The Last Bonjwa

The Last Bonjwa

Copyright 2013 Jeremy Reimer

Published by Jeremy Reimer at Smashwords

Table of Contents

Twilight in Korea

On the run

Disguises

Preparation

Shanghai

Osaka

Seoul

Stockholm

Calm before the storm

Blizzcon

Epilogue

About Jeremy Reimer

Other books by Jeremy Reimer

Connect with Jeremy Reimer

Twilight in Korea

The golden fleet flew silently across the starry background, its massive ships vibrating with ancient energies. Alongside the behemoth space carriers were a flotilla of odd-looking vessels that resembled rotating crystal chandeliers, accompanied by a host of smaller support ships. Behind them, slowly but surely, followed a host of lumbering giants with massive golden pincers, each one carrying a spinning spark of energy that was building and building, just waiting for a chance to hurl itself across the stars at its mortal enemies.

Then the screen shifted, and was replaced with a close-up image of a young man in his late twenties, with freckled skin and a mop of curly orange hair. The camera zoomed in on his face and he grinned.

Now the focus was back on the space battle. The golden fleet charged in, and each one of the chandelier-like Void Rays activated their secret weapon: the Prismatic Alignment. The enemy Corruptors, terrifying one-eyed flying squids with wavy tentacles, were caught flat-footed. One by one, they burst into explosions of red goo as the Void Rays focus-fired on them and cooked them from the inside.

The crowd was going nuts. They were screaming. The Korean commentators kept shouting out a single English word, over and over: Carrier! Carrier! Carrier!

As if they had heard the crowd, the carriers sprung into battle, launching their interceptors over the Zerg army. Each interceptor fired their tiny weapons until the whole sky rained down laser death. The Zerg, caught in the rainstorm, melted and died.

The letters GG appeared in tiny text on the bottom of the screen.

GG, the young orange-haired man typed back. Good Game.

That was it. It was over. A large banner announced Victory and the stylized logo of the Protoss shone brightly on the big screen. Then it was replaced by a picture of the trophy, with the words: Champion of Legendary Champions Winner: John ‘HEART’ Wolanski superimposed on top.

John extricated his headphones and got up out of his chair. His heart was racing, like it always did whenever he won. He opened the door to his playing booth and rushed out onto the stage.

He had to savor it. He might not get this feeling again.

The crowd cheered as he walked up to accept his trophy. It felt lighter than the others did. He raised it into the air as confetti flew down around him.

The Korean presenter leaned in close and whispered in his ear. They want you to kiss it, she said.

Isn’t that more of a Korean thing? he whispered back.

You’re an honorary Korean. Please do it.

He turned towards the trophy and gave it an awkward smooch. The crowd loved it. Out of the corner of his eye he looked out and noticed a large number of empty seats in the audience. He was getting used to that.

His opponent, Kim Crush Tae Paek, walked up and offered his hand. He shook it.

You are very good at activating Void Rays, Kim said.

John knew what he meant by that. Come on, Crush, you’re going to complain about the game balance at a time like this?

Kim bowed slightly. No, I’m sorry. You are a good player. I am not ashamed to lose to you. How do you do it, anyway?

The crowd was starting to disperse. Lots of practice, John said, shrugging his shoulders. That’s all.

But all Koreans practice as much as you, Kim countered, and yet you still win. Maybe you have some secret?

John felt his blood run cold. He couldn’t possibly know. Could he? Just lucky, I guess, he said.

You have an amazing amount of luck, Kim said. He moved to pick up his giant novelty check for his second-place finish. John turned away and looked at his. Ten million won seemed like a lot, but once you divided by a thousand to get the equivalent in US dollars, it didn’t seem quite as magnificent. Worse than that, it was about one-fifth the amount John had won for his first Starcraft tournament victory.

He took his trophy, his giant check, and his bouquet of flowers, and walked out into the auditorium. Once, the game that he loved used to fill stadiums with fans. Those days were rapidly dwindling.

In the front row, surrounded by empty seats, stood his best friend. Gustav! he exclaimed. The tall, amiable German stretched out his arms.

I can’t… I’m carrying too much stuff, John said.

Well here, let me help you! Gustav took the trophy from his hands. This is the closest I’ll ever get to winning one of these, you know?

