The 13th striker was terribly bored, staring languidly at the group of geezers in front of him who were bickering about problems they encountered. He was sleazing on the chair, until he found another optimal position and imagined what he could do with this precious time instead of sitting here, listening to their ranting.
Playing. Sleeping. Eating. Heck, even cleaning the dishes sounded more appealing. Not that he ever had to clean the dishes after turning seven. This was the age they took him in the programme and he was trained to become one of the strikers. He was given the choice to work in many jobs after his graduation. But becoming a striker was by far the most demanding job as well as the most rewarding one. After he rose to the top hundred, he earned 10.000€ monthly. It doubled after he got rank 50. Being in the top 20 earned him half a million every year. So his definition of work was almost as much out of touch as his common sense regarding a normal worker.
He didn't need to work hard to achieve his rank. Sure, he had to prove himself, but his effort was miniscule. And he had no ambition to strive higher. He didn't want to compete with the other strikers. At the same time, none of them dared to challenge him because they needed their positions. If they decreased, a lowered income would be the least they had to worry about.
Strikers were privileged but could fall from glory just as fast as they could rise. If they weren't as good anymore as before, dozens clawed at the pillar they stood on until they fell. Most of them were in their teens or early adulthood. Only a few of them were above thirty. It was a cutthroat business. Some were forced to step down, others couldn't handle the pressure anymore.
The 13th striker wasn't experiencing any of this conflict. At least he didn't put any competition in his eyes. His flawless performance and perfect executions of orders was unmatched. Even the single digit strikers hadn't had such high ratings.
"Why did it take so long to erase the virus? We send you to directly eliminate it, not play action hero with it!" One of the geezers hollered and 13 picked his ear to block his screams.
His score had been like this. After the least mission, his unshakable rating was imperfect. He needed more than 20 minutes until the error was gone. And what the geezers didn't know: He wasn't even the one who erased it. But this horrid rating was already enough, so he closed his mouth firmly regarding the exact happenings.
And since the whole server was still recovering from the virus, the data of his fight was lost and couldn't be retrieved. He knew a thing or two about the supercomputers, after he grew up beside them. Maybe he even handled them better than some of the technicians keeping them running. So he knew that they couldn't find out about his further failure.
"13!" roared one of the old women at him, after he didn't answer the old man in front of him which ranted his frustrations at him. He yawned, then stood up. With his slight accent, he told them calmly: "If you have anything substantial to say, mail it to me. I have no time to listen to your nonsense-spouting." Leaving them, some their mouth gaping, faces mixtures of shock, surprise and rising anger, he went down the hallway. When two guards halted in front of him, grabbed him by the arms and dragged him back to the meeting room, he didn't resist.
13 let it happen calmly. He would be inflicted with no harm. Because his worth was enormous, even the higher rank developers wouldn't and couldn't touch him. Even when they were fully enraged like right now.
"What is with this attitude!" The same man from earlier complained more than berated him. At least it sounded like a wailing toddler instead of a renowned cyber specialist to him.
"Report us on everything that happened in those 20 minutes! Why was your mission delayed? And how exactly did you erase the virus? What method of erasing did you use?" one of the other geezers questioned him.
He just eyed them curiously. Normally, a slightly longer report was due if the erasing took longer, but there were over fifteen of high ranking developers and technicians in this room. Why were they ruffled like this? What made them this restless?
"Tell me first, by any chance, did the virus infiltrate other parts of the system? Or do you fear that I didn't erase it completely?"
There was silence. Their eyes told him nothing. But this was enough for him to grasp that something must have happened.
Suddenly, the door opened, and one of the lead developers came in. He was young, at least compared with the geezers, maybe in his mid-thirties. The striker didn't know much about this man except for his position, looks and name, Bennett Jiant.
"Have you found the reason?" he simply asked in the group of people who all didn't dare to utter a single word.
"What happened?" He asked, but still kept his curiosity out of his voice.
The unfeeling eyes of the lead developer turned to him. He was only a few centimeters taller than him, but the look in his eyes was one of a ruthless businessman and made him feel smaller than his usual height.
The man looked at him briefly, then smirked a provoking smile: "You failed your mission, striker 13." he simply said, turned away from him and his commanding tone of voice let the old people look at their feet and act like children who just tried stealing cookies.
"I expect your report in 24 hours. If you fail to meet the deadline or are unable to uncover the reason, your pay for the month will be halved.
He looked at the 13th striker. "All of your salaries." he said, his eyes glinting almost viciously.
Then the executive left the meeting room and the eyes of the people darted towards him, who was already halfway through the door, because they didn't pay attention towards him.
But he was dragged back and questioned, but he refused to answer if they wouldn't share their knowledge with him. After an hour they gave up and he returned to his apartment. He had a few properties in the city, but preferred to stay in the apartment if he had to work. In the main building of this tech and game company, many games were running and developed. One of the companies gems, 'Cerulean Skies - Mysteries of Falan', a huge MMORPG, was his main workplace where he had to control the happenings in game, ban problematic players by pretending to be an overpowered boss, keep hackers and cheaters at bay and help the game run smoothly. Added to this, he also had a few accounts to push the game's popularity. No matter which strange or challenging request was thrown at him, he would excel without breaking a sweat. So he wondered what exactly happened after he was distracted and the demon escaped. He knew that another player was there when he was about to exterminate the virus. She even attacked him and hindered him for a few seconds. But as he was following the demon who flew away, maybe in a futile attempt to escape, the virus was suddenly erased and then he was thrown out of the game. Sometimes, servers needed a restart, but the game was down for a few days. He wanted to find out what exactly happened but the geezers had to interrupt him in his free time.
This overtime wasn't part of his job. And because he already made a report that fit the demands, developers weren't allowed to ask him again. At least they couldn't force him to answer.
But they still robbed him of his free time. The game must already be online once again. He wanted to find out what exactly transpired. What would be better than to find the player who attacked him that night. He could ask her thoroughly and if she refused he would just take away her character by imprisoning her or freeze it completely if she refused to answer.
The 13th striker couldn't wait to amuse himself.