The Export

On Another Level

The morning after the Telezone series was snipped from the fabric of time. Should it have existed, Clarke might have enjoyed a relaxing stroll, or a trip to the hotel's spa. Instead, there was void. The only option was to sleep  through the day, only returning to the work when  Lupin's mid-afternoon wake up call and alarms from the room adjacent became so annoying with their stabbing tones and tedious repetition that actually waking-putting feet to floor and wafting the duvet away to surrender to the chilly air-to murder whoever owned the devices became the logical choice. 

Tumbling onto the hardwood flooring, Clarke could barely stand, his legs gave way on the first few attempts. He stalked towards the noise and found them as he'd assumed. Abandoned. Whichever fiend that had set the alarm had forgotten about it, it was another man's problem now. It was Clarke's problem, and he had something to say to the person interrupting his Post-Absorption, Post-Telezone defeating adrenaline dump, Post-biggest match of  his career, rest. Then, he remembered. The world didn't revolve around him and his band of adopted idiot brothers who smelled of gamers and left their rubbish lying around their rooms to add to the mess Clarke had to wade through should he reach the damned alarm. 

The world continued. Perhaps their wasn't a void in time as he'd assumed. Today, after all, LIFE played against ONE Esports.

Europe tallied two wins-two semi-finalists-after The Port's 5th game victory added to PSG's 3-1 earlier victory against Jiindong. Xhu had made a point of hiding the results of the earlier series from his players, so they hadn't found out until they returned to their hotel. PSG and JiinDong had opened the week of games and the day after Xiao took his final bow, so did Jensen and The Port's American counterpart, New York Clouds, in a thrilling 4 game series against Titan Gaming. Having been barely expected to secure a single sentry or kill across the series, taking a game from Titan was enough for USA to see their interest in the tournament die off with a smile on their face. 

After NYC fell, The Port took their turn against Telezone-winning, and my god how brilliant did it feel-before the final match of the week, the one for purists, the one for the neutrals. Armchair analysts and the cohort of gambling sites scavenging of the tournament finally reached the day they'd been waiting for. Europe's 1st seed vs Korea's 1st seed, Meijin of the mid-lane Souya vs the new Korean dynasty, with their phenomenal rookie, aptly-named Carry, in the solo side-lane and the ever consistent veteran marksmen, the 'King of Korea', Cry on the other end of the map. The future of Korean PRIDE took centre stage with it's past and it's present. And that genealogy was holier than a Roman Empires. ONE were a blend of explosive skill-besting Telezone in a fast-paced KPL finals-and wily wit, experience and composure.

LIFE have Souya. Was Clarke's answer when asked who would win the match billed as the 'thinking man's series'. That billing was probably why he slept through the first couple hours of action, dragged from his slumber just in time so witness the climax. He made his way down The Port's designated floor, towards the honeymoon suite they had converted to their function room. Excited commentary was diffracting down the hall and Clarke tensed as he waited to decipher some form of a result.

"Just how bizarre it would be, to see the 1st and 2nd Korean seed to lose back to back." Were the first words to greet Clarke's groggy brain as he entered the team's luxury suite turned practice headquarters.

"You look terrible." Sheila told him as he yawned his way through the door. She was hovering around the kitchen area with CaZ and some of the coaches; ever a fine sight, even when she was in casual clothes and Clarke's inhibitions were lowered by fatigue so he was particularly perceptive. Better to not speak and make a fool of himself, he nodded in agreement and joined the others, before pausing for a moment. 

When was the last time I spoke to you? He wondered of Sheila. Ever-present, he couldn't remember her in the background of the recent episodes. She was gone. She'd already signed for another team. Clarke stopped himself eyeing her and walked towards the commentary.