Intermission: “Birthday”

—XX/XX/2006

“Happy birthday to you...” XX’s androgynous voice was scratching its way out of Akira’s headphones.

XX’s singing was totally off-pitch — almost unbearable. Recently, Akira and XX had been communicating via voice chat as well as text. While voice chatting is a cornerstone of online co-op nowadays, it wasn’t a mainstream feature back then.

“Happy birthday, dear Akira... Now you’re practically thir-ty!”

“Shut up! Get a job, you moron. Heard of a recruitment center?”

“Hey! That’s not chat-appropriate language!”

“Go work like a dog. Be a corporate pawn. Grind the rest of your life away as nothing but a replaceable cog in the machine of society.”

“Ow! Ow! My ears!” The content of their conversation was the same as usual, except that both Akira and XX were audibly intoxicated. “Meanie. Here I am, spending time with poor lonesome Akira who’s all alone on his birthday and forever.”

“Whatever. I can’t be bothered to go outside.”

“Wait, what about that girl? You two are over, already?”

“Since, like, a while ago. We both just wanted something easy. ’Course it wouldn’t last.” Akira poured more whiskey into his glass. The ice cubes clinked. “I’ll find someone again. Won’t take long, anyway.”

Akira went through glass after glass of whiskey. XX could tell how fast he was downing them just from his audio.

2006 was the year when Akira Ono had hit rock bottom. He hit up girls online and IRL nonstop, always keeping at least a dozen women at his beck and call. Some called him a player, and others called him a manipulative man-whore. His old fearlessly confident demeanor was nowhere to be found. His days were filled with depravity, as if he were slowly drowning. The black hole had devoured everything, leaving nothing but a pile of rubble in its wake, and the internet had become a wasteland, as far as the eye could see. Akira Ono had earned some free time in exchange for being forced to shut down the Game. His debauchery was getting worse by the day, and anyone would have deemed him hopeless. Outside of work, he spent all of his time on booze and women. Time felt like a repetitious spiral, utterly devoid of productivity.

“You’re kind of a douchebag when you don’t have anything to be creative about, Akira. Like a piece of human garbage. Worthless like cockroach dung, or space debris!”

“Shut the hell up and get a job. Pay your taxes. You think you’re on some year-round summer break?”

“I can’t! Really! I just found this out. I’m sick. What’s it called...? Right, ‘narcolepsy.’”

“...The one where you can’t stay awake? Why’ve I never heard of it? When does it hit you, anyway?”

“Every time I try to find a job, I just get so tired. I’m a total narco.”

“...I bet a punch in the face would make you pretty narco, too.”

The clinking of ice cubes could be heard from Akira’s end, and the opening of a beer can from XX’s. Both of them had lost count of how much they had to drink.

“Why don’t you take that job you were talking about? Then you can make an even better world.”

“What the hell am I supposed to do now? I lost everything.”

“...Your old pal XXX might come back.”

“Who gives a crap! If there’s anything I hate, it’s traitors! He just spewed a bunch of bullshit and disappeared... Good riddance!”

“Sounds like you’re having another tough day... You’re still cute when you’re frustrated, Akira!”

“Bleh... I’m turning off voice chat.”

“Woah, wait! Wait! One last thing!”

“Huh?”

“...I’ll be waiting. No matter how long it takes.”

His vision blurry from the alcohol, Akira disconnected without a reply, and fell onto his bed. Having had a few too many, a particular song kept refraining in his head.

Happy birthday to you...

“No matter how long? I don’t even know the next time I’ll talk to... Wait...”

(How old was XX? Was XX a dude or a chick? What was... their name?)

“Heh. How drunk am I...? Let’s hit the sack.” Akira mumbled to himself and closed his eyes.

It would take quite some time until this man would truly awaken...