The sun burst over the edge of the stadium, and one by one, the players emerged into its glare.
The field stretched out before them—an endless sea of green surrounded by roaring bleachers and hovering drones broadcasting every move.
Flags whipped in the wind, eagles printed in blue and gold flapping proudly above the crowd.
“Go!
Fight ’til it hurts!
never shall cease!
Fight till we bleed, till we bleed, till we BLEED.” The cheerleaders’ voices carried across the field.
Brian stood there for a moment, taking it all in.
His vision blurred; a tear rolled down his cheek, splashing against the steel bars of his helmet.
Then darkness.
“Wake up, Brian.” Light flared again.
The football on his apartment wall came back into focus.
It all felt like a memory caught between dreams.
“Alright,” he muttered to himself, rolling over and hitting the floor.
“Few more weeks to go, huh?
He dropped into push-ups—twenty clean reps, arms trembling but steady.
He ran five miles every morning, stocked his fridge with protein and vitamins, and sometimes hit the gym just to push his limits.
Some people used boosters and stimulants to bulk up, but not him.
Brian believed in staying natural, in building endurance the hard way.
Day after day, he kept at it—sweat, pain, routine—until it felt like breathing.
Finally, the holo-screen on his table flickered to life, displaying the date:
June 6, 2067.