FIVE: RIG

Finn shuddered. “I can’t believe you made me shave your back. That’s, like, messed up.”

Lars raised a finger. “To be crystal clear, I didn’t make you shave my back.”

“No? Then please explain what just happened.”

“Like, I said. I did not make you shave my back.” Lars raised a hand to silence the protest working its way out of Finn’s mouth. “I did not make you shave my back, you accepted a job where one of your primary job responsibilities is shaving my back. It was all in the contract. Get it?”

Finn shrugged. “I just don’t see the difference.”

“Trust me, kid. There is a difference. The Department of Labor agrees with me.”

“Well, you can’t let a bad narrative spoil your already short adventure.” Finn wheeled his chair towards the door and opened it. “Hey, Lars?”

“Yeah?” he said, halfway to his bedroom.

Finn glanced towards the floor. “I know I said I didn’t need your help earlier, but is there any way you can bring my rig in from the hallway before you crash?” He glanced at his watch, one of those goofy looking calculator ones with the tiny buttons. “I can do it myself, but it takes me a minute and I’m running late for my raid.”

“Sure, kid. No problem.” Lars wiped his hands on top of his leggings, then stared at the orange dust from the cheese puffs he had just been devouring. “Let me wash my hands first. I wouldn’t want to ruin your, um, omni. I’ve had a lot of surgeries and I know how expensive that medical equipment can get.”

***

Some time later, the two men sat staring at each other through the contraption, it’s tangle of tubes, straps, and cables dividing the living room like a giant black spider web. The expressions on the men’s faces couldn’t have been more different. On one side, Finn beamed at the rig as if it was his first time seeing it on Christmas morning, childlike wonder and glee spread across his skeletal face. On the other, Lars stared at the apparatus with abject confusion, hefty lip curled up around a canine while he absentmindedly dug for lint in his crater of a belly button.

“Uh, what is it again?” Lars frowned, as glanced down at Finn’s chair.

If Finn had noticed the look, he didn’t show it. He beamed. “It’s my omni!”

“Omni-what? And how does it help your, um…”

The kid laughed. “You walk on it, goon! It’s my omnidirectional treadmill! You know? For my VR rig?”

“Listen, kid. I don’t mean to be insensitive. But I thought this was some kind of handicapped helper thing. Not some, uh, VR—”

“The proper term is diabled. And VR stands for Virtual Reality. Don’t pretend like you know what it means. I can spot a non-gamer when I see one.”

“Hey, I’ve played video games before!”

Finn crossed his arms. “Yeah? Name one.”

“Um.” Lars scratched his head. “My grandma had one of those old Nintendos in her trailer. I used to play this game called, uh”—he snapped his fingers—“Tag Team Wrestling!”

“It's Nintendo. Singular. And that hardly counts. That game is like… forty years old!”

“So? It was a sweet ass game. And you asked me to name a video game, not a recent video game.”

“I guess you’re right.” Finn sighed. “Still, it’s nothing compared to the VR we have now.”

“Oh, for sure.” Lars lied, then tossed him a sideways glance. “I may be a bit of an ogre, but I’ve heard about those VR headsets. And, again, not trying to be offensive, but just what use do you have for a treadmill, omnidirectional or otherwise?”

Finn narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?”

Lars pointed. “The leg thing?”

“What leg thing?”

He started to sweat. “You know? The whole chair thing? Wheelchair?”

Finn narrowed his eyes a little more. “I’m in a wheelchair? Why didn’t anyone tell me? Oh god! Are you telling me that my… legs… don’t work?”

Lars let out a nervous laugh. “You gotta be fucking with me.”

The kid chuckled. “I am. I totally set you up for that with the leg breaker joke. And don't worry about it. Happens all the time. People always assume my legs don’t work because I’m in a wheelchair. The truth is, they do work. Just not very damn good.” He pointed at the nest of cables hanging above the treadmill. “That’s what the harness is for. Help’s take some of the weight off.”

Lars stroked his beard. “Huh.”

“Yeah.” Finn's expression shifted from playful to serious. “Let's get this out of the way. Lars, I’m not paralyzed from the waist down, nor can I fix my problem with a sweet pair of new titanium Space Shuttle legs like Lieutenant Dan. I have Muscular Dystrophy. It’s a degenerative disease that causes loss of muscle mass, among other things.” He grinned as liquid snark flowed back into his eyes. “As you can see, I’ve degenerated far enough that I have a free pass to sit down all the time, like during the national anthem! Or when a Judge walks into a courtroom!”

