CHAPTER 91: FAIR GAMES

Marcus woke to Tyler's persistent knocking on his door. Sunday morning meant no work, no security training, no immediate crises to handle. For once, he had a day off from both worlds, though his mind couldn't stop racing through all the responsibilities waiting for him.

"Dude, you're getting out of this apartment today," Tyler announced, pushing into the room. "Jake's coming over, and we're going to that fair that opened up downtown last saturday. You need to remember what normal feels like."

Marcus groaned and pulled a pillow over his head. "I've got studying to do. The certification course exam is coming up."

"The studying can wait one day. When's the last time you hung out with actual human beings who aren't your coworkers or instructors?"

Marcus couldn't remember. Between Pressley Guns, the security course, and managing his Valdris responsibilities, social activities had become an impossible luxury. But Tyler was right about one thing. He was losing touch with what normal nineteen year olds did with their time.

"Fine. But just for a few hours."

Tyler grinned triumphantly. "Jake will be here in an hour. Wear something that doesn't look like tactical gear."

An hour later, Jake arrived with his usual college student energy. Marcus had forgotten how exhausting normal enthusiasm could be. Jake talked non-stop about classes, parties, and professors while they walked to the fair.

"Man, you look terrible," Jake said bluntly as they passed through the fair entrance. "Tyler told me you got some security job, but you look like you've been through a war."

If only you knew, Marcus thought. In Valdris, he was literally preparing for war. In the real world, he was fighting to keep his job and his sanity. Both battles were taking their toll.

The fair sprawled across several city blocks, filled with rides, game booths, food vendors, and crowds of families enjoying their weekend. The cheerful chaos felt surreal after weeks of cosmic threats and siege preparations. Marcus watched children laugh on carnival rides while his mind calculated supply routes and defensive positions.

"Let's play some games," Tyler suggested, leading them toward a row of carnival booths.

They stopped at a basketball shooting game where an operator challenged passersby to make three shots in a row for a giant stuffed prize. Jake immediately started trash talking and sank his first two attempts easily.

"Your turn, Marcus," Tyler said, handing him the basketball. "Show us those reflexes you've been training."

Marcus took the ball, feeling its weight and examining the slightly bent rim that was designed to make shots more difficult. His weeks of weapons training should have improved his hand eye coordination significantly. He'd been practicing precision shooting with rifles and learning combat techniques that required split second accuracy.

He lined up his first shot carefully, using the breathing techniques Uncle Brass had taught him. The ball hit the back rim and bounced out.

"Shake it off," Jake encouraged. "First shot nerves."

Marcus tried again, this time adjusting for the rim's angle. The ball circled the basket and fell out. A small crowd had gathered to watch, including some teenagers who started snickering.

"Come on, security guard," one of them called out mockingly. "Show us those deadly skills."

Marcus felt his face burning with embarrassment. All his training, all the hours spent learning precision techniques, and he couldn't hit a simple carnival basket. His third shot missed entirely, sailing over the rim to scattered laughter from the onlookers.

"That's okay, man," Tyler said, trying to be supportive. "These games are rigged anyway."

But Marcus knew it wasn't the game. His training had focused on rifle accuracy at longer distances, not the kind of hand coordination needed for basketball. The skills he'd been learning for Valdris didn't translate to real world activities, and his obsessive focus on dual world responsibilities had made him lose touch with simple, normal abilities.

They moved on to other attractions, but Marcus couldn't shake his embarrassment. At the ring toss, he failed to land a single ring on the bottles. At the dart throwing booth, he missed the balloons completely. Jake and Tyler exchanged worried glances as Marcus's mood darkened with each failure.

"Maybe we should grab some food," Jake suggested diplomatically.

They found a picnic table near the food trucks and ordered hot dogs and funnel cake. Marcus picked at his food while Tyler and Jake talked about upcoming semester plans and mutual friends. The conversation felt like listening to people speak a foreign language.

"Marcus used to have all these business ideas," Tyler said, clearly trying to reconnect his friend with his old self. "Remember that we made soap last year? The one where we almost burned the bathroom"

Marcus did remember, vaguely. It felt like a lifetime ago when his biggest concern was passing organic chemistry . That version of himself seemed impossibly naive now.

"Yeah, that was before I realized how complicated things actually are."

Jake laughed. "Dude, you're nineteen. How complicated can things be? You've got your whole life ahead of you to figure it out."

