Livelihood

'Is it that time already,' he yawned. *Tap,* the clock stopped buzzing. The balcony door shut by a gesture of the feet. 'Another day,' he shuffled into the kitchen with a few sniffles. The stove turned on. Water boiled beside a sink. An empty adjacent glass held toothbrush and toothpaste.

'Nearly out,' the last of the paste forcefully squeezed and breathed its last breath. 'Saturday 31st of March,' marked off the calendar laid on the counter. 'I've barely got food to last the weekend,' the sterile white inside of the fridge closed to a few gargles. After a glass of milk, the door opened to a rather stinky hallway.

'Do people not have manners,' he covered his nose, '-least spray some air fresheners,' the door locked hastily. Time showed 06:00. No baths nor showers, the mind focused on one thing – jogging to the convenience store named Boycott Convin. The latter stood a few streets from the electrical shop.

"You're five minutes late," commented Jerry, the supervisor, "-get in your work attire already," he pointed to an expensive-looking watch and left.

'No need to tell me twice,' he slid on an apron and cap, the day began. The door opened to a small jingle of festive bells. Customers of all ages and sizes visited. Some wanted pre-made meals, others searched for magazines, and a few wished to purchase in-game currency.

'Look at them,' he mounted the register and placed items in bags with a smile. The ins and outs never stopped. The later it got, the more people arrived. Morning rush, mainly students heading for additional classes – they dropped in, took their essentials, and left. Some walked casually as seen through the misty glass plane.

'Always glued to their SCHD,' a tiny sigh escaped. '-Each year, more advanced models are released. The AI's keeps on revolutionizing an already perfect system,' the gaze befell his SCHD, '-can't believe you're five years old now,' the lips tightened to a muted chuckle. 'Though I use it, you belong to my sister,' he reminisced, the throat snapped on itself, a desperate sensation welled within. Normal breaths exhaled in deep inhales.

"Sayer," Jerry called from over the aisles, "-the boss wants you at Boycott now. Take one of the rejected lunch boxes and leave. Don't forget to put the uniform in the dirty section. Tomorrow is a holiday." Neatly combed hair and mustache paired to a little goatee felt foreign. The blond hair, though dyed, was quite a hit amongst the ladies. In awe, as if wiping sweat, Jerry caressed his forehead with a slight *humph.*

'Someone should tell him the store has an air conditioner.' He peered towards the snack section, a young lady bearing black hair stood on her toe. 'I see,' he noticed, '-I guess she's got a crush on pretty boy Jerry,' unbothered and not wanting to intervene, he followed behind the supervisor.

"Sayer," he paused while combing his hair, "-are you planning to work part-time jobs for the rest of your life? "Jerry asked harshly.

"Honestly," the uniform came off, "-I've no idea," he gave a nongenuine smile, "-there's a lot for me to take care of. If working several part-time jobs will make me more than a full-time job, then I'll gladly do so. Time will tell," backpack on, "-See you on Monday," the backdoor shut with a nod.

He journeyed along alleys used as a shortcut for students and workers alike. Headphones played under the hood's cover. The wind gathered to be a boon for it was hotter than usual.

'Her again,' a familiar blimp made another round thirty minutes later. 'The new album might sell quickly,' he paused and stared at the smiling idol Roxette.

"Thank you for all the support," read the caption under her confident peace-sign pose. Then continued the blimp on its voyage.

'Things never change,' he continued until the electrical shop. There, a lady waited with crossed arms, "-you made it earlier than usual," said she sharply.

"There wasn't a need to rush to the market," he took the headphones and squeezed inside.

"You go there all the time," she followed with an assistant, "-what's so great about it?"

"Nothing much," the smell of detergent lingered, "-Vegetables are often sold much cheaper in the afternoon. That's if you don't mind searching among the supposed rotten batch," he announced brazenly.

"Rotten batch?" asked Dimia with a narrowed stare, "-isn't that bad for you?" they waited in the backroom.

"Not really ma'am," the backpack opened, "-if you ask nicely, the vendors will always agree to let one sift through the garbage. Even with all the technology in the world, people will often go with what is prettiest and more appetizing. I can save up more and don't need to cut back on dinner as much."

"Cheer up," said she. They changed clothes separated by metal cabinets.

"Come on, ma'am," he solemnly returned and slithered up the oversized uniform; the lady kept a strong watch.

"Not it's any of my business," she approached, "-you need to put some meat on." Her large hands swarmed around his arms and non-existent biceps. Only his bones could be felt with a squeeze.

"Whatever you say," he ignored her hug, "-thanks for the lunchbox, I'm grateful," he left for the front with a nod, the secondary job began.

'That was out of character,' he thought and checked the register, '-Ma'am is never that touchy, especially to humans,' a glance revealed a star on her pearly right cheek. 'Not as if it matters. She's a quirky good person, same as anyone else,' the shift resumed.

The clock struck 17:00, "-Watch out," yelled Dimia. A blue display headed for Sayer. He narrowly dodged and voiced a polite "-be careful." The culprit, a hovering semi-transparent display showed the opening ceremony of Gian's tournament.

"Never thought you were interested in C-sports," he remarked.

"Don't get the wrong idea," she sat and gestured the displays to returned. "It slipped. My daughter loves to play Manticore, she has pestered me all week long to watch the qualifier. Here I am, I guess," her focus moved from Sayer to the shrunken display.