I know. You always tell me that.

Gustav laughed. It’s a lot lighter than it looks, hmm?

They’re probably building it out of cheaper metals these days, John said grimly.

Oh, come on, don’t be like that. You and I, we’re going out to celebrate! And you can’t duck out and say that you have to practice this time! You won! Champion of champions!

Champion of Legendary champions, John corrected. And by Legendary they mean old.

His friend punched him lightly on the shoulder. You’re not too old to party! And I, Gustav ‘Eisenhorn’ Bader, am going to make sure of that!

* * *

The lights and the music at the nightclub were suitably mind-numbing. It felt good to sit down and celebrate. John’s trophy sat at the center of the table, surrounded by drinks and party favors. Around the table were a group of friends, some of whom he had known ever since had arrived in this strange foreign land.

John turned towards Gustav. Thanks for coming out to Korea, and thanks for putting this together, he said. It means a lot to me.

It’s nothing for my best friend! the cheerful German replied.

Honestly, it’s nice just to get out of the apartment. It gets really boring just practicing by yourself for twelve hours every day.

Yeah, that’s why I retired. Although I never practiced as much as you! But it just stopped being fun, you know?

John nodded. Sometimes I think it stopped being fun for me a long time ago.

Oh come on, a young Korean woman objected. You didn’t have fun winning those championships? Winning all that money? Getting all those girls?

There weren’t that many girls, Susie, John said.

She pointed her finger at him. Ah hah! But there were some!

John blushed. Yeah, I guess.

Laughter erupted around the table. It felt good to be talking about the old times. But in the back of his mind, there was always the question of the future.

Susie, what’s the word at the studio about next season? John asked.

The young woman shrugged. I don’t know. I don’t think they’ve made a decision. Not that they would tell me even if they had.

Right, but even if they didn’t tell you directly, what’s your gut feeling about it?

I’m not sure. She put down her drink. The numbers for Starcraft have been falling off each year. They’ve added some other games, but I don’t think they’ve made up the shortfall. Now that the last expansion has been out for a while, there’s nothing more to look forward to. Until Starcraft III, I guess.

Yeah, if we all just wait another ten years! John said. He heard the laughter again, but it had a slightly bitter tinge to it this time. I guess this is how the Brood War players felt.

Gustav put his arm around him. It’s just the way it goes, you know? I used to play Warcraft III in Europe back in the day. We had a big scene there. Lots of money, for some people anyway. So, new games come out and the old ones fade away. But at least you’ve captured some glory in the time you had, and that’s what we’re here to celebrate! He raised his glass for a toast, squeezing John’s head in his shoulder as he did so.

To Heart, the greatest champion that Starcraft has ever seen! Gustav said.

To Heart! everyone replied in unison. They clinked their glasses.

The greatest champion. With all the alcohol running to his head, he could almost believe that was true.

* * *

John got back to his one-bedroom apartment at 3:30 am. It was cold. Damn it, had the maintenance man forgotten about the heater again? He would have to call him again in the morning. He shook his head. The later morning.

He slumped down in his chair and turned on his computer to check his Twitter and email. Lots of people had sent him messages congratulating him on his win. That was nice. Then he opened up the Team Liquid website and checked the length of the live report thread for the tournament. Thirty-five pages. He went back and looked up the old thread from his first tournament win for comparison. Three hundred and seventy-one pages! Those were the days.

His Skype chirped. It was his old electronic friend.

??????: John are you there?

Heart: Im here

??????: I saw your tournament win. Congratulations.

Heart: Thanks! sucks that I practically owe the win to you, but I cant tell anybody about it.

??????: You don’t owe me anything. You earned the win yourself. Besides, if you told people about me, nobody would believe you anyway.

Heart: I guess

??????: Just so that you know, I won’t be able to practice with you for a couple of weeks. I’m won’t be reachable online either.

Heart: What? Why? Whats happening?

??????: It’s nothing serious. I guess you could say I’m going on a little vacation.

Heart: Vacation? From what? Youre just a piece of software, right?

??????: Even artificial intelligences need a bit of time off.

Heart: LOL dont be gone too long, ok?

??????: I won’t, John. Take care of yourself.

