Are You The Complete Player?

HOW MANY PLAYERS ARE STILL COMPETING?

CHAPTER ONE: HOW MANY PLAYERS ARE STILL COMPETING?

It was already late at night but Krystupas still couldn’t will himself to sleep. Shortly after the news of Levi Keller’s death spread like wildfire, he received an e-mail that gave him an eerie feeling. It must have been the same e-mail Egor Milevskiy was telling him about. This cryptic e-mail specifically instructed everyone to keep everything about it confidential, or else they would be eliminated. He remembered Egor’s odd question: Eliminated can also mean dead, right? That was their last conversation. And then… Egor just seemed to have vanished. Krystupas hadn’t heard from him all day. He couldn’t help the nagging feeling inside the pit of his stomach that Levi Keller’s death may be related to this, as spooky as it was to think about. His wife said he was just looking at his e-mails, and he was excitedly talking about playing in Roland Garros before he just stopped breathing and dropped dead from his seat. Was it because he was telling his wife confidential information from the e-mail he received? Or was it just a freaky coincidence?

Krystupas shook his head in disbelief. The e-mail was a prank, for sure. It didn’t even have the Roland Garros header and seal. It was from their official e-mail address, sure, but anyone could be hacked these days. It was possible that it was a sick hacker who sent the e-mails. But who or what the hell was WIC?

He checked the ticket he printed earlier from inside his wallet. It seemed like a real flight ticket to Frankfurt. Would he really travel to Frankfurt tomorrow? What would happen to him if he didn’t? He wished someone on tour would talk to him about the tournament or about the e-mail or the mysterious flight they all had to be on. But everyone suddenly seemed so busy with their lives. Or maybe they were just being careful who to talk with because they didn’t want to drop dead like Levi Keller.

You have officially lost your mind, Krys Pavlis, he told himself.

He started packing for his Frankfurt trip despite not fully believing the plane ticket to be authentic. He felt a weird sensation from inside his chest as if it was going to be the last flight he would ever be on. He didn’t understand where the sinister feeling came from, but he couldn’t get rid of it.

At around midnight, he texted his agent not to book the flight to Paris anymore. He didn’t offer any explanation. His agent, Akvile, seemed to know him too well to pry. As he was scanning his book shelf to decide which book to bring to his trip, he noticed an old-looking book that he hadn’t touched for a while. It was a fantasy book he got as a present. It was from Will Cortez, his old friend who disappeared ten years ago in Russia.

It sent shivers down his spine to remember it was a book called “How to Disappear” coincidentally.

He decided to put it among his things, along with a thick sports psychology book he had chosen carefully to take with him on flight. Although he was very modern in a lot of other ways, he still hadn’t adapted to reading through k****e, or any other device used for reading electronic books. He still loved feeling the texture of physical books as he pored through their pages.

**Are you going somewhere before Paris? Do you want me to book a ticket to another destination instead?**

Akvile texted him back just as he was getting ready to shower. Should he tell her anything? He decided to call her.

“Krys, I know you idolised Keller as a kid. I’m so sorry about his passing,” Akvile said. “Anything I can do for you?”

“Just… if you can’t reach me tomorrow until afternoon, try to find me,” Krystupas said. He hated that he sounded so cryptic and weird.

“What? What’s wrong, Krys? I’m here for you, you know that,” Akvile responded, a hint of worry evident in her voice.

“I know. That’s all I wanted to say. And… you have been really nice to me through the years. Thank you,” Krystupas added, before hanging up. Then he turned off the phone before he could change his mind. He had to hurry and shower. He had a flight to catch.

***

Carmella sat restless in the seat assigned to her. She noticed she was on a flight with tennis players. It was her second flight in less than twenty-four hours. Something was odd about the whole thing. Why was she the only non-tennis player on this flight? And why did she need to go to Germany if the destination was Paris all along? She was seated beside a player she didn’t recognise. He was so immersed in a book, and it seemed pointless to try having a conversation with him. He also had AirPods on.

She noticed everyone seemed to travel on their own. No coaches, physiotherapists, or trainers tagging along with them. It was peculiar. Will always travelled with his team.

She felt a pang of ache remembering Will. It felt surreal that she was now on a flight she would never normally take to find answers about his disappearance. It was ridiculous to think he was alive all this time, but she would take that any time over any other alternative.

There was a turbulence and her shoulder accidentally brushed off her seatmate’s right arm violently. Her face went pink as he looked up to her automatically. She hated being looked at. She hated any attention.

“Sorry,” he said. He had a thick accent. She was certain the guy was European. Good, she thought to herself. Now go back to your book and don’t talk to me.

