When Malik Monk felt the sensation of cool stone against his bare flesh, he knew that he wasn’t where he was supposed to be. The last he remembered, he had been going with his teammates to some French nightclub that Nic swore had “the hottest girls in all of France”. Then somebody had made a joke about the presumed hairiness of the French girls that would be at Nic’s nightclub of choice. Laughter had been shared among teammates. And then…he had ended up on a cold stone floor with no clothes on? How had that happened? Brief thoughts of abduction scurried through his mind. It wouldn’t be so unreasonable for a desperate foreigner to hold a prominent American athlete hostage for ransom.
Slightly worried about what he would find his surroundings to be, Malik opened his eyes, but what he saw was jarringly different from his expectations.
The stone floor he was lying on was made of perfectly smooth and polished marble. It stretched away from him in both directions, further than his eye coludd see. Along the floor ran dark grey stone walls, the careful masonry of which was interspersed with grandly-arched windows trimmed with gold or brass. There was no ceiling except for the opaque layer of shimmering clouds through which a diffuse golden light passed through.
There didn’t seem to be anybody around. He was all by himself, so he got to his feet unbothered by his nudity. Not like he was ashamed of his own body; on the contrary, he had just been heading to a nightclub where he had hoped to meet multiple girls who would see his nakedness in its fullest glory. Vaguely, he wondered whether his teammates had noticed anything amiss. Maybe his “real” body was enjoying the club with his friends while his projected consciousness was in this place, wherever it was.
Malik picked a direction and started walking. The place was so peaceful and beautiful that it was hard to worry about anything that might or might not be happening in the “real” world. All the troubles of that diseased mortal sphere of Earth seemed remote and unworthy of being dwelled upon.
He walked for some time, but for how long exactly, he didn’t know or care. Time seemed like an obsolete concept in this grand hall of absolute serenity. When he saw a figure coming out of the hazy distance to greet him, he almost regretted that his solitude was interrupted.
“Welcome,” said the white-robed man when the two were within speaking distance.
“Man, I thought I had this place to myself,” Malik said.
The man laughed. “You do, in a sense. The chances of you meeting another inhabitant of the Hall of Thirty Point Scorers are extraordinarily remote, given the Hall’s infinite nature. Oh! I almost forgot.” The man handed Malik a white robe identical to the one that he wore.
Malik put on the garment and relished the luxurious feel of the silky fabric against his skin. It was far more comfortable than any clothes had worn in his previous life. “The Hall of Thirty Point Scorers, huh? So you must’ve scored thirty at some point in your life too.”
The man nodded his head once. “Indeed. I am Carlos Delfino, the Guardian of the Hall.”
The name was only vaguely familiar to Malik as the name of a former NBA player of little renown. He was about to ask more questions about the Hall, but was interrupted by a furious voice coming from behind him.
“No, no, no! Get him out of here! This wasn’t supposed to happen!”
Malik recognized that voice. He turned around to see his coach, James Borrego, storming towards them angrily. “What wasn’t supposed to happen?”
“How dare you score thirty!” James practically spat in his player’s face. “You’re not supposed to be good! You’re supposed to suck! That’s why I don’t give you any minutes!”
“Calm down man, you’re ruining the vibe,” Carlos warned, stepping between coach and player. “And how’d you get here, anyway? The last time you scored thirty was probably in middle school.”
“Shut up, this isn’t about you,” James said dismissively. “This is about Malik and his INSUBORDINATION!”
“You can’t be happy that I scored thirty?” Malik asked, feeling that the barely-suppressed hatred that James held for him had finally come to the fore.
Meanwhile, Carlos was whispering to himself nervously. “Unauthorized visitors to the Hall…the Overseers’ displeasure will be extreme…very extreme indeed.” He pulled out a small scroll from an inner pocket of his robe and hurriedly read down it. “How to banish interlopers…how to banish…aha!”
James continued to vent at his player, ignoring the complicated but deliberate hand motions that Carlos was making. Malik watched with interest. What was about to happen?
Suddenly, a large chunk of the stone floor underneath James’ feet gave way, causing him to plummet into the endless void below.
“That’s better,” Carlos said. “I’ll leave you alone. Enjoy your stay.”
Malik smiled. “I will.”