'The Interactive Hyde Dive,' he figured, '-a more advanced version of the SCHD. Acronym: I-HD – an interface that allows the host to command various displays at will. They don't need any physical medium – holograms with twice the processing power of any SCHD. That's the first time I've seen anyone use it outside commercial,' the eyebrow raised in shock, '-it costs a fortune, around 100,000 Bits. I've only heard of pro-gamers paying that much to custom build an SCHD,' the feet subconsciously tapped in agitation, curiosity about the qualifiers had him on edge.

"Rodger, do you mind handling the register?" ordered the lady across the store.

"On it," he waved and returned, "-go take your break," he took command and gave Sayer a brotherly tap.

"Come here," called Dimia, "-I saw you getting agitated," a swipe later, "-take this and go eat," a separate display from the I-HD.

"Thanks," he smiled, a single touch sufficed. Weightless and unaffected by gravity, if one was to push the display, it'd go on without losing momentum.

'Just look at them,' the camera panned across players sleeping inside pods. They laid horizontally. Displays showed health and in-game stats. 'They're all ripped and buff,' a special feature of I-HD allowed the viewer to freely roam around the virtual map.

'Electronic L.V versus Quadrum's Legion. Quadrum's Legion's using their intermediate team against Electronics' Semi-pro team. A show match between the runner-up and winner of last Gian. The map of choice is Vode, one favorite for beginners and veterans alike. Brings back memories – two bomb sites, one A and one B. The middle is usually a sniping fest for those in search of a quick fight. Apart from that, the A-side is relatively open and filled with abandoned buildings whilst the B-side is underground. The middle connects each site.' The players effortlessly walked to the middle, took cover behind metal doors, and peaked. The moment they aimed, *BANG,* headshot. 'The new kid from Quadrum's Legion has the Counter-Terrorist side on lockdown. He's standing with a gun that weighs more than ten kilograms. I'd be exhausted, not to mention the recoil, I can't imagine the pain he feels each time that gun fires. It's like being hit with a hammer.' On which, the five-versus-five began.

*The show-match begins, here we go people,* commentators voiced enthusiastically, *-eighteen years of age, Henry IV, a prodigy from Quadrum's Academy, will make his debut today. Let's see how he fairs against veterans.*

'Depending on how a player feels, teams are allowed to switch and change players however they wished. The exception is in the middle of a match. Outside of that, its fair game,' the last bite arrived, '-that was good,' he wiped his mouth, '-I'll watch the first round.'

Starting on the terrorist side, the young sniper knelt on the tenth floor of a building. Here, one could see sniper towers on A and B. Referred to as the land of the birds, players with sharp eyesight and lightning-fast reflexes were the chosen to stand on said plane. Below, any gun worked – as years went on, the concept of snipers watching the sky became a staple of the game. A tradition and un-told rule.

Henry IV waited patiently, the terrorist sniper tower had sights on the A and B site towers. The job of a sniper was to provide support. *Bang, bang,* '-two shots, two kills,' the commentators were awestruck. The shots were fired through a small gap used to spot anyone climbing up tower-A on the third floor. "-He just took out two in less than three seconds," yelled the commentator, *BZZZ,* the screen cut out.

"Back to work," interjected Dimia, "-hope you had fun," she waited at the door.

"I did," he returned and safeguarded the rest of the lunch.

'Still trying to save money,' she watched and shook her head. The box was split into three parts. Three since the food went bad on the fourth day, '-I can't imagine how much he has to sacrifice. A diligent worker who never asks for anything. At his age, the young folks are usually playing games trying to make a career. Not him though, he's rooted, never mind, rather, stuck in the better world, he's stuck to the real world. An age where all is virtual must be hard to abandon.'

"How may I help you sir?" the shift continued till 21:00. Cars were of lesser sight, the number of people diminished – shops closed. The giant flat screen right in front of the shop lit vividly.

'There goes the express line,' a loud woosh echoed. 'Can't believe that people built that thing above three-story high-shops,' he gazed emptily on the pavement.

"Go home already," ordered a sharp voice.

"Yes ma'am," he gave a startled reply and headed home. 'Tomorrow's my day off,' the store closed behind, '-I might need to visit Elise. There's the affair of paying her medical bills. Going by what I've earned, it's around 14,750 bits. Her bills will cost 9,000, my rent around 4,000, which leaves 750 for monthly expenses as 1,000 will be put towards that loan. Guess I'll take another job – I've got around 5,000 left to finish student loan,' mental calculations later, '-now that I think about it,' he reached inside the hoodie, '-I could sell this chain if it comes down to it. I'll probably get around 5,000 bits. It's the last thing I've inherited from mother – what is more valuable, a trinket or my liveliness?" music played.

A hefty walk later, '-I've made my decision. Sorry mother, I'll have to sell the chain you gave me. It's the only way I can think of surviving this month,' his chest tightened, the throat squeezed, eyes watered and fist clenched, '-having regrets won't help to save anything,' he waited underneath a lonesome lamppost, the night settled.

"I'M SICK OF THIS," he shouted, "-WHY DID YOU HAVE TO LEAVE ALL THIS RESPONSIBILITY TO ME!" tears of frustration flowed, "-why…" he sniffled, the nose brightened, the eyes stung, breathing felt painful. "Why, mother, why. Leaving me and Elise just like father so many years ago,"

*BANG,* he headbutted the metal lamp, '-calm down,' the erratic breathing slowed, '-getting angry won't serve anything. This is my fate, I have to keep it strong for Elise – that's my job as her big-brother,' the forehead burned. 'God damn it,' he touched the itchiness and saw blood., '-impulses, that's why you don't lash out, idiot,' he walked and pressed the wound with a tissue, '-I'm such an idiot.'