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    Archaic Venture: The Myth Of Cerberus
    Archaic Venture: The Myth Of Cerberus
    Archaic Venture: The Myth Of Cerberus
    Ebook89 pages1 hour

    Archaic Venture: The Myth Of Cerberus

    By Henry D. Milton

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    About this ebook

    Step inside a new reality... A Virtual Reality



    A Reality that Could Change Michael Forever! 

    Archaic Venture, a brand new virtual reality video game, is hot off the press and it is selling like hot cakes. However, the creator of the game, Soto Akiyama has thrown in a twist. The game will no longer function correctly until someone defeats the evil spirit plaguing the lands of Archaic Venture. Along with returning Archaic Venture to normal, there is a cash prize that goes with it.

    For Michael Maddox, a sixteen-year-old that suffers from Cerebral Palsy and a dysfunctional home life, this game, and that money, could turn his entire life around. 


    Come, join the adventure of a boy--who knew he would never amount to much--discover just how much he is worth.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherMC Publishing
    Release dateMay 1, 2018
    ISBN9781386749516
    Archaic Venture: The Myth Of Cerberus

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      Book preview

      Archaic Venture - Henry D. Milton

      Chapter I

      Michael?  Are you okay?

      Michael coughed a few times while holding onto his knee.  Yeah, I think so. 

      Michael reached up to grab the guard rails and pulled himself back up to a standing position. 

      Good job, Mike.  Power through these last couple steps and then we can take a break.  The physical therapy trainer said. 

      Okay, Michael mutters under his breath.  Taking a look down the length of the guard rails, Michael had no idea how he was going to make it.  He could feel his knees wobbling underneath him, a feeling that has been used to since birth because of his Cerebral Palsy. 

      Take it one step at a time, the therapist said before continuing with his usual motivational drivel.  Michael does his best to ignore it as he struggles to move down the line.  In instances like this, Michael wished his parents would just give up on the therapy.  He had become accustomed to his leg braces, and they didn’t bother him anymore.  They were his crutch.  Despite all of the jokes, pranks, and altogether rotten interactions he has had with kids his age, the braces allotted him a sense of comfort and safety.  Michael had accepted that he would never play sports, never be the coolest kid at school, and probably never have a girlfriend, but his parents had not.  As this thought passed through his head, Michael’s sweaty left hand slipped on the guard railing, and he fell to the floor again. 

      You were so close this time, Mike! the therapist said.  We will get there next time alright.

      This comment always came at the end of Michael’s sessions.  All of the fake emotional support, excitement, and motivational speeches seemed to lose their zeal when Michael would hear these words.  It was in this statement that Michael embraced the fact that he was a charity case, or worse yet, a paycheque.  He knew that a physical therapist could start caring for their patients; and, in some cases, they could even fall in love with them.  Of course, this was not the case for Michael; Michael’s physical therapist, Ben, was a big, burly man that looked like one of his parents could have been a gorilla or a bear.  No, this is not what he wanted, but he yearned for someone to care about him enough to see that this whole therapy thing just makes him feel like a disappointment.

      Here Mike, let me give you a hand, Ben said as he leaned over, placed his hands on Michael’s armpits and lifted him into the hair.  Michael put his hands back on the guard rails and held himself up.  Your parents are downstairs waiting for you.  Can you hold yourself upright while I put on your braces? 

      Yeah, I can do that, Michael responded like he had a choice. 

      Okay, great! Ben said with fake enthusiasm as he made his way over to a nearby bench where Michael’s leg braces were laying out.  Alright Mike, hold still while I put you back together, Ben said with a chuckle.  Michael didn’t laugh; he didn’t find these jokes funny, he had heard enough of them on the playgrounds growing up. 

      Slowly, Ben made sure each clasp was closed tightly around Michael’s right leg and then his left.  Before releasing Michael, he gave each brace a little shake to make sure they wouldn’t fall off.  Satisfied, he stood up and told Michael, Alright Mike, you are all ready to go man.  Let me walk you out; I need to speak with your parents before you go. 

      Works for me, Michael said, starting to wobble towards the elevator.  He always found the fact that this particular physical therapy center—the one his parents chose to send him—put their workout facility on the second floor hilariously ironic.  Maybe, he thought, the idea was that one day the patients—at least the ones with similar problems to himself—would one day see all the hard work they had put in finally pay off, and they would be able to bypass the elevator and use the stairs.  Sadly for Michael, that day was not today.

      Downstairs, Michael’s parents sat patiently in the waiting room.  They sat beside each other, but they looked in opposite directions.  It was a charade; they wanted to sit close to one another to give off the appearance that they were happy together, but Michael knew that if his parents had the choice, Mr. and Mrs. Maddox would probably have chosen separate rooms, at least that’s what they did at home anyway. 

      Mr. and Mrs. Maddox, how are you doing today? Ben said, starting with the pleasantries. 

      Both of Michael’s parents perked up and said, We are doing just great, thanks for asking.  How was the session?  Another charade, Michael thought. 

      It went awesome! Ben said, flashing them a thumbs up.  Michael was getting nauseous from all of the fictitious elation.  Michael almost made it to the end of the guard rails without any assistance today.  Of course, he received a few bumps and bruises along the way, but he did great.

      He still hasn’t made it to the end of the guard rails yet?  Mr. Maddox said bluntly.  Finally, a shred of reality had slipped out of his father’s mouth, Michael thought.  Mrs. Maddox swiftly patted him on the shoulder, not so playfully, and shot him a stern glance.

      What Mr. Maddox is trying to say is, is there anything at home that we could be doing to speed this process along? She said, returning a smile to her face. 

      Well, you already have the elastic bands and the at home regiment that Michael should be following.  The stretches and workouts each night before bed will help, but the best thing for him is to attend more physical therapy sessions, Ben is interrupted by Michael scoffing at this remark.  All three of them turn to him, displaying irritation on their faces.  His parents are embarrassed by him acting out, and Ben is put off by Michael’s lack of faith in more physical therapy doing the trick.  The truth comes out.  But, instead of pressing the issue—as always—Michael decides to take the high road.  Sorry, I think there must be something caught in my throat. 

      Satisfied with his response, the adults turn back to each other and Ben continues, I think that he could benefit largely from coming here three, maybe four times a week instead of the two sessions he already has. 

      How much more would that cost? Mr. Maddox said. 

      Does it matter, dear?  Mrs. Maddox replied, looking over at her son bending over and untying his workout shoes and replacing them with his everyday pair of Vans.  "This is our son

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