Name: Adler Nieves
Team: Milfair Prehistorics
Position: Center Fielder
Age: Unavailable

Adler Nieves discovered his fascination for flight before he even took his first steps-–ironic, because he grew up in the swamps outside Leira City, which couldn’t have been further from the air. Planes were one thing that could calm him down, and at this distance he was enamoured with any white speck that soared through the blue sky.

Only 14 of today’s 28 cities had professional baseball teams then. Just as Adler hit adolescence, the league voted to dissolve its gender regulations and merged with the local women’s league. The sport exploded in popularity. This caused Adler, who walked with a certain sway and spoke with a lisp, to try out for the school team alongside his sister without the fear of being jeered.

Adler never flunked out of school, but even he’d admit that he would never grasp an understanding of engineering suitable to pursue his earliest passion. He’d later joke in an interview that where a smarter possum might have spent his 20s flying out of bases, Adler settled for figuratively flying around them. His intelligence was kinesthetic; his swing was fluid and effortless, and he seemed to know where to field even before the pitch was thrown. Despite his immediate talent, he received only one invitation out of school: a chance to join the reserve team for the Milfair Prehistorics, located high in the mountains on the other side of the continent. Seeing no other future outside of small town trade work, he took the offer.

The region was cold unlike anywhere the possum lived in his limited travels. After months of training furiously, waiting to hear his name in the lineup, he was placed on the bench in his second year. First game in Leira City, he was called to hit following an injury. He swung recklessly at the first pitch he saw, connecting just enough to watch it soar! soar! soar! Until the white speck disappeared beyond the blue fence. “The rest was history,” his sister would recount during a Hall of Fame induction speech on his behalf some 30 years later.

An outside observer might’ve predicted that Adler would find happiness in the city closest to the sky. From Milfair, he rode the team plane nearly every day, and signed balls that, by hyperbolic accounts, he launched into the clouds himself. A twist of fate ordained that the team who most often found themselves at the brunt of his bat were the Pilots, the Prehistorics’ primary rival.

Adler still played in Milfair on the morning of his 40th birthday. By that time, the league had incorporated its 28th team, and several championship banners hung under the roof of Prehistoric Park. On the land known for the discovery of life’s earliest artifacts, the timid, effeminate boy from the swamp penned his own page, even if its impact was comparatively minor.

On the morning of his 41st birthday, Adler Nieves announced his retirement. He’d begun to slow down, bobbling easy flyballs and wheezing after sprints to first. Satisfied with his accomplishments, he left on his own terms. In his unlimited spare time, he chose to finally pursue his interest in flight, receiving lessons from those happy to teach a famous athlete. He spent the first half of his 40s travelling the world, happy as his playing days, impulsive and all. On one innocuous day, after the white speck of Adler’s plane departed behind the blue horizon, the pilot never returned home.

The more optimistic believed that Adler found a new home off-continent. This only deters from a far more regrettable truth. However, from his first home run to the last day he was seen, Adler lived his best life. These were the final remarks of his sister in her speech. Then, the plaque she accepted, along with Adler's equipment, model planes, and trading cards found themselves artifacts in a museum of Milfair’s infinite history.