I was born in a normal hospital, to a normal mum and a normal dad. They cared for me and nurtured me to their best ability, and I'm ever grateful for that, because no one else could. My dad was a big footballer, the original Jones-Williams, though his name was Geoff. My mum's name was Linda, but for some random reason, my completely white British parents named me Alessandro. It's not like I could complain, and all my life I've been asked if I'm Italian, nah mate I'm a Brit.
Dad watched football, liked his life depended on it, every weekend and mid-week if he could, and I would sit there with him, bouncing on his knee or his shoulders as I watched Liverpool net goals in left, right and center. It was his favourite club. It never caught on with me until I was about six. Old Geoff enrolled me at this local team, I think it was called the Sutton Sloths, yeah, not a great team name. I liked handling balls, though.
I handled the balls like a dream they said, it was fun to watch other kids fall over or whine as I went past them, I thought it was just a game but the coaches started to get serious as the months went on, they had talks with my dad now and then, and after a lot of these talks, my dad said he'd find some money to put me into the slightly better local team, the Sutton Seagulls, there I met Larry. Larry and I were inseparable. We used to create goals together, and no one could separate us, every Sunday, until we both reached the ripe age of ten.
The talks started happening again, this time for Larry too, we used to pretend like we couldn't see our dads talking to the coaches, these were the best few years I had with my dad, always happy and smiling, wanting me to be great, to do even better, and I was happy to oblige. Soon, my dad took me out of the seagulls, and we decided to try under-12's tryouts across the country.
He would take me everywhere, in the hopes of helping me go pro. We were going to Brighton to try out for the club, I vaguely remember shifting around in the back of a taxi nervously, with my dad. We sped across the urban roads, just minutes from the AMEX stadium. It was the best try-out that we had had so far, and my dad was excited to take me; he had an arm around me, the arm that would make me who I am.
The arm that saved me.
The taxi driver that day didn't see the oncoming lorry. Neither did I. But he did. My dad pressed me against him as the car flipped, taking the hits I should've taken, rolling amongst the shards of glass that should've broken me instead, but I lay on my father's chest, hearing his heart slow down and stop.
I woke up in the hospital, where my mother was leaning over me.
_______ Present Time ________
I could no longer feel the pain around my ribs, and as I opened my eyes, a weird blue light covered my mother's face from my view. Something kept me from hearing whatever she was telling me. I felt as if my body was suspended in motion. Flickering screens full of incorrigible binary codes and hexadecimal numbers appeared in front of me. I tried swatting at them and watched as my mother ran out of the room, presumably to get a doctor.
I whispered out to no one at all, "What is this?"
The blue light started to fade, and the screens started to close rapidly like tabs on a laptop, they were running out like sand in an hourglass, soon there was a single tab left.
_____________________The World's Game________________________
Do you accept the system? (0) Do you revoke the system?
________________________________________________________________
I rubbed my eyes as I saw the tab. I reached out, but my fingers found nothing; I couldn't tap it. For some reason, I burned with morbid curiosity to accept the system, and I saw a cursor appear on the tab. It moved where my mind told it to.
I clicked the accept option.
"(Host has chosen to accept the system) Re-awakening with enhanced talent pool, 2x..."
I tried to stop the blinding light that grew harsher and brighter, shielding my eyes, but I fainted and lost consciousness, as whatever I just accepted began to course through my veins.