She smiled awkwardly at him as a response, but it came out like a wince.

She had silently hoped the guy’s English wasn’t good enough so he wouldn’t try to strike up a conversation.

“This flight sucks!” a player seated behind them complained. “I’m Olga Smirnova, the pride of Kazakhstan. I deserve so much better than this sucky flight.”

The plane hit more turbulence which caused some women players to scream.

“Oh god! We’re going to freaking crash!” someone said in panic.

Carmella’s grip on her seat tightened. She could feel the anxiety creeping in. She needed to think of something so she wouldn’t throw up or collapse worrying about a possible crash. She turned her attention to the book the guy beside her was reading. She noticed a highlighted word in it. Journey.

She delved into her bag for her k****e to try reading an interesting book herself, but another turbulence hit them, and she almost fell from seat. The guy held her shaking hand.

“It’s okay. I think it’s just suddenly stormy. Deep breaths. We’ll get to Paris safely,” he said.

She tried to do breathing exercises but still couldn’t calm down. “Do you highlight important words in a book when you read? My… my brother used to do the same.”

She hated herself for blurting it out to a complete stranger. His eyes furrowed in confusion, before he noticed the highlighted word in the book.

“Oh. This? A friend gave this book to me long ago. I didn’t highlight anything,” he said, giving her an embarrassed smile.

“So… are we all going to talk about how strange this is? That we are all here forbidden to bring a team member? This is all so crazy,” Zhizhen Chang, an Asian player, said loudly. He was standing in the aisle hoping to get everyone’s attention. The chatter died down as soon as they heard him mentioning something about the weird e-mail they knew everyone in the flight had likely received.

“You have to admit, RG was being shady with that e-mail. We’ll be eliminated if we don’t follow the rules, huh? Who do they think they are? Besides, clay court tournaments suck!” he continued. Everyone watched in horror as he suddenly clutched his heart, as if he was having difficulty in breathing all of a sudden. Some players tried to call the attention of flight attendants, but they all seemed to have vanished. Nobody knew where to reach them.

One player tried to hand Chang an inhaler thinking he was just having an asthma attack, but to no avail. Zhizhen Chang dropped to the floor, dead. Someone tried to feel a pulse but there was none. It was a creepy, instant death.

Miroslav Petrovic, the president of the Players Council, and currently the top tennis player in the world rankings, tried his best to revive Chang, but it was a futile effort.

He tried to make a call to someone but there was no signal, nor was there an internet connection.

“We are cursed. We are all going to die. First it was Levi Keller, now it’s Chang,” a female player lamented.

“Do you think it’s possible someone hijacked our flight?” Marek Cerny asked Miroslav. Marek is a Czech player, known for his leadership. He holds a position in the Players Council. Miroslav didn’t answer. He kept trying to contact someone through his phone.

“Worse. This is so freaky,” Artem Bondar, a black French player, answered for him instead. “I just checked the cockpit. We don’t… we don’t have pilots… or crew.”

“You’re kidding. So, who is on the flight controls?” Marek asked, wide-eyed with worry. Artem Bondar seemed to not be joking.

“No one,” Artem said, trembling. “That’s not all. I also saw that in the instrument panel, instead of flight information, it simply said ‘134’.”

Marek and two other players ran to the cockpit to check whether Artem was telling the truth. When they came back, one of the players spoke, evidently horrified. “The panel now says ‘133’. I think it’s because Chang is dead.”

Miroslav, who was still standing beside Artem, felt shiver down his spine. There was no way a plane will fly without a pilot or crew. How the hell were they even up in the air?

“What e-mail did he mean? I didn’t receive any e-mail,” Carmella asked her seatmate, shaking in fear. She had been trying to call her parents, but no luck. He was now standing, blocking her view of the dead player’s body. She was thankful for it, although she didn’t really tell him to. It was like he just sensed it was making her even more anxious to see the body.

“The invitation e-mail sent to us by RG,” he answered. “This is freaking horrible. I don’t know if you watched the news about Levi Keller. It seemed eerily similar to what happened to Chang.” Carmella tried to open her mouth to speak, but a pompous and upbeat voice coming from the speaker drowned out her words.

“WELCOME ABOARD, EVERYONE!”

It automatically got everyone’s full attention.

“IF YOU ARE STILL HEARING THIS, THAT MEANS YOU FOLLOWED THE INSTRUCTIONS CAREFULLY. BUT THIS IS ONLY THE BEGINNING. YOU NEED TO BE PREPARED AT ALL TIMES. YOU NEED TO BE AT YOUR BEST, OR ELSE YOU WILL BE THE NEXT ONE TO BE ELIMINATED.”