Marcus almost laughed at the irony. While Jake worried about midterm exams, Marcus was calculating the logistics of feeding a besieged city. While Tyler planned weekend streams, Marcus was training portal magic users for interdimensional missions. The gap between his real concerns and their normal ones felt unbridgeable.

"Look, there's laser tag," Tyler said, pointing to a attraction across the midway. "That should be right up your alley with all the tactical training you've been doing."

Marcus felt a spark of interest. Maybe this would be something where his skills would actually translate. They paid their entrance fees and joined a group preparing for the next session.

Inside the arena, Marcus expected to dominate. He'd been learning combat movement, threat assessment, and precision shooting. These should be perfect skills for laser tag.

But once again, his training betrayed him. He moved too cautiously, treating the game like a real tactical situation instead of fast paced fun. While other players ran and dove behind obstacles, Marcus advanced methodically, checking corners and scanning for threats that didn't exist.

He was eliminated early by a twelve year old who simply ran straight at him firing wildly. The kid's aggressive, chaotic approach completely bypassed Marcus's careful defensive positioning.

"What happened?" Tyler asked as they left the arena. "I thought you'd be awesome at that."

"I overthought it," Marcus admitted, though that wasn't really the problem. His mind was trained for life or death situations where caution meant survival. He couldn't switch that mentality off for entertainment.

As they walked back through the fair, Marcus realized how completely disconnected he'd become from normal social activities. Every interaction felt forced, every conversation felt shallow. He was becoming someone who couldn't relate to the concerns and pleasures of regular people his age.

Tyler and Jake chatted easily about movies, music, and shared memories that Marcus could barely remember caring about. He participated minimally, answering direct questions but unable to generate enthusiasm for topics that once interested him.

Near the fair's exit, they passed a group of college students taking selfies at a photo booth. The girls were laughing and posing while their boyfriends made jokes and tried to photobomb the pictures. Everyone looked carefree and happy in a way that Marcus couldn't imagine feeling anymore.

"We should do something like this more often," Jake said as they reached Tyler's car. "Maybe catch a movie next weekend or hit up that new bowling alley."

"Yeah, definitely," Tyler agreed, though Marcus could hear the uncertainty in his voice. "Marcus, you in?"

Marcus wanted to say yes, wanted to maintain these friendships that connected him to his old life. But he also knew that next weekend he'd be dealing with siege preparations, cosmic missions, or real world crises that made bowling seem trivial.

"I'll try. Work schedule's pretty unpredictable right now."

The drive home was quieter, with Jake's initial enthusiasm dampened by Marcus's obvious disconnection. When they dropped Jake off at his dorm, he gave Marcus a concerned look.

"Take care of yourself, man. You seem like you're carrying some heavy stuff."

After Jake left, Tyler drove in silence for several blocks before finally speaking.

"That was pretty rough. You used to be good at everything."

"I'm good at different things now."

"Are you? Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like you're good at nothing except being miserable and paranoid."

Marcus stared out the window at the city passing by. People were living normal lives, dealing with normal problems, enjoying normal pleasures. He'd traded all of that for cosmic responsibilities and dual world burdens that he couldn't share with anyone.

"I'm learning skills that matter more than carnival games."

"Skills for what? You keep talking about preparing for things, but you won't say what. It's like you're living in some fantasy world where you're the hero of an adventure story."

If Tyler only knew how accurate that assessment was. Marcus was living in a fantasy world, and he was trying to be a hero. But the cost was becoming someone who couldn't function in the real world anymore.

When they got home, Marcus retreated to his room immediately. He had studying to do for his security certification, research to conduct for Valdris technologies, and plans to make for cosmic missions. Normal social activities were a luxury he couldn't afford when both worlds depended on his constant preparation.

But as he sat at his laptop, staring at his ever expanding to do lists, Marcus couldn't shake the image of those college students laughing at the photo booth. They looked genuinely happy in a way that he wasn't sure he remembered how to be.

He was gaining skills that could save thousands of lives across multiple worlds. But he was losing the ability to enjoy simple human pleasures or maintain normal relationships. The question was whether that trade off was worth it, and whether he'd still be recognizably human by the time his cosmic responsibilities were complete.

Tomorrow he'd go back to weapons training and dual world management. Tonight, he'd study survival techniques and magical theory. There was no time for bowling or movies or the carefree concerns of nineteen year old college students.

The weight of two worlds pressed down on him as he opened his books, pushing thoughts of normal life further into the background where they couldn't distract him from what he considered truly important work.