War Grounds 29 Familiar

Al was panting for air as he bent down, his hands resting on his knees. He's not a physically fit person.

'Is this really a workshop?' Al muttered to himself as he surveyed the one-story building. He was expecting an exquisite and fully furnished one.

"Finally, we're here! Welcome to my brother's secret hideout. Come." Sophia grinned, her physique is on another level. The long travel was just like a walk to the park for her. She immediately gestured a 'follow me' with her hand.

Knock knock!

It was an old and rusted pull-over gate made from corrugated galvanized steel.

A tiny hole that could only fit the size of an eye suddenly opened within the doorway.

Brown. It was the color of the iris that peeked through the small opening. The gaze was suspecting at first, but it was replaced with delight, upon its recognition of the visitors.

Brurrrrr.

A hidden man gate suddenly appeared from the surface of the roll-up. It opened in a loud manner.

'What a weird gate.' Al muttered.

"Sophia! How long has it been, since we've seen each other?" A bald, good-looking young man greeted.

"Eight hours ago?" Sophia rolled her eyes.

"Wow! That felt so long! Haha! Is he our new sacrificial lamb?" The man glanced an amusing look towards Al.

'Sacrificial lamb? Was I scammed?' Al was creeped out.

"Brother, this is Al Gentrix. He's a cla.s.smate of mine, and he had just recently created an account in War Grounds. He wants to represent your workshop in the upcoming Rookie Challenge." Sophia introduced.

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Solomon." Al bowed.

"No need for the formalities, Al. Just call me Sol. Come in, then. Welcome to my workshop!" Solomon grinned. 'Interesting, let's see what you got, kid.'

Solomon partially opened the hidden man-gate as Sophia led the way.

'What a dark room.' It was the first impression of Al as he peeked through the opening. He just wanted to make sure that this place was not a den of evil people. 'G.o.d of Fortune, please keep me safe.' The boy dearly prayed.

"No need to be shy, come. I'll show you around." Solomon immediately rea.s.sured Al upon noticing the hesitation in the latter's face.

"Aye." Al politely nodded, but his fingers were already on his phone, sending an emergency code to his best friend, Osho.

'SOS.'

It was the first stage of their emergency agreement. After ten minutes of no communication, the receiving party may a.s.sume that the other one was already in trouble.

Enter.

The room was indeed dark but dimly lit. It was arranged like an internet cafe.

Colorful light-emitting diodes (LED) illuminated the area. Sophia was previously telling the truth that her brother has a lot of 'Battle Stations.' However, most of it was already nonfunctioning.

'WisDOOM,' Al's attention was immediately captured by the colorful and huge letters mounted on the wall, located on the back of what seemed to be the server station of the workshop.

"Welcome to WisDOOM, Al. It's a start-up workshop that I have built from scratch. Hehe. Our budget is not that big as of the moment, as you can see." Solomon humbly welcomed the boy.

'One, two, three, four, five.' Al evaluated the value of the operation floor as he counted the number of what looked like treadmill machines. Only five units of Battle Stations were functioning, and the rest, which was around fifteen, were all sc.r.a.ps. It was, indeed, a start-up.

'Battle Station' is the term for the console used in playing War Grounds. The cheapest apparatus was made up of a stationary gaming chair, helmet, and handles.

Meanwhile, the better ones include extra power supplies to extend the stamina of players. Also, they have more health-friendly and ergonomic features, such as flexible lighting, which adjusts to the needs of the players' eyes to avoid long-term damages. In addition, a motion-sensory chair mimics the in-game gestures of users to mitigate the consequences of a sedentary lifestyle and provide a more realistic experience.

Players were not really required to execute the correct action in the virtual world of War Grounds, even though they have motion-sensory handles. Everything was controlled through one's mind, with the aid of the gaming helmet, and the hand equipment was just provided for players who prefer to do some execution with their hands, the better the gaming helmet, the smoother the integration between the player's brain waves and their in-game character.

Looking around, all of the Battle Stations were second-hand units. It was the initial a.s.sessment of Al.

Solomon was observing Al. The latter was sizing up his workshop.

It took a lot of Solomon's savings to transform this unused warehouse into a workshop. However, up until now, he had only recruited three players to join his cause.

Three players were currently immersed in their respective Battle Stations; however, they immediately stopped, upon the sound of a 'click.'

Solomon turned on the lights. *Clap clap.

"Alright, huddle up, everyone! Meet our new member!"

Three boys immediately emerged from their Battle Stations.

The tallest of the three was the first to arrive. He was around twenty years old, and his hair was messy.

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"Hi. My name is Harvy Giddy." It was a lifeless introduction. He was wearing a shabby black jacket that was too fitting for his lean body. His facial expression was that of a bored person.

'Eh? Am I already part of the team? Sounds exciting.' Al helplessly mocked, inwardly. "Hi! I'm Al Gentrix! Nice to meet you!" However, he replied with full of energy.

Solomon was pleased. 'Finally, someone who could break the ice has arrived.'

"Hey! Glad to have you here! I'm Jack McHeart." A neat looking boy, wearing spectacles, and a b.u.t.toned white s.h.i.+rt extended his right hand.

'Finally, a sensible teammate.' Al cheered inwardly. 'Nice to meet you, Jack!' They shook hands with each other.

The last one to arrive was an adult. He was plump and shorter than Al. His face was covered with a brown beard, and his round nose was huge. "Patrick Gadlock." It was a high-pitched tone that was demanding respect.

'Eh? Why does this old man look familiar?' When Al saw Patrick, he was not at ease. A hostile sense of feeling was stirring in his heart. He does not like this person.

"Hi," Al simply nodded his head as a response to the bland introduction from Patrick.

'He looks like a dwarf.' It was Al's naughty impression. Looking at the tiny man before him, he was suppressing himself from laughing.