this business too long to let people like Royen bother her too
much- and walked into her office, doing some work before she called it a night.
Meanwhile, once well
away from Carey, Royen checked her phone. She saw a message and made a phone
call.
“What?” she said.
“Something's going on there...keep me posted.”
She then ended the call
and let out a sigh before going about her business.
December 14, 2019,
12:11 local time,
Stately McCrain
Manor,
City of Marian,
Marian Capitol Region, Republic of Marian
“The reasons for the
deal are very simple,” said Samantha Falcone, the athletic director for the
Alexandria Football Club based in Alexandria, Egypt. “Marian doesn't have a
competitive match until June, but we have a long qualification process for the
International Club Championships and we'd love to have someone of Bruce's
calibre to help us get there.”
“Plus he's only being
loaned to them,” said MCFC manager Leon Whittaker. “He'd be back when we need
him. Although...”
“If you sold him
outright to us,” said Samantha, “we'd be able give your club a ton of money
that it needs that it could use on several players. Marian is a good team but
it lacks depth.”
“Depth I sorely need,”
said Whittaker.
Martha McCrain sat
stoically in his chair, fist rested against his nose, pondering the move.
“...but Bruce is doing
well here,” said Martha. “Extremely well. The team looks good...very
good. Without Bruce, Leon, you wouldn't be sniffing at the ICC, but look at
where you are.”
Whittaker didn't even
flinch.
“...and I am eternally
grateful for that,” said Whittaker, “but I'm also a realist. Bruce McCrain is
too good for MCFC...in two years, when he's 19, his contract is up at MCFC, and
at that point he could request a wage the football world has never seen. He's
already making $7 million...Messi, Ronaldo...they make $40 million, and McCrain
is arguably worth more than them.”
“How much?” said Martha,
looking on with intent.
“$60 million,” said
Whittaker without hesitation. “$70 million...maybe even $80 million.”
Martha looked
dismissive.
“That's not much,” said
Martha. “Messi, Ronaldo...didn't you, Samantha, sign both for $100 million
each?”
“$200 million for Messi
and $150 million for Ronaldo,” said Samantha with a smile, “but Leon is talking
about Bruce's potential yearly salary, which is almost double what Messi and
Ronaldo each make.”
“So how much would
Bruce be worth on the transfer market?” said Martha, who again appeared
pensive.
“I'm prepared to offer
$500 million for Bruce,” said Samantha, “but it will come with $100 million in
cash plus five players, three of my starters and two of my prized youth players
that I'd never give up in any other context.”
“Each player will help
me out right away,” said Whittaker, “and we'd actually now have a team that can
compete with the world's best. Maybe not exactly win against them but
we'd be better off than where we stand now.”
Whittaker then sighed.
“Mrs. McCrain,” he
said, “you need to understand something...if Bruce goes down with an injury, MCFC
has nothing. If I take Samantha's deal, I'd be better protected against injury
and still ensure that MCFC can be a competitive outfit. Plus, Bruce is not
going to develop much if he keeps playing in these lower leagues...he needs to
be able to grow as a player. I mean, he's got an opportunity to play with both
Lionel Messi and Cristiano Ronaldo...that's something I'd never pass up.
“...at least think
about it Mr. McCrain,” said Samantha, as she and Whittaker got up from their
seats and said their goodbyes to Martha. “Sleep on it, let me know what you
think.”
After they left, Alfred
Edwards couldn't help but notice what was going on.
“Samantha Falcone?”
said Alfred inquisitively as he did some dusting on nearby shelves. “Daughter
of Carmine, the Oil Pharaoh? What does she want from you?”
Martha then ran her
finger on a shelf and picked up a lot of dust on her finger.
“I think you should
focus more on your dusting than on my affairs,” said Martha sternly.
“That is none of your business.”
Alfred was instantly
apologetic.
“I'm sorry Mrs. McCrain,”
he said. “You know how it is with football in our family.”
Martha then had a
thought.
“How is Kyle doing?” she
asked. “Has he signed for $70 million a year?”
Alfred laughed.
“Not yet,” he said.
“Angela Carey initially gave him $50 million but his agent is renegotiating
because they undervalued him...so his contract is in a bit of limbo right now
and he's not yet getting paid, save for the club paying for his accommodations
and meals...but I understand he will get to $70 million, with retroactive pay
at least before the Saturnalia, as I understand.”
“Is that so?” said Martha,
pondering what Alfred said. “I think I'll go through with the deal.”
Alfred then let out a
heavy sigh.
“$70 million would come
in handy for me right about now,” he said as he fought back tears. “I'm not
even sure I have 70 bucks right now...”
Martha then had a
thought, seeing Alfred's plight.
“You know Alfred,” she
said, “I'd save quite a bit of money if you became my 'voluntary serf'. You'd
be a lot more useful around the house, and you practically live here anyway.
Besides, I want to hire a few more serfs...give you an army. I have more than
enough to feed and house every one of you. What do you say?”
Alfred was
flabbergasted. He couldn't believe what he was hearing...or his luck.
“Wh-wh-why yes, of
course!” he said, stammering at the beginning. “Of course, I want Niege to
come here too.”
“You got it,” said Martha
with a smile.
Martha then went to
shake Alfred's hand but Alfred was so relieved of his stress he went for a hug
instead. It caught Martha off-guard, but Martha accepted it, seeing Alfred's
state.
“Tomorrow I'll go
gather our things,” said Alfred with a joyous smile, his sense of relief well
out of this world.
“Great,” said Martha
with a grateful smile. “Gives me enough time to set up your rooms. I look
forward to having you both.”
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