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StamkosFan · 04-23-2019, 12:18 AM

Prologue

CHAPTER ONE

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Jax Duggan thought he would be the first to arrive at the arena for the Jets' development camp; that had been his intention, at least. He strolled into the building 90 minutes before the session was due to start, confident that nobody had beaten him there. If he was the first one on the ice and the last one to leave, he could prove himself to his coaches, the media, and his future teammates. But as he walked through the arena's main entrance to the elevator, he spotted Ola Wagstrom already waiting by the bulky doors. The Swedish forward's expression had contorted into one of impatience as he jabbed the down button repeatedly. Jax snorted in disbelief at the alternate captain's inability to wait even a few seconds, feeling a smirk creep across his face. Wagstrom detected the sound and spun around, a wide grin stretching across his face as he recognized the newcomer.

"Jax! This elevator has not arrived and it's been twelve seconds, can you believe this?! I could have played three entire periods of hockey with how long this has taken." The elevator doors slid open with a soft ding, and Wagstrom marched inside, beckoning for Duggan to follow. "Why are you wearing your Whalers jersey? You're at the pro camp now, y'know."

Jax tentatively trailed Wagstrom into the elevator and stood still as it began its descent. "All I got from the Jets was a jersey. I haven't received a full set of gear yet, so I decided it would be best just to wear this than a mismatched outfit."

The elevator cables creaked like a rusted door hinge as the lift grinded to a halt. Ola Wagstrom exited the moment the doors opened, and Jax scanned his surroundings as he tagged along. He wasn't sure what his expectations had been, but he knew that he hadn't been expecting the Jets locker room to look so...blue. The baby blue carpet seemed to have been ripped straight out of a 1980s living room, and the walls were lathered in a dull shade of aquamarine. The only decor was a picture of the S44 Jets roster, who were positioned in three even rows behind the coveted Challenge Cup. This picture was, of course, surrounded by a wooden frame that was painted navy blue. Whoever designed this area had clearly had no style or creativity; the sky wasn't even this blue on a sunny day.

Wagstrom made a beeline for the coffee machine, and downed two cups in rapid succession. No wonder the guy always had so much energy, he was drinking coffee as though his life depended on it! Jax passed him and made his way into the main locker room area, to find that the Swedish right winger hadn't been the only one to beat him to the arena after all. Winnipeg Jets captain Jason Visser was seated on a bench beside Nick Brain, a Winnipeg prospect who currently captained the Colorado Raptors. Visser was speaking in a low, intoning Southern drawl, so Jax had to inch closer to make out his words.

"....anything of it. Next day, I get a call from my coach saying they found Zach's body in the locker room. The police never figured out who did it, they think maybe some crazy fan, but I have a different theory. This arena is haunted, I'm tellin' ya, it was an angry ghost," said Visser.

Nick Brain was so enthralled by Visser's dramatic tale that he hadn't picked up on the new arrival, so Jax cleared his throat to alert the two to his presence. Visser was startled enough that he nearly toppled off of the bench, but he regained his composure within a few seconds.

"Oh, hey there." That was the only acknowledgement Visser gave him before turning back to Brain and launching into another story. "There was another time that a young guy was here all by himself..."

Jax was a bit irritated by how Visser had brushed him off, but he didn't want to snap at the Jets captain on the first day. He had found Wagstrom wild and annoying moments earlier, but now he decided he would welcome the Swede's company over the silent treatment. Ola was still stationed by the coffee machine, and he waved at Jax as the youngster approached.

Wagstrom raised his coffee cup as though proposing a toast. "I don't drink coffee to wake up, Jax, I wake up to drink coffee."

Jax rolled his eyes and crossed his arms, trying to keep a straight face. "You're cut off. That's enough, that's definitely enough."

Wagstrom made a pouting face, but allowed the prospect to guide him into the main chamber. Visser instantly stopped his conversation as the duo entered, and flashed a bright smile in their direction. "Ola! How are you doing, my man?" exclaimed the Jets captain.

"I'm doing pretty alright, ready to get this show on the road! Hopefully this season will be better than last year, it was a tough year," replied Wagstrom.

Visser's warm reception to Wagstrom rubbed Jax the wrong way, given how curt their previous encounter had been. The S44 draftee seemed to sense the tension in the room, as he hurriedly finished lacing up his skates and headed in the direction of the ice. Great, I'm turning into this crazy guy's shadow, Jax thought as he scampered after the Swede.

Jax found Wagstrom already on the ice for a few practice laps. Utilizing his nimble hands and soft touches, the right winger was rehearsing a stickhandling drill through an array of cones. Even as a skeptic of Ola's sanity, Jax had to admit that the guy had insane puck control; it was as though it was taped to his stick. Wagstrom spotted his spectator and gestured for the first overall selection to join him. Jax gingerly touched his skate blade onto the pristine ice and drifted away from the bench.

Wagstrom stole a quick glance toward the stands, and his carefree expression dissipated in an instant. Eyes bulging with alarm, the Swedish right winger accelerated to full speed, hurtling toward Jax with arms outstretched. The prospect realized that the alternate captain was charging him too late to sidestep and avoid the collision. Wagstrom's shoulder caught him right in the rib cage, and he gasped as the air was sucked out of his lungs. The two toppled over the wall into the bench area, with the Swede's 213 pound frame crushing him against the floor. Pain scorched its way up Jax's abdomen as an elbow connected with his stomach; thinking quickly, he used his greater weight and strength to push the other man off of him. The anger coursing through his veins felt like lava flowing through a volcano; he was about ready to explode.

"What the hell?!" Jax shrieked. "Have you lost your..."

Gun fire rippled through the air, cutting him off mid-rant. The sound was deafening, louder than even the metal concerts he had attended as a kid. Jax could feel the reverberations through every bone in his body, and he shuddered as involuntary chills crept up his spine. His anger had subsided in a flash as fear replaced it instead, and it occurred to him that Wagstrom had been attempting to protect him. The Swede had army crawled across the floor and was attempting to retrieve a black object that was taped to the underside of the bench. It came free just as another round of shots echoed across the rink, causing Jax's eardrums to scream in pain. Wagstrom rose to a kneeling position and did a quick 180, firing a few shots in their attacker's direction. He motioned frantically at the prospect.

"He's reloading, run for the locker room, NOW!" Wagstrom rose to his feet, pulling Jax up with his right hand while clutching the gun in his left. "Go, we don't have much time!"

Jax Duggan and Ola Wagstrom sprinted for the tunnel as best as they could with their skates still laced on. Jax did not look back as the darkness of the corridor enveloped them, but he heard a series of gun shots resonating behind them. He had no idea what was going on, but it was quite apparent that someone had attempted to kill the both of them. The question that kept cycling through his head was why, why, why? Why would anyone want two practicing hockey players dead?

Maybe there was more veracity to Visser's ghost theory than he had thought.

SecondSucks22 · 04-23-2019, 12:26 AM

YESSSSSSS

ztevans · 04-23-2019, 01:28 AM

rip Zach Evans ????-S47 he died as he lived, in Winnipeg's locker room avoiding the cold

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