Earth churns beneath his feet. Todd lurches to a clumsy halt, his cleats gripping into the grassy turf. Breathing ragged and wheezily, Todd grimaces as the shooter in front of him turns mid sprint. Clenched teeth, leaning his center back, Todd pushes straining exhausted legs to backpedal and dead reverse his run. He feels the strain in his ankles, in his lungs, in his hips, along with the lactic hurt of overtaxed muscles. But deep in his heart, he knows he cannot outrun his opponent. Flashing a predatory, toothy smile the enemy pulls away first by inches and then by feet.

Todd curses every man, ghost, or god who might have been responsible for the invention of Soccer.

The standard regulation battlefield of the sport is one hundred punishing yards long, with 10 players on either team, along with a special player called a goalie who guards the scoring net. The two teams are spread out, mixed in Red and Yellow mesh jerseys across the field. In an unseasonable May heat, all the players sport sleeveless shirts under their team colors, along with embarrassingly high shorts and plastic armored shin protectors. On either side of the field are arrayed a lazing sparse crowd of friends, family and one or two league officials. No small percentage of them have aluminum cans of beer in their hand, or canvas lawn chairs to lounge in. They look infuriatingly comfortable.

Todd gives chase for a few more token yards before the opposing striker taps the rolling ball with his foot, nimbly changing course and weaving around Todd’s friend Randall who had come to intercept. Now on a collision course with each other, Todd and Randall break down to a canter before stopping at arm’s length.

“He’s unstoppable!” Randall laughs, having reached the ‘Acceptance’ stage of grief over their team’s inevitable defeat.

“Like a force of freakin’ nature,” Todd groans, but it turns into a whuffing chuckle. He raises his fist and Randall does the same, and they bump knuckles in a casual gesture of rapport. By the time they reverse direction, a goal has already been scored against their team, and they change course again to reset the ball for kickoff.

Intramural sports didn’t originally sound like Todd’s idea of a good time. No, he liked to call himself a ‘retired’ athlete. Retired in the sense that he played a few golden years of pee wee soccer, and then summer swim team up through the better part of high school. Since then, college has not been a time of personal body improvement, and he has a bit of a beer belly to show for it. He would have thought three months of intramural sports might have put a dent in his pudgy middle, but the dream of achieving a refined, manly six pack is still a distant fantasy.

Todd swipes the edge of his palm across his forehead like a squeegee, and then shakes off a spatter of perspiration. His unruly dark hair keeps noodling its way into his eyes, so he starts fiddling with it idly until his teammate Sarah swats him irritatedly in the shoulder and Todd snaps back into reality.

Not all of his teammates are resigned to the loss yet, and Todd sees he’s getting a few frustrated looks which he can only respond to with an apologetic shrug. What can he do though? The score is two to nil with only ten minutes remaining. If he had a chance to recover, maybe he could rally for one last push, but there was no time. Plus the summer sun has baked him beet red even through his thick layer of runny sunscreen. His red jersey, blooming with sweat and evaporating just as fast; has already built up the disgusting white rings of lost body salt.

Todd decided his team could give him a break.

The league referee approaches with a dawdling lope, and Todd notices the official has at some point picked up a beer of her own. He shakes his head in mock displeasure, but fails to hold back a shit-eating grin.

Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.

“Got some for me?” Todd asks.

“Score a point, nerd,” she replies, deadpan. “Maybe I’ll get you one.” Then she returns the same kind of honest goofy grin.

“Joe!” The referee calls out, not quite turning to look at the man she’s calling to. “Hustle up! If you’re gonna beat these babies so bad, at least you can do it quick!”

Not entirely content to take the insult just yet, Todd looks back, to the player that single handedly crushed his team’s chances at reaching the semi finals.

Joseph Faucheux grabs the hand of another player, and then claps them reassuringly on the shoulder with his other. It does not seem to matter that Joe is wearing a yellow jersey, and his opponent is wearing red. Todd can see the enemy captain saying something, but can’t make it out. Todd notices that his teammate has suddenly chosen to be happy to lose. Traitor, he think to himself.

But then Joe jogs forward, tips a goofy salute to the ref and then reaches for Todd's hand too. Todd reaches forward because muscle memory tells him it is required, then finds himself in a firm, friendly grip.

“Almost had me there, Drips,” the tall young man says, in some mysterious way that immediately communicates the nickname is Todd’s, the reason he’s earned it, and a heavy Karmic weight that signals that it could stick for months.

“Maybe if we weren’t playing the bionic man,” Todd replies, feeling a little weird being singled out. He releases his hand as fast as politely appropriate, and steps back to avoid a shoulder slap.

Joe laughs, which is a sound which cuts, dices, and purees resentment. Todd can’t sense an ounce of ill will in Joe, it’s hard to stay mad at that.

“Naw, brother!” Joe hollers dramatically for effect, turning his palms up and addressing the Ref as much as Todd. “I’m one hundred percent man, baby.”

The Ref snorts, unimpressed.

“Candra knows,” Joe says, grinning.

“If you want to brag about your little showing at Polar Bear Plunge,” Candra jabs at him with her beer hand, holding a smirk in check. “I’d say it’s smarter to keep that to yourself.”

“Polar Bear?” Todd asks, for Sarah’s benefit as she joins them in position at the mid field.

“Winter morning,” Candra arches an eyebrow and sips delicately on her beer like its a punctuation mark. “Skinny dipping.”

Todd and Sarah both flinch a little bit theatrically to oversell the effect. Joe chuckles, clearly having set up the joke at his own expense on purpose. But it can’t last long, the game still has a few minutes left, so Candra waves both teams apart, then motions for the ball. She catches the low flung ball with one hand and a graceful beer cradling stoop, then sets it on the starting mark to withdraw.

Todd looks at Joe, at Candra, at his friends Sarah and Randall, he looks at the ball with its simple black and white Telstar pattern and realized two things. One, that win or lose, the game after-party was going to be so much fun. And two, these months, playing on this team; probably were going to go down as some of the best days of his life.

Scratch that, he's realized three things. He shares a devilish look at Sarah which, when she recognizes it, she seems to catch like the fever. She knows, and he knows what was going to happen. See, come hell or high water, they were going to score a goal today.

It was like tunnel vision, Todd could only see the goal ahead of him, the ball and the defender in his way. The whistle blares and he taps the ball to Sarah and explodes forward, legs pumping as he jukes left. Taken a bit by surprise, Joe hesitates deciding which to pursue and Sarah cuts right. She doesn’t make it far, but that’s okay. She tips the ball backwards to ‘Stoner’ Carlos who is shocked enough by the change in attitude that he actually manages to jump into action. The ball bounces to Randall, who hurls himself forward in a staggering lurch just in time to launch a long high ball forward. Sarah pivots to intercept. Is surrounded. Sees one choice. Passes to Todd. Undefended. A cheer from the sideline. He shoots.

Puts everything into it. His exhaustion, his worries about the future, his lonely post-breakup nights, his dad’s heart attack. Everything goes into that kick, and he feels powerful. Powerful like his life is finally his own again.

And then suddenly, out of nowhere and everywhere, a voice chimes out.

[Initiating System...]

[Welcome to the Multi-Verse.]

And the whole of planet Earth winks away into nothingness.