Max struggled to stifle a yawn. He shifted in his stiff and uncomfortable wooden seat, the harsh, grating sound of the chair echoing through the nearly empty courtroom. Casting a glance to his left and right, Max took note of the only other person in the spectator's row: an older gentleman with thinning gray hair, a button-up shirt that had clearly seen better days, and a black binder resting on his lap. Max really couldn’t fathom how someone would be interested enough in this case to spend 7 whole hours of their spare time on a chair that felt like sitting on a black of granite, listening to an expert witness drone on about algorithmic analysis and industrial discharge like a broken record. Then again, the man looked old enough that he might just not have anything better to do with his day. There was also the fact that he had been asleep for about a solid hour now.
He watched as the man snored, a wet, rumbling sound that made Max even more desperate to escape the dreary atmosphere of the courtroom. Reluctantly, he tried to focus his attention back on the court proceedings down below. On the big teleprompter, upfront seemed to be some kind of technical diagram. Something about gases, maybe? It was far too small for him to decipher anything from the visitors' gallery. Max felt like he should be frustrated by that, but honestly, it was a relief. It spared him the pain of trying to understand what was going on.
Reaching into his pocket, he remembered that he didn’t have his phone with him. Could they actually take that from him? He had a press ID after all, l and in any case they’d never had him leave his phone before. But the young security guard had seemed so confident that he hadn’t dared argue back. If only he had his smartphone, Max could do something to make the time pass even a little bit quicker, but like this, he was forced to endure the monotonous stream of information from down below that he already knew wouldn’t make it into the article in any case. Readers were far more interested in learning about the heated exchanges between attorney and judge about whether everyone had received an email than reading about the technical minutia of the case. Max couldn’t blame them.
When his editor-in-chief had praised the court case as the biggest local economic scandal, he had actually allowed himself to be a little excited. Maybe coming back home wasn’t the death of his career. Maybe just maybe he could find something exciting in this dead little town to write about. He would do his research and report on it thoroughly, going above and beyond what was expected of him. He would win awards and yeah, perhaps he didn’t hack it as a big time journalist in the capital, but he would write the shit out of this court case and at least he’d end up a damn good local reporter. That’s how he had imagined it, at least.
Instead, it took all his willpower - of which he did not have a lot - to even force himself to listen to the proceedings at all. Let alone take notes. Turns out, even the biggest local economic scandal in a boring small town is still boring and very small.
The presiding judge's sharp voice tore him out of his train of thought, its shrill tone like a whip crack in the silence of the courtroom. His heart pounded as he gathered his papers, relieved that the session was finally over. Finally… finally his suffering had an end. Now just quickly write the damn thing in the newsroom, and then he could get back home. He thought about grabbing a quick bite on the way home, the image of a greasy burger and crispy fries making his mouth water.
Once home, he planned to crack open a bottle of red wine and curl up with the latest chapter of Spellsword, the web novel he had been following religiously for years. Tonight after an excruciating almost two months long break there was going to be a new chapter. Max couldn’t suppress a small grin when thinking about it. The last chapter had left off in the middle of an exhilarating fight, and he just couldn’t wait how Tristan Knightley would come out ahead. The S-Rank Demon had him basically cornered. Of course, it wasn’t really a question of whether Tristan would win the fight and rather how.
As a fighter with an epic-ranked class “Spellsword” he combined the might of both swordplay and arcane knowledge. Spellsword was a web novel Max had been following religiously for a few years at this point. In it, the regular world was suddenly besieged by so-called rifts - portals to pocket dimensions that housed monsters or challenges. Were those monsters not defeated in time, the rifts would burst, and the calamities would spill out onto earth. With the rifts showed up the rankers, previously normal humans that through a game-like system of levels and skills could defeat humanity's enemies and grow ever stronger.
Tristan was the only Ranker known with the class of Spellsword, allowing him to use both physical attacks and magic. That let him rise through the ranks and quickly garner a reputation on a global level. Spellsword had been there for Max through the worst time in Berlin. It had been his safe haven for whenever things didn’t go right in his life. Through the stoic Tristan, he could imagine himself faced with an impossible catastrophe, rising to the challenge and growing to be the man he felt like was slumbering inside him.
But for the past couple of weeks, the author had been on hiatus for an undisclosed length. It had been rough on Max, but finally the author had announced that he would publish a new chapter tonight. He couldn’t wait to devour it. Maybe Tristan even gained another level after finishing off the Demon?!
