Kapitel 2: The King's Fall
Chapter 2: The King's Fall
The stadium's holographic displays flickered and faded as the final buzzer echoed through the arena. White Zig's unexpected triumph left a palpable tension in the air, thick enough to cut with a knife. As the crowd began to disperse, their augmented reality interfaces lit up with a flurry of notifications – social media exploding with reactions, betting apps flashing losses, and fan forums overflowing with vitriol.
Allen Miller stood rooted to the spot, his young face a canvas of disbelief and sorrow. He tugged at his father's sleeve, voice cracking. "Dad, how could this happen? Zed was supposed to win!"
Ted Miller knelt beside his son, his own disappointment masked by a reassuring smile. He ruffled Allen's hair, reaching into his pocket. "Sometimes, champ, things don't go the way we expect. But that's basketball – full of surprises."
Allen's gaze drifted to the spot where paramedics had whisked Zed away. The memory of his hero's collapse replayed in his mind, a nightmarish loop. Ted produced a pack of Energy Bites, the holographic packaging shimmering with promises of mood-boosting ingredients.
"Come on, buddy. Let's head home and watch the highlights. Maybe we'll spot something the AI refs missed."
Allen nodded reluctantly, accepting the offered snack. As they made their way through the thinning crowd, the boy's AR glasses picked up snippets of heated conversations.
"Zed threw the game!"
"My creds are gone. All of 'em!"
"The King's dead. Long live... who?"
Meanwhile, in Azagrut's premier medical facility, Zed Mac floated in a haze of sedation and scattered memories. Cutting-edge biomonitors surrounded his bed, projecting real-time holograms of his vitals and internal scans. The soft hum of medical equipment filled the air, punctuated by the occasional beep of alarms.
In his drug-induced stupor, Zed's mind drifted back to the locker room, mere minutes before the game. The excitement, the anticipation – it all felt so real. Then, unbidden, a memory surfaced: Gib's face, inches from his own, passing him a water bottle. The whisper, so low he'd almost missed it: "The water!"
Zed's eyes flew open, panic setting in as realization dawned. But the medical stasis field held him immobile, his body unresponsive to his mind's frantic commands. His thoughts raced, a torrent of anger and betrayal threatening to overwhelm him. 'How could I have been so blind? So trusting?' he raged internally. 'Everything I've worked for, gone in an instant.'
The old working doctor frowned at the holographic readouts, her fingers dancing through the air as she manipulated 3D representations of Zed's skeletal structure. "I've never seen anything like this," she murmured to her team. "These nanobots... they're not just in his bloodstream. They've infiltrated his bone marrow."
Another doctor, standing slightly apart from the group, studied Zed's face with a mixture of professional concern and personal wariness. Her voice was steady, but her words carried a weight beyond their surface meaning. "So, what you're saying is... his career is over?"
The old doctor's shoulders slumped slightly. "We can suppress the nanobots, maybe even deactivate most of them. But removing them entirely? That technology doesn't exist yet. He'll never play at the same level again."
As if sensing the gravity of the words spoken over him, Zed's fingers twitched. In his mind, he saw his future crumbling, replaced by an uncertain path filled with shadow and doubt. The weight of his fall from grace pressed down on him, suffocating in its intensity.
Suddenly, the scene before him shifted, blurring and reforming into a nightmarish vision. Zed found himself lying on a cold, sterile table, his body wasted and weak. Dr. Georgia Rowland stood over him, her face a mask of defeat and regret.
"I'm sorry, Zed," her voice echoed in his mind. "We've tried everything. The nanobots... they've won."
He tried to speak, to move, but his body remained unresponsive. In the background, he could hear the murmur of voices – fans, former teammates, rivals. Their words cut like knives.
"He's finished."
"What a waste."
"I always knew he'd crash and burn."
The scene shifted again, and Zed watched helplessly as his lifeless body was wheeled towards a gleaming incinerator. Above it, a holographic display flickered to life, showcasing highlights from his career – now nothing more than a bitter reminder of what he'd lost.
As the flames began to lick at his body, Zed jolted awake, gasping for air. The sterile hum of medical equipment filled the room as his eyes fluttered open. His body felt leaden, unresponsive to his mind's commands. Through the haze of medication, he caught fragments of hushed conversations – words like "career-ending" and "unprecedented" cut through the fog.
The old doctor approached his bed, her holographic interface flickering with complex data. "Mr. Mac," she began, her tone professional yet tinged with sympathy, "I'm afraid the prognosis is... challenging."
Zed's gaze drifted from face to face, noting the mix of pity and clinical detachment. But it was the sight of his mother, Zeller Wucco, that truly registered. Her eyes, red-rimmed and puffy, held a familiar fire – the same determination that had carried them through years of struggle.
Zeller leaned in, her calloused hand enveloping his. "Zedy," she whispered, using the childhood nickname that now felt like a relic from another life, "it's okay to let it out."
Zed's throat constricted, emotions warring beneath the surface. He wanted to scream, to rage against the unfairness of it all, but found himself paralyzed by more than just his physical condition. The nightmare vision still clung to him, a dark prophecy of what might come. "What... what happened?" he managed, his voice hoarse and unfamiliar.
Zeller's face tightened, weighing her words carefully. "There's been... fallout, honey. The sports council, they're..." She trailed off, searching for a gentle way to deliver harsh truths.
As she spoke, filling in the gaps of Zed's shattered world, his mind reeled. The termination of his contract, the public backlash, the sudden reappearance of his long-absent father in the basketball world – each revelation was a fresh wound. The stakes of his situation became painfully clear: without basketball, he faced a future of obscurity, poverty, and ridicule.
"Your stepbrother," Zeller added hesitantly, "he's been offered a spot on Red Talent."
Zed's jaw clenched, a flicker of his old fire sparking in his eyes. He thought of Tranter, of Gib, of all those who had orchestrated his downfall. The betrayal burned, threatening to consume him. In his mind's eye, he saw them rising to fame and fortune, building their success on the ruins of his career.
Zeller squeezed his hand, drawing his attention back. "We'll figure this out, Zedy. There's always a way."
The old doctor cleared her throat, her professional mask slipping to reveal genuine concern. "Mr. Mac, your condition is... unique. The nanobots have integrated with your skeletal structure in a way we've never seen. Most of my colleagues are hesitant to get involved, given the, um, unusual circumstances."
Zed's gaze hardened, the weight of isolation settling over him like a shroud. He thought of the way forward, the harsh training that had propelled him to greatness. Now, it felt like a cruel joke – all that training, useless against microscopic invaders. The nanobots in his system were like a team of opposing players, constantly working against him from the inside.
As the reality of his situation sank in, Zed felt something shift within him. The charismatic, sarcastic star was fading, replaced by a harder, more cynical version of himself. He met his mother's worried gaze, his voice low and determined. "We don't need them. Any of them. I'll find a way back, even if I have to rewrite the rules of the game."
Zeller nodded, recognizing the stubborn set of her son's jaw – a mirror of her own resilience. As the medical team bustled around them, their voices faded into background noise. In that moment, it was just mother and son, facing an uncertain future with nothing but their unwavering bond and a desperate hope that somehow, against all odds, they could reclaim what was lost.
Geschenke
-- Geschenk
erhalten Wöchentlicher Energiestatus
-- Power-
Rangliste 
-- Power-
Stein