Sidenote: Read this while listening to Hans Zimmer's Pirates of the Caribbean Soundtrack
The year is 2012. You wake up eager to play the most important activity in your life, League of Legends, only to be met with the unspeakable horror of a 30 year perm-ban. Unable to withdraw from the fix of daily league of legends games, and without the necessary willpower to re-enter society as a functional adult, you decide to enter cryostasis.
The year is 2042. You awake from your frozen chamber ready to play that which Riot games stole from you 30 years ago - your level 30 summoner. Thoughts race through your head as you ponder, "will this game still be around?" "Will my account still be there?" "Will I have retained my superb elo of 980?" Without concern for sustenance you dash past the medical technicians eager to give you the necessary nutrients to recover from cryosleep and head towards the electronic information kiosk for directions to the nearest net cafe. Fortune smiles upon you as there is one right outside. You eagerly enter the building. A humble man perched at the entrance stares into your eyes , "Do not fear, I can read your thoughts. You're new around here aren't you..." you pause briefly "...ah yes you are, and I know exactly what you want. You want to play the great game, don't you?" A smile slowly creeps across your face. It has been 30 years, and League of Legends has taken over the world.
You are immediately rushed through the room as eager onlookers eye you with suspicion. You can barely make out their inaudible mumbles, "An old one," one whispers, "He survived the sleep?" another one questions. Before realizing the severity of your situation you are strapped to an operating table as mechanized lasers begin piercing your fleshy exterior. A young surgeon, fresh out of automated medical school, keeps you alive and awake as another, more experienced doctor removes your heart. A moment of panic envelops your being until an engineer enters the room with your new Electronic Living Organ, (or ELO for short) and gently places it in the newly formed crater in your chest. After attaching the necessary clavicles the doctor explains to you how your ELO is your life now, the more you win, the more it beats, the more you lose, the more it struggles, until you reach 0 ELO and subsequently die.
You are placed in a pro gamer chair and hooked up to a neural interface as you ready yourself to play your first game of League of Legends in 30 years. Your summoner name and password are automatically drawn from your memory banks and before you can change your rune pages and masteries, you are placed in a ranked game. The champion selection screen looks very different and you drew first pick. It is your turn to ban. Over 3,000 champions adorn the screen, some familiar, some foreign. You dart your eyes across the screen taking in as much information as possible. Old champions such as Corki, Blitzcrank, and Jarvan ease your mind while new champions, Fangolf, Garimanthas, Jim, both confuse and bewilder.
"Ban Shaco!" one of your teammates says in the chat screen. Unwilling to draw the ire of this new League, you decide it would be best to follow the orders of such a veteran. Shaco has been banned. You momentarily lapse into insanity as you eye a peculiar number in the top corner of your screen: Ban 1 completed, 299 remaining.
The year is 2043. You have been strapped to a chair for 365 days and only four bans remain. Kept alive by intravenous fluids and manually moved by a nursebot every 3 days to prevent bedsores, you think to yourself, 'why did I do this to myself?' 'What has this world become?' The last few bans are quick and you have been scolded numerous times for banning incorrect champions. The first few weeks were spent apologizing, the final fifty were met with mute/silence as you randomly picked characters from the pool. You kept one alive though, one you wanted to play ever since your ban. Your turn to pick. You selected Eve. No one says a word. Perhaps she was buffed, perhaps not, you do not care; you are filled with renewed vigor as in only a few minutes you will start and play that which you loved so dearly.
The map begins to load. A ticker floats across the bottom of the screen. The message is both dire and unusual. "WELCOME SUMMONERS! TODAY'S MATCH WILL DECIDE THE BORDER DISPUTE BETWEEN LUZON/VISAYAS AND THE MINDANAO! PLAY YOUR BEST AND FOLLOW THE 'CODE'" You begin to question reality as the ticker continuously scrolls across the monitor. Are we really playing to decide a border dispute? You decide to ignore the severity of the situation and casually ask in all chat upon entering the rift. "Are we really playing to decide a border dispute?" The answers are quick and vicious, mostly filled with vitriol and the word goob. You wonder what the word goob means until you put two and two together and realize it has to be either a typo of the word good or the new slang for noob. You decide to fill yourself with self-esteem and go with the former.
You open up the shop and start scrolling through the item screen. The shop has grown to immense proportions. The consumables screen is now a fifty page exercise in tedium as you cycle through potions for 3 gold that restore 30 hp, to potions for 78 gold that restore 780. There are wards that last anywhere from 1 to 20 minutes with subsequent cost values to match. Infinity Edge now requires a combination of 50 different items. You wonder how you will accomplish such a task as you can only carry 6 items at a time until you look down at a radial button carefully placed in the UI. Clicking it expands the item inventory until it fills the entire screen. Your team has already left the base and is farming creeps before you finally settle on an abstract combination of items that you think will give you the best chance at winning: 400 mana potions.
You reach what you think to be the end game phase of the match much quicker than usual as creeps now give thousands of gold per kill and the jungle minions drop tiered set pieces if you kill them fast enough. Bathed in the warm glow of assumed power you ping your team to assault the northern tower. You are met with strained responses as the rest of your squad reluctantly agrees. The tower is assaulted but its hit points seem stagnant. You click on the monolith only to be met with shock as you observe its health regeneration rate: 20,000 health per second. This is going to take a while.
The year is 2044. The match has been grueling. Bodies lay strewn across the wasteland condolences of Riots recent decision not to re-spawn dead champions. It's as if Riot is purposely trying to make you feel bad as you wander across thousands upon thousands of dead Eves. Your team all but despises you at this point as you are now choked inside your own base due to your numerous deaths. The word feeder has appeared so many times that you begin contemplating true nourishment as you have survived entirely on a colloid solution carefully dripped into your veins over the past two years. You want the game to end. You want to return back to 2012 when things were normal. You want to warn the population of Earth to put a stop to the rapid and relentless expansion of League of Legends. During your time in the match you learned many things. Seventy-five percent of the world's population works at Riot games. The players with the highest Elo run entire nations, and you can only imagine the horrors of living in a country run by a person who plays LoL 90 hours a week.
But it's too late. The game is over. Both teams are ready to click punish. You have no clue, nor do you care, the severity of being punished by an entire team. After all, you've been banned before. The first punishment arrives and you received a jolt. It's quick but not painful. The next one arrives bringing with it amplified pain. You beg the team to stop. The third punishment, the fourth, the fifth, your ELO begins to stutter and let out whimpered sounds. "PLEASE" you beg them, "PLEASE YOU'RE KILLING ME!" The sixth, seventh, and eighth punishments were transmitted. The pain is unbearable now. With your last ounce of strength you type a nuanced plea for your life to the ninth remaining person who has yet to punish you. "Sorry Ged," he says as he clicks punish effectively ending your life, "this is LoL town."
Hope, you liked it! ((=
Ged ( AB.flamingo.intl )
Credits to my NA friend, Decklan.
Nevermind the grammar mistakes( if there's some)
Thanks for reading, guys! We both made this.
I just realized some of the apostrophes became "?"
Hope, you can still understand it.
Meeh, got enough time to change "?" to apostrophes.
It's all clear now. (=
Omg, Thank you all SO MUCH for the good feedbacks!
I'm glad that you appreciated it! :*