Page 101 of Forbidden Game

I grind my teeth, remembering that this is all being live streamed. I’m not opposed to trash-talk, but I don’t want to say anything that could get me canceled.

“Stop sucking your own dick and follow me,” I growl into my mic at the guy.

A notification pops up in the corner confirming a double kill from one of my other teammates, and the tension lessens a fraction. At least not everyone sucked.

“Okay, they’re just around the corner; stay behind me.”

My words are pointless because said noob fucking runs right around the corner and dies. I curse and throw a grenade into the room, cloaking the surroundings in smoke. I run in and get one headshot just as the timer hits zero.

It’s still not enough.

“RED TEAM WINS” splays across the screen, and I slam my mouse on the table.

I shove my headset down, leaving it to hang around my neck as I twist my head to glare at the guy two seats down from me. Some random gamer who ended up on our team and couldn’t play for shit. Dude kept bringing the team down and was the reason Red Team won because he basically died forty fucking times. Didn’t matter how much I tried to carry him; it meant nothing. This is why randomized team battles suck.

Every inch of my body is thrumming with frustrated energy. It bubbles, threatening to break loose.

That match should’ve been a breeze; we should’ve won. I should’ve won.

“Yo, English, good game.” A large hand claps my shoulder, and I turn to see CeleryGod grinning down at me.

I’m ninety percent sure his name is Andy, but we always go by our gamertags during streams, so it’s easier to just stick to that.

“You only say that cause your team won.” I shrug out of his touch and snatch my mask from the table, slipping it on to hide the anger.

“Well, it is tough to beat a god.”

I snort, some of the tension easing out of my body as I make my way offstage. “You wish, Celery. We would’ve wiped the field with you if it weren’t for that noob.”

Celery jogs next to me. “Yeah, that was shit luck. Guy was great target practice.”

The farther I get from the stage, the more I begin to calm down. The more I’m less likely to punch that damn rookie.

This isn’t me.

And this shouldn’t be bothering me as much as it is.

But I’m a superstitious person.

The last two tournaments, I won my team battles clean through, and then I went on to win my speedrun matches. Losing the team battle sets me off kilter. It’s not a good start.

Plus, I ran into CreepyPillows earlier, someone who shouldn’t even be in the country right now.

Creep is another one of the top speedrunners and an all-around pain in my ass. Last year he won Best Speedrunner at the Streamzies even though it should have been me. And now he’s here. I knew I’d be going up against him at the Divizion Championship Series, but that is still a month away. I thought I had more time.

Creep and I are both speedrunners at Dreadlander, but I’ve always beaten his time there. However, today’s speedrun is for Final Destiny, which is his specialty. It’s the one I’ve been clocking most of my hours in, practicing in anticipation for DCS. Final Destiny is my weak point, and I was hoping to test myself at this Miami tournament since I knew I’d be going against Creep later.

Not now. Not today.

Nerves eat their way through my body.

Fuck. I wish Sydney were here.

“You good, English?” Celery nudges my shoulder with his.

“Yeah, mate. I’m all right. Just distracted.”

We flash our badges at a security guard who lets us into a roped-off area.

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