Page 3 of Sweet
My brow raised as I composed myself. “Oh yeah? Then tell me, how do you control yours? Hmm?” I crossed my arms, watching while he looked briefly at his phone.
“Oh, I got my way.” He winked, adjusting his bag. “Iusedto bake to help with how pissed I’d get, seeing Indi dating all those other fuckers.” His voice dipped just recalling the idea of his twin with other men. “The dude twice her age, the drug dealer, even that fucking skater boy.” The corner of his mouth curled up. “Although, dealing with her most recent ex, Carter, was a nice way to let off some steam.” His eyes twinkled at the thought. “I should get an award for how I handled him. I held that shit in way too long.”
I shook my head, remembering the blond-haired, hockey-obsessed dick. “Yeah, you’re welcome for my help with that one,by the way.” He rolled his eyes. “And I’ve got hobbies.” I looked back at my younger brother, realizing he was trying not to burst out laughing, as if my words were some ridiculous fantasy. “I do!”
Haze’s brows raised. “Sure.” He scoffed with a small chuckle. His phone lit up again as his face shifted to a larger smile. “Well, as much as I love staying here in your little doomsday off-grid home, I have somewhere to be, and steam of my own to let off.” He winked again. “Don’t wait up for me.” I rolled my eyes and waved him off, knowing exactly where he was going.
Fucking twins.
An alert from the external security system I had chimed from my phone. I swiped through to open the live feed, watching as Haze stepped outside and approached a black muscle car with a woman in the driver’s seat. It was Indigo. And she was obviously smoking. “I swear…” I shook my head. “Fucking potheads.” Haze turned to look directly into the security camera and flipped me off with a wide grin.
He really is a prick.
I chuckled to myself, watching as the two drove away.
A hobby, huh?
My eyes scanned the large, modern room. Aside from the wall of monitors, I didn’t have much in here. Sure, there was an oversized bed and all the basic shit you’d find in a bedroom…My old gear, and an endless stockpile of guns and other things hidden from view in every inch of the place, but aside from that, it was pretty desolate. But, for the first time in weeks, I was finally all alone.
I walked over and retrieved my computer chair from the floor, fixing it and rolling it back to my desk. I looked at the blinking monitor as I sat down, staring at the hundredth failed attempt of hacking Northern Lights’ system. I had spent so much time trying to break through, hyper-focused and graspingat anything I could to help with getting into their systems, but Haze was right—I needed a break. Otherwise, I was going to go fucking insane.
My hand directed the cursor, hesitating as it hovered on the screen. “Just a small reprieve,” I whispered to myself before clicking away from all the coding I’d been focused on, clearing the monitors and opening a brand new tab. I started up my gaming console and chose one of my all-time favorite Modern Warfare video games, logging myself in. “See? I’ve got fucking hobbies.” I snatched my headset and while it loaded, I felt a bit of excitement rush through me as my digital character appeared, my gamertag above it.
Now we’re talking. Let’s fucking go.
An old, familiar comfort settled into my bones.
The game fully loaded, sending me and a bunch of random online players into a shared lobby. Voices from the other players filled my headphones as they overlapped one another, the volume making my eardrums ring as we were then split into two teams for a round of player-versus-player combat. A map materialized, the intricate virtual world spread wide to mimic real life battles fought throughout time. The rules, which were easy enough, were displayed for each person to see. Players from opposing teams had to travel through each area and take out the opposing team in a violent game of tag, until only one team remained standing. Simple enough.
The countdown began as each player chose their firearms—my personal go-to was the Benelli M4 shotgun, which had always been my weapon of choice back in my military days. “Just like old times,” I purred, customizing its skin. Of course, I had a pistol as my side arm, but I knew I wouldn’t need it. I never did.
The remaining players readied up, each of us psyching one another up via our headsets as the system chose team captains. To no surprise, I was automatically chosen as captain, thanksto my countless hours spent ranking to the top ten percent of the game’s players worldwide. And even though it had been an extensive amount of time since I’d last played, I’d fallen back into the game as though no time had passed.
Beep. Beep. Beep!
The countdown timer hit zero and we all loaded into the game. “Spread out!” I shouted to my team. Old instincts and experience took over, like some kind of tunnel vision—the controls and sounds of gameplay flowing back to me, and before I knew it, I was lost. “Behind you!” I shouted a warning to a teammate, shooting the opposing player as I covered him. “Got your six!” Another player rushed over and healed the man as I kept a close eye on our surroundings, taking out a few more players. With each calculated shot and kill, I felt an old surge of adrenaline, just like when I was knee deep in the desert, crawling my way through bodies and shit to fulfill my missions. The reality of the game and my violent past slowly bled together with each passing second, and before I knew it, I felt as if I was really inside the game…killing and reliving those dark days. That killer instinct I had inherited, passed down through generations of our fucked family, shot through my veins as I broke out into a light sweat and carried my team to victory with the final kill shot.
