Page 7 of Aim Assist

She reads off comments and I nearly choke. Damn. And I thought she was wild. "Let's see. 'Yo DeadYet, your tatas are straight fire. I'd motorboat that shit all night.' Though that doesn't reference my swearing. Let's see, what else…

"'Please step on me, zombie queen!' Guy has issues.

"'I've got a joystick you can play with any day, baby.' Not the right kind of mouth, but thanks.

"'Talk to me like that while you ride me. I'll be your cuck any day.' There we go. Ugh, no, thank you.

"'Shouldn't have to tell him twice. Maybe the next time he doesn't hold his own, he should get a taste of friendly fire.'"

The last one sends her into a fit of laughter so strong that it takes a second to decipher what she's saying. It's kind of adorable. Terrifying, but adorable.

Does she deal with messages like that on a daily basis?

"You should see the DMs." She snorts. "Bunch of pathetic little boys who can't handle a real woman. Yes, I really said that. You heard me. I'll say it again, too, you perverted fuckers. Ah, damn, I'm gonna get banned for that one."

"Yeah, I bet." I whistle. "Sounds like a real treat."

"Just another day in the life, buddy. Just another day in the life. Fuck, are your weapons for decoration? Shoot the fucking zombies, Trick!"

The light of morning greets the end to my gaming. At some point during the night, AmY quit streaming, but we didn't stop playing.

For hours.

And hours.

And now, I need to be up in about thirty minutes. There's no point in sleeping, so I hop into a quick shower and refresh myself into professionalism, hoping my eyes don't look too bloodshot.

Asher's call connects at 6:30 a.m., which is way too early for any civilized human to be calling another.

"The fuck you want?" is, obviously, the only acceptable greeting to a phone call at this time of morning.

"Who shit in your Cheerios?"

"You."

"Fair. Did you get the text from Miriam?"

I check my phone. Nada. Throwing him onto speakerphone, I grab a tie at random from my closet. I never worry about matching; all my ties are crazy. My favorite has hamburgers with eyeballs on them.

Today, it's pineapples and squirrels. Not sure what the fuck they have to do with each other, but weird ties are my thing.

Every time I get a present, it's a tie.

"Nope. What's up?"

"We're set to push the launch. We've already been all over the ads, and we're going to have you on a few podcasts. Still, it's the streaming that we're focusing on… and Sam's been really pushing her best friend as a good partner for you."

"Yeah?"

"She can grab the gamer girls, you can grab the rest of them. Says you'd be an aesthetic fit for promo videos, too. She wanted her in last year, but we chose you instead. Now, we're thinking it's better with the both of you. You'd be going through the game together, meeting as new friends. It's a little last minute, but are you up for it?"

"You know I am. This is my baby, too." A year ago, Asher had finalized his dreams as a gaming mogul. Once his company, HELIOS Gaming, had acquired the up-and-coming mobile game designers of HypeGaming, this day has been in the works.

We're all shooter fans, and that's what we do, day in and day out. Shoot shit. Compete with other people who shoot shit. Throw grenades and sometimes take a night to bond with a new friend and kill zombies for eight hours straight.

We played professionally. We played hard. We rejoiced in slaughter.

We didn't play cozy little RPGs with a storyline about saving the world.

---