Day 4
He stifled a yawn, there was no time for reflex human actions, he would need his entire concentration and physical performance to be at it's very peak. He swung his legs out of his bed, and without actually standing, shifted himself onto the computer chair. Soon he wouldn't need the use of his legs at all, he had almost finished 'walk-proofing' his home, so that he could access all areas without the need of ever standing again. His face was slack, saving the muscles used to re-arrange his face into that of a near-normal one, to re-invest into transfer strategem. He started the routine, donning the hands-free headset, he whispered command after command, "open tab", "refresh tab", "scroll, scroll, scroll". He was a master tactician, his battlefield laid out before him, his soldiers slowly advancing on enemy territory, except this wasn't war and they weren't soldiers, they were scouts, slowly moving towards their targets. He laughed, and cried, simultaneously. Samir was surrounded, completely surrounded by scouts. United scouts. It was a beautiful pain, for so long he had yearned for Samir, for so long he had appreciated the skills and dedication of the butch lesbian. He raised a swollen-hand, he has slept on it again, and clumsily wiped away a lone tear, the time was almost there now, finally, he could breathe a sigh of relief.
He glanced towards the shrine. They were all there, the chosen transfer targets. A stick of incense burned below, swirling smoke around their awesome figures. He wheeled himself over there and began to spit-polish each one, humming a silent prayer for the players and their families. After an hour or so, he had finished, and propelled himself back towards his computer desk, he had almost entirely lost the sensation of feeling in his legs now, he was close. Absent-mindedly he whispered 'f5', the page refreshed. It took three whole minutes for the story on the page to manifest into understanding in his brain. He started to twitch, uncontrallably, his head jerking from side to side, like a deranged churchill dog. Whining sounds, like that of a cat in heat escaped his drawn lips, a vein by his temple began to throb, outlining itself against his skin like an internal worm. His eyes scanned the two words over and over again, for hours, but he still couldn't understand them, 'Manchester City'. It was wrong. He had obtained confirmation from the source itself, he had performed the transfer ritual to perfection, even given up the use of his legs as a sacrifice to make Nasri stronger. And now he saw the fruits of his labor, his rivals, bitter rivals, would be stealing his player, stealing his dreams, stealing his legs. Fury erupted from every orifice, to the human eye, he was almost a blur, as his entire body racked in angry spasms.