“Yes!” I shot to my feet, the voices of my teammates shouting and cheering filling the earphones as I felt such immense pride in our victory. “Good game!” I shouted to them. The euphoric high of winning drove us wild and like the addicts we were, we were thirsty to taste it again. “Alright, fuckers,” I shouted into the headset. “Ready up and let’s go for round two.” And with that, my team loaded back into the lobby and together, we spent the next few hours gaming nonstop.
Throughout the night, my team and I won multiple more rounds, easily dominating our competition while rising through the ranks. Despite being an advanced war game, it felt more likechild’s play, and my team and I were just moments away from locking in yet another win. And I could taste victory.
“Team leader! Up top!”
My focus shifted at the sound of my teammate’s voice as I took out a sniper from atop a nearby building. Despite the good shot, their health fell and they requested healing. I knew I could easily take them out, and without a second thought, I ran across the map. “Cover me!” I shouted as my character climbed the pile of debris, using it like a ladder until I was sprinting along the same rooftop. The sounds of gunfire filled my ears and my eyes locked onto my target, the fallen player sitting helplessly. I raised my weapon, aiming the shotgun with a giant grin as I readied to take the kill. “Game over, fucker.” A loud shot pierced the headphones and my screen turned red. “Wha—what the fuck?!” I stared at my monitor, unable to blink and holding my breath as I processed what just happened. “How—how the fuck—” The screen shifted to spectator mode, which only happened when your character died in-game. I watched as a third player stepped into view and stood next to my body. The voices of my own team filled my headphones, pissed and shouting at how we could’ve lost the match. And all the while, I just sat there, baffled and staring at the screen, watching the player who killed me emote and dance over my dead body.
How the fuck did they kill me?
The round ended, leaving my team in utter defeat. Our screens returned to the game lobby, our ranks on full display, showing who killed who in the game, and how many points we gained from the round. I scanned the tags, searching for who had killed me. “Where are you,” I hissed quietly, looking for it. The voices of my fellow team members continued to boo and curse through their microphones, adding to my anger.
There’s no fucking way they could’ve gotten such an easy kill on me! And with one shot? No. Hell no! Who the fuck even was that?
I stared at the leaderboard, scrolling until I finally found the one I was searching for: C0tt0nt@!l. I looked at the symbols and sounded the name out aloud to myself. “Cotton…tail? Like the rabbit?” I scoffed at the ridiculous name. “Fucker’s probably some preteen nerd who spends his weekends camping on other players. They probably used their teammate as bait.” I noticed the little crown emoji above their name, telling me the player was the opposing team’s captain. “Cheating little fucker,” I grumbled to myself.
Just then, a notification popped up on my screen. It was a private message from the same damn player. “Now what?” I clicked the notification and opened the message, reading it aloud. “Don’t cry, big boy. We can’t all be winners.” I blinked at the cocky little message. “Oh, hell no.” I gripped my microphone. “Fuck that team! I’m calling a rematch. Everyone, ready up!” They cheered and readied for a second round, determined to set things right. The opposing players seemed up for another round as they did the same. “Game on, fuckers.” We loaded back into the lobby, the numbers on the countdown timer clicking away until the final beep. And with it, the next match began.
The second round went by quicker than expected, the opposing team once again taking us out and claiming another victory. I refused to lose again and challenged them to yet another rematch, knowing there was no way in hell we’d lose a third time in a row. But just like before, they were victorious…again, and again. And again. I was furious, trying everything I could to secure just one fucking win, personally hunting the other captain down each round, and yet we just kept fucking losing. “What the fuck?!” I stared at the lobby screen, completely pissed. “There’s no way they’re not cheating!” And just likebefore, a second notification appeared as I received another private message. “Now what,” I grumbled, clicking it open and reading the message aloud to myself. “Sucks to suck…Oh, fuck this guy!” I opened a new tab on another monitor, annoyed and fuming from the cocky little prick. All sense of sanity left my body and I did what I do best: hacking the video game to find the player’s information. Within seconds, I had his gamertag, IP address, and all the personal information he used when creating his profile. And with it, I had more than enough to find him in real life.
I tapped away at my keyboard, driven by my burnt ego.