Despite feeling more uncomfortable than Lars had in a long time, he couldn't resist the urge to let out a big belly laugh. “Ha! So for you, this thing is kind of like working out then? Like physical therapy?”

“Yep! Doc says it's good for me. May even help me get a few more years.” He pointed a slender finger. “You’re smarter than you look, especially for a guy named Ogre.”

Lars snorted. “Good one, kid. But, for the record, not all big guys are dumb. I do have an associates degree from the University of Phoenix.”

“That’s one of those scammy online schools so not sure what that proves, but again, not everyone in a wheelchair is paralyzed either.”

“Point taken.”

The two new acquaintances stared away from each other for the longest time, both unsure of what to say to the other. After the infective silence was given a significant chance to fester between them, Lars tossed Finn a thin smile and stood to his feet. “Well, I’m off to bed. Don’t stay up too late. We have a big photoshoot in the morning and you need to give my back a once over. Have fun with your… rig.”

***

Lars tried to sleep. He really did.

He needed sleep. He needed sleep like his stomach would need a giant plate of biscuits and gravy in the morning, but the noises coming from beyond his bedroom door compelled him to climb out of bed at what he considered an irresponsible hour. He paused at the threshold, shirtless as he always was in the ring, and listened to the muffled grunts and hoots from beyond.

And just then, a horrible explosion went off.

“Oh god!” he bellowed, the taste of yesterday’s tankard of onion soup creeping into his mouth. “Smoked myself out with that one. I think I need to see a doctor.”

Eager to get away from the foul stench he had just brough on board, Lars stepped out into the living room for a literal dose of fresh air. After a few deep breaths, the sight in front of him caused him to let it all back out as an audible gasp. “Whoa!”

If Finn had heard the remark, he didn’t show it. Something inside that black visor strapped over his eyes captivated his attention. He ran forward on the treadmill, moving as if the version of himself seated in that wheelchair mere hours ago never existed. If it weren’t for the network of tubes from which his black harness hung, Lars wouldn’t have believed the kid before him was even the same person.

“Run!” bellowed Finn as stopped his forward movement and turned on a dime, now headed in the complete opposite direction as before, treadmill whirring with purpose. He pumped his legs and moved with sheer determination, dropping to a knee every few moments like he was ducking some kind of projectile. He dodged left, cocked back, and swung a frenzied fist at what had to be a half dozen imaginary enemies, then thrust a hand behind him and shouted, “Shield!”

Mouth agape, Lars sat down on the edge of the couch and scratched underneath his flabby pectoral, confused, but at the same time enraptured by whatever Finn was seeing inside that visor. He couldn’t place just what had grabbed his attention, be it the sudden change in the kid that had seemed so frail—or just how much fun he seemed to have. But for some reason, he just couldn’t look away.

“Adel?” the kid shouted, one hand cupped around his mouth as if shouting over a distance. “Do you still have a scan spell left?”

Finn listened, the response anything but audible to Lars.

“Great! Cast it and find out how many hit points it has left. My toon is almost done for, but if we’re as close as I think we—”

Finn stopped speaking and cocked his head. “Really? Fan-fudging-tastic! Fall back in case this doesn’t work! I’m gonna give this ugly son of a badger all I’ve got!”

Finn spun around, his harness squeaking like a fan with a bad bearing, then set his feet. He dropped into what reminded Lars of a wrestling stance, then brought both hands down to his hips in the shape of a ball, fingers clenched and forearms tight. “Give me a good roll! Please, oh, please give me a good roll! I need this!”

Lars stood to his feet, weight pressed forward on his toes as he held his breath. He absentmindedly reached into his pocket and pulled out the half bag of salt and vinegar chips he had been saving for a midnight snack.

“Yes! Fireball!” Finn roared as he thrust his hand out in front of him. “Eat my flare!”

Lars took a deep breath and shoved a handful of chips into his mouth.

Finn waited with anticipation. Lars chewed.

“Yes! Yes! We did it, Adel! We finally did it. We finally beat the ogre!”

And it was the mention of that name—ogre—that finally set the hook. Barely even aware of what he was doing, Lars dropped the empty chip bag, pulled out his phone, and took a picture of the contraption with a greasy thumb. He sat back down and used the Lens feature to search for every single item he could see in front of him. Not five minutes later, orders had been placed with next day shipping—a small expense for the current Galactic Champion of the Federation. Then, without saying a word to his new assistant, he returned to his bedroom and collapsed onto his mattress.

Normally, he fell asleep in minutes.

But for the first time in a long time, Lars “The Ogre” Ochre was excited about something new in his life. Something that wasn’t related to wrestling. And the thoughts flowing through his head kept him awake for hours.