"Yes, gaffer," came David's voice, echoing slightly in his apartment.
A moment ago, he had been locked in a brutal one-on-one Call of duty match with Zoey, where he was losing embarrassingly. Every tactical decision he made had been countered, every Offensive maneuver shredded apart. He was staring down yet another humiliating defeat—until, like a lifeline from the heavens, his phone rang.
Seeing the caller ID, he had instantly picked up. It was Ole Gunnar Solskjær. His coach—well, ex-coach now. It was a convenient escape from his virtual thrashing, but more than that, the call carried a certain weight.