John sat back from his computer. The Stalker had appeared to him several years ago, in the middle of a practice game. At first John thought it was just some deranged fan bothering him, but over time he had realized that this thing, whatever it was, had skills that went beyond any human hacker. He, or it, had given John the confidence to win his first qualifying tournament that had launched his professional Starcraft career.

Why was it abandoning him now?

He heard the soft ding indicating that a new email had come in. John switched over to his web browser to check it out. Maybe another one of his friends wanted to congratulate him.

From:

To: jwolanski@telkorea.net

Subject: I KNOW ABOUT THE STALKER

YOU ARE IN BIG TROUBLE, JOHN WOLANSKI.

I KNOW EVERYTHING ABOUT THE STALKER.

TRUST ME, YOU DON’T WANT ANYONE ELSE TO KNOW WHAT I KNOW ABOUT THIS.

SAY NOTHING. TELL NOBODY.

I WILL CONTACT YOU AGAIN SOON.

- X.

John felt his heart pounding in his chest. He forgot to breathe.

Shit!

What was he going to do now?

He fumbled for his phone and frantically scrolled down to Gustav’s entry in his contact list.

Come on, answer!

A groggy voice came on the end of the line. Fuck you, John! Do you know what time it is? Did you think I was still partying?

Gustav, you’ve got to help me, man. Somebody knows!

Knows what?

About the Stalker! They sent me an email!

Who did? What are you talking about?

I don’t… I don’t know who it is… I can’t… I mean…

Gustav’s voice became more concerned. Hey, calm down, okay? Take a deep breath. So somebody sent you an email. What was the address?

I don’t know! It says ‘recipient unknown’. I didn’t even know you could do that! They said they know about the Stalker and I’m not supposed to tell anyone that I got the email… shit, I’m telling you about it right now! I didn’t know what else to do! I never told anybody else about the Stalker, you know? Not a single person, all these years!

Okay. Relax. I never told anybody either. Maybe somebody saw you chatting on Battle.net. Maybe somebody overheard us talking about it. It’s probably just some loser nobody from the Team Liquid forums who doesn’t like you. What can he do to you?

If he really knows everything, Gustav, he could destroy my entire career! No, it’s worse than that! He could get all my championship titles stripped, erase me from the record books, make me a pariah! I’d be worse than nothing, I’d be labeled a cheater and banned from competition forever… John trailed off. A sharp ringing pain was forming in his head.

What? That’s ridiculous! You never cheated on anything! All the Stalker ever did was help you practice. He never modified anything in a tournament game.

You know that, and I know that, but if the truth about the Stalker comes out, all that anyone’s gonna think is that it helped me win!

No, no, that’s not possible, they can go back and check all the Battle.net records for all your matches and see that you didn’t get any help.

Yeah, and when they find out that the Stalker is capable of modifying Battle.net records, and basically anything else on the Internet?

Oh. Shit.

Exactly.

What are you going to do?

I don’t know. I don’t know. The email said to wait and that he would contact me again.

Maybe you should ask the Stalker, Gustav suggested. He, ah, it might have better advice.

That’s the other thing. I was just chatting with the Stalker on Skype. It says it’s going on vacation or something. Won’t be around for a couple of weeks. Why did this all have to happen now?

I don’t know, John. I guess all you can do is wait for the next email and figure out what to do after that.

Yeah. Okay. I’ll do that. I’m sorry I woke you up.

Don’t worry about it. Get some sleep, buddy. We’ll talk tomorrow.

* * *

John woke up, shivering.

He pulled the blankets closer around him and stared at his clock radio. It was 7:48. He had only been asleep for a few hours. Damn that building manager for not fixing the heater!

He pulled his phone out of its recharging cradle and quickly checked his email. There were a few promotional spams and some more congratulations from friends, but the mysterious Mr. X had not sent him another message.

He got up, slowly, and made himself some coffee. Ordinarily, he would make himself breakfast and start practicing, but he didn’t feel hungry and he didn’t feel like playing Starcraft right now.

Without Starcraft, though, what was there? He had spent his whole life on this game—moving to Korea, practicing twelve hour days, listening to his coach, going to tournament after tournament…

Had he lived his life correctly?

He got dressed, put on a jacket and left the apartment. Outside, the Yongsan suburb was just waking up. He felt the wind chill him right through his jacket and to his bones. Winters in