Page 1 of Now Streaming

PROLOGUE

MIN

The zombie’s head exploded with a satisfying squish of impressive blood and brain splatter. Min took a moment to admire the death of the creature in front of her as it collapsed onto the ground in a heap. The work behind that simple moment of art was astonishing, and the end result was vibrant and beautiful in the grossest way possible.

Finally snapping out of it, Min glanced over at her stats.

“Shit. That was the last of the 9mm ammo. I gotta find some healing around here.”

Clicking several buttons on her light-up keyboard, Min navigated around the game map, making sure to keep her character ducked and her zombie vision on. Spotting an icon in the distance that said it was an item, Min had her avatar make its way toward it, being cautious, making sure her rifle was equipped and loaded. Her chat screamed at her.

“Guys, I know it could be a trap. But I’m in the red. I got to take this chance.”

The music was quiet, putting her nerves on edge in spite of her confident words. She knew the zombies were out there, waiting. Min also knew the other players were somewhere doing exactly what she was doing—loading up on items and weapons to prepare for battle while trying to stay as hidden and quiet as possible.

She’d managed so far to avoid most of the traps laid in this particular area, but the game was good at throwing curveballs and she didn’t want to be overconfident. She couldn’t just keep an eye out for her competitors—she had to be careful an NPC zombie wouldn’t jump out of nowhere and chomp on her. That would lose her the game.

Min fucking hated to lose.

She pushed on her headset, sparing a quick glance over to her second screen, showing her chat. Her fans loved it when she played Bleeding Sword, loved the tournaments even more, and she knew they were cheering her on. And while her pink wig was making her head itch, her contacts were making her eyes dry, and her makeup felt caked on after several hours of gameplay, Min never felt happier than she did when she was streaming.

Bleeding Sword was the latest competitive first-person shooter video game, blended perfectly with the horror aspect of a zombie survival. While it had only been out for a few months, it was on track to win Game of the Year thanks to an overwhelming amount of stellar reviews. Min and her other professional streamer friends had already logged hundreds of hours of gameplay, both against each other and as teams, and they often organized competitions to boost their viewership and sponsorships. Min had made it to the final four of this particular competition for Bleeding Sword, to no one’s surprise, and now the mission was serious. She was determined to beat DeathsHead.

As if summoned, his deep, dark voice came through her headset.

“You know you can’t hide from me, FlameThrower.”

She pressed the button to talk in-game so he could hear her. “C’mon, Death, you gotta be used to girls hiding from you by now.”

His deep chuckle was his only response, rumbling through her headset and bringing a grim smile to her face.

Min didn’t have to look at her chat to know they were losing their minds. She and DeathsHead were engaged in their usual game, a survival free-for-all, with the last player standing declared the winner and earning bragging rights. They were playing one of the larger and trickier maps, one that could handle several players at once, so she and her streamer friends could boost their viewing numbers, cross-promote, and mostly just play the game with their friends. It took strategy and skill and a certain amount of luck to win, and therefore the game often brought out the best and worst in all the players.

Especially her and her arch-nemesis, DeathsHead.

He had appeared on the scene a few years ago, his sinful voice, biting comments, and game skill launching him into one of the most popular streams every time he signed on. Unlike other streamers, he refused to show his face on camera, relying instead on his distinctive deep voice and in-game antics to keep his audience entertained. Even with that limitation, his viewership had exploded, with clips from his streams being replayed over all social media. When their group of friends had started getting into Bleeding Sword, it took very little time for the main draw of those lobbies to be DeathsHead versus FlameThrower. They were both excellent players and would taunt each other relentlessly whenever they played against each other, both doing their damnedest to outmaneuver the other. Sometimes she won, sometimes he did, but it was always a good time, even if he constantly pissed her off.

And boy, did he piss her off.

He was good, she would give him that. But he also played dirty, or at least as dirty as a video game would allow. He would set traps and lure her into them with items. He would make deals with other players to take her out. No matter who was playing in the lobby, DeathsHead made FlameThrower his number one target, constantly baiting and pushing her, pissing her off until they would end up yelling at each other through the course of the game. At first, she had been self-conscious about how easily he got her temper up. But her fans loved it, so she let it go, let herself banter back with him, taunt him, needle him, in the hopes that she would trip him up.

In this current tournament, they were playing a rural map, with long stretches of farmland dotted by various houses, barns, and stables. Min kept her avatar—pink, FlameThrower’s signature color—crouching in a field of wheat, scanning the terrain. They had been playing for a while now, and they were down to the last legs of the game, item drops few and far between. Spotting a house on the other side of a field, Min made her way slowly toward it, constantly scanning the terrain with an eye out for the other players. If they saw her in this vulnerable position, they’d shoot in a heartbeat, and she