But first things first. He glanced down at his notebook, his heart sinking at the sparse scribbles on the page. They weren't even close to enough. Yet, he'd have to make it work somehow. Max scrambled to throw all his things into a leather bag and slung the strap over his shoulder. If he had to pick one thing that he liked about being back in his hometown, then it was probably this bag. It was a stylish totem bag made from high-quality leather. He liked how it felt when he ran his fingers over the smooth material, and without boasting could say it made him look quite fashionable. It had been a gift from his mother. Her way of trying to make the transition a little easier for him. Max appreciated that, even though he didn’t feel like he could tell her face-to-face.
As he walked out of the courthouse, he grinned at the old man who had finally woken up. "See you next time," he called out. The man mumbled a response, barely coherent. Max made his way to the security guards, feeling a flare of annoyance rise inside him. He was sure that as a member of the press, he was absolutely allowed to have his phone inside the courtroom. He was ready to vent his frustrations on the young, good-looking security guard who had confiscated his belongings in the morning. But when he reached the guard, all his fury dissipated at the sight of the too-polite smile on his face. Max managed to say, "I'd like to have my things back", but couldn't muster any more anger than that. Once his belongings were returned, he pathetically thanked the guard. It was better not to cause a scene. He could always bring the matter up next time if they tried to do the same thing.
Leaving the courthouse, Max immediately pulled out his headphones, blasted some alternative grunge playlist and tried his best to completely blend out the world while walking back to the newsroom. He was glad to have his phone back, but it was kind of sad just how little he had missed. No calls and the only message he got was from his mother: “Hey Maxi, I hope you are having a great day! Do you want to come by for Dinner this weekend? Love, Mom.” He decided to message her later. Max really didn’t want to deal with that right now. It wasn’t that he didn’t get along with his mother. Quite the opposite. By all accounts, his mom was… well, pretty much amazing. Supportive, full of love, non-judgemental. Always excited and interested in even the most benign anecdote from his work. And yet, every time he spent time with her - especially after moving back to his hometown - it made him feel uneasy. Like her unending cheeriness and support was just a charade. A fake cover for the deep shame and disappointment she must actually feel underneath. Max just couldn’t bear having to tell her about his boring and meaningless day one more time. He felt like a kid again, returning home from school only to be peppered with questions.
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
So instead of answering her message, he checked the four different dating apps he was using to discover that he had not a single match. Apparently, online-dating hadn’t reached the small town in rural Germany yet. If his romantic life had been in trouble before moving, then it was well and truly dead now. Frustrated, he shoved his phone back into his pocket.
As some female singer screamed enthusiastically into his ear, he let his gaze wander over the familiar scenery. He had known Brückenfeld all his life and even though he never particularly liked it, he could at least on some abstracted philosophical level enjoy just how serene it was. The timber framed buildings that made up most of the city center gave the small town a rustic feel. People were enjoying the warm July sun. There were some young families pushing strollers along, old couples who’d likely lived there for decades, teens enjoying their ice cream on a sidewalk. It was an idyllic paradise and he absolutely hated it. Max just didn’t feel like he fit in here. He missed the busyness and bustling noise of Berlin. He liked the feeling of getting lost in the crowd, of not knowing who your neighbors are. He just wasn’t a small town kind of guy.
At least, everything was close together. After just ten minutes of leisurely walking, Max opened the door to the small newsroom and stepped inside. Without even taking out his headphones, he marched past his colleagues and slumped down at his desk. He plugged his laptop into his workstation.
A quick glance at the digital clock in the bottom right of his screen revealed that he had just under two hours to finish his article and give his editor time to read whatever he hammered into his keys before the pages had to be sent off to printing. Not a long time at all, but probably sufficient to warrant a quick detour to the Spellsword Forum. He basically had spent all day working. He deserved a little bit of time to relax!
The forum didn’t have anything new on the upcoming chapter - at least not since checking it for an hour that morning - but after getting into an argument with a user called Superbrotherman who dared to suggest that Tristan was possibly going to lose the fight, Max was shocked to realize that he’d just wasted a good 30 minutes. Peaking over his monitor, he assured himself that none of the other writers had noticed, probably. He got out his notebook and started furiously typing.
With the relevant court data on a second monitor to his right, he began trying to turn tedious 7 hours into something resembling news. Just 10 Minutes after his actual deadline - which if you think about it is basically still in time - he sent the article off to be read by his editor. He felt more than a little bad that Hannah was going to have barely any time now. But that feeling was washed away by the overwhelming relief that he had finished it.