“Who are you?” demanded Miroslav. “Show yourself. Zhizhen Chang is dead. How are we still flying to Paris like everything is normal? Where is the crew of this flight?”

“I’m going to throw up. I can’t stand looking at dead bodies. Oh my freaking God, take me out of this flight now,” a blonde player said. Everyone was shocked upon seeing a window of the plane open on its own. The blonde player was suddenly being propelled directly to it.

“Help! Oh my god, help me!” she screamed.

But no one was fast enough to rescue. She dropped out of the window to her death.

“We also accept requests, just like that one from Anna Makarova. She requested to be taken out of this flight now. We made sure she got what she wished for,” the voice continued casually as if nothing disturbing just happened.

“Why are you doing this? Who are you?” Marek asked the voice again. There was no response.

“I’m dizzy,” Carmella whispered to her seatmate. It was all too much for her to take.

“I’m Krystupas Pavlis,” the guy replied.

Carmella looked up at him and realised he wasn’t joking. He seemed to have thought she had introduced herself as Dizzy.

“I’m nauseous,” she said, deciding to change her wording. There was confusion on his face, but he didn’t say anything more.

“Any more requests?” the voice asked.

“Whoever you are, you are sick!” Olga Smirnova shouted angrily.

“How about food? Fancy food only. I don’t eat junk,” said Charlotte Adams, also known as Canadian Barbie.

“Two people already died and you still care about having a fancy food? You’re disgusting!” Mira Ivanova scolded. She longed to be with Leo, her four-year-old kid back home in Belarus. The e-mail scared her so much because of what happened to Levi Keller, so she decided to take the flight. But she had a bad feeling in her gut that she had made the worst choice ever. Maybe it would have been better if she opted to die at home, like Keller did.

“Don’t talk to me. I don’t talk to single mom skanks,” Charlotte replied.

“Girls, stop it. Something sinister is going on. This isn’t the time for a catfight. Bring it on the tennis court instead. Chang and Makarova are dead. Show some respect,” Miroslav said, intervening the altercation.

Two flight attendants suddenly appeared out of nowhere. They were both pretty, but the smile plastered on their faces seemed phony. They served fancy dishes for everyone. Just as Charlotte Adams requested. They never entertained any question from everyone in the flight.

Chang’s friend, Akira Tanaka, didn’t take any food and stayed close to his friend’s lifeless body, weeping every once in a while in silence. He should have stopped his friend from mentioning anything about the e-mail. But how was he to know the threat was real? Nobody in real life dies just by not following instructions.

He looked around the plane and noticed a lot of players inside the top 100 weren’t even on the flight. Did they not follow the rules and die shortly after receiving the e-mail?

Some players also didn’t have an appetite for eating. Everything about the flight scared them but they didn’t dare voice out that they wanted to be removed from the flight. They didn’t want to die.

Krystupas offered his food upon noticing the girl sitting beside him was not eating.

“Have some, Dizzy,” he said softly.

“My name is not Dizzy. It’s Carmella,” she replied awkwardly.

He chuckled to himself. “Sorry. I misunderstood. Have some, Carmella.”

Before Carmella could respond, the voice spoke again.

“RANDOM QUESTION FOR WHOEVER WANTS EXTRA POINTS BEFORE THE COMPETITION BEGINS. BUT A CAUTIONARY TALE: IF YOU GET THIS WRONG, YOU’RE ELIMINATED.”

But everyone was too nervous to volunteer. Especially because the news had been spreading through whispers that there was no pilot in the controls, that the voice they were hearing was a disembodied voice.

“ELLEN SANDERS OF AUSTRALIA, ANSWER THE QUESTION,” the voice demanded.

“What the hell! Why me? I did not volunteer!” Ellen said in surprise.

“ANSWER THE QUESTION, ELLEN. HOW MANY PLAYERS ARE STILL COMPETING?”

“I don’t know! How the hell should I know? Leave me alone!” Ellen yelled.

To everyone’s shock, a window opened again, and the wind easily carried the screaming Ellen towards it. She screamed for her life as an unknown force pushed her out of the open window, but everyone was too worried about themselves to care.

“132, ELLEN. SORRY, YOUR ANSWER WAS INCORRECT. BUT WE DID HEED YOUR LAST REQUEST. WE LEFT YOU ALONE… TO ROT.”

Carmella cried silently in her seat. She had no idea what was happening. Everything was crazy. It couldn’t be real.

“WE ARE ARRIVING TO OUR DESTINATION SHORTLY. PREPARE YOURSELF FOR THE TOURNAMENT OF YOUR LIFE.”

Carmella couldn’t believe what she was hearing. How could she win a tennis match? She had never played tennis in her life…