While gathering his stuff, he started to glance nervously in the direction of her office. He hated this part. More than the monotonous slog of the court process, and more than the stress of meeting the deadlines. The simple fact that he knew that Hannah was reading his article right now, ripping it to shreds and getting ready to tell him exactly what he was doing wrong. He started nervously pacing up and down. The office was empty at these hours, most people having finished the work some time ago. Though Max had been too preoccupied to even see them leaving.
After another nerve wrecking ten minutes he heard Hannah call out of her office, “Max, could you come in for a second?” He just barely kept himself from groaning
Hannah greeted him with a beaming smile when he entered. She was young for her position, a woman in her early thirties, just a few years older than Max himself. Hannah donned a stylish dark green blazer over a black graphic tee shirt featuring a cartoon Max had never heard of.
“Your article was fantastic! It seems like you are really hitting your stride. The way you captured the attorneys' squabbling really made me laugh.” She giggled in a very un-boss-like fashion, displaying her big white teeth. They would be perfect if not for the slightly crooked bottom row. Something she tried and failed to conceal when laughing. It made her appear somehow more appealing in Max’ mind than if they were simply perfectly aligned.
“I stumbled across a few things. Do you mind taking a look at it with me?” Max sat down, “Sure. Of course.” He replied. Not trying to be too nonchalant about it. There it was. She always said that. Just a couple of things and then it would turn into one hour lectures on all his inadequacies.
He had to remind himself to concentrate on the neat annotations she had made between the lines. The way Hannah was absentmindedly toying with her long, naturally blonde curls while perusing the preprint of his article reminded him of the furious crush he had harbored on her when he interned at the place during college.
He liked Hannah, really. She was intelligent, passionate about her job and brought a breath of fresh air to an old newspaper that desperately needed it. She was also funny, nerdy, and - although he probably shouldn’t think about his superior like that - incredibly pretty. The point was, there was no reason they shouldn’t get along.
Despite that, he always found himself on guard with her. She elicited in him the same mix of emotions that those he perceived as his superiors always did. On the one hand, he desperately craved her approval, on the other her mere presence brought up a bitter sort of envy inside him. He was well aware of this fact and although he didn’t particularly relish it, he seemed to get ensnared by it again and again.
He nodded along with whatever she told him, scarcely paying attention to the criticism at all. What he did hear were embarrassing slips that he had made a million times. How was it that in books people always seemed to learn their lesson immediately or at least in a timely manner?
Sure, they might have to undergo hellish training or be berated by a strict condescending master, but in the end, they actually improved. Conversely, Max felt like he made the same mistakes over and over and over again. And no matter how many times someone told him or how deeply he ruminated on it, they always reemerged.
After what felt like a small eternity but was probably close to 15 minutes, they got through her litany of criticisms. Max wanted nothing more than to just go home and read, forget for a few hours that he would have to come back tomorrow and repeat the whole process.
When Hannah finished making the alterations to his article, Max wasted no time in making his exit. But before he could leave, Hannah stopped him with a serious look on her face. Was it pity or concern that he saw in her eyes? He tried to give her a friendly smile, knowing that this conversation was not going to be good.
"Max...are you okay?" Hannah asked, her concern evident. "You've been a bit...quiet."
He sighed inwardly. He knew he was terrible at hiding his feelings. "Yeah, I've just been dealing with a nasty headache. I think I just need some sleep."
Hannah didn't look convinced. "I know it's probably not really what you had in mind, but I'm glad to have you working here."
Max didn't know what to say to that. This job was definitely not what he had in mind for his career. It felt like he had taken a monumental step down. He felt like a foreign object in this small town full of small problems and small people. But he couldn't tell her that. Instead, he gave her a smile that he knew she could see right through and said, "I'm glad to be here too. It's good to be home." What a lie. It was anything but good to be here.
"If you ever need to talk about anything..." Hannah tried to reach out to him.
He knew she saw right through his facade. "Listen, I should really head home. My headache..."
Hannah just looked at him with the same expression, one he would give a sick puppy. "Okay. You rest well and have a good night."
"Yeah...good night." Max replied and quickly fled. He scolded himself for not speaking up, but it was too late now. He would just have to do better in the future. For now, he had the evening to himself. Just him, a burger from the shop around the corner, a bottle of dry red, and the next chapter of Spellsword. At least he had something to look forward to.
Max opened the door leading out of the newsroom and stepped through. In the next moment, the world turned black, and the air was filled with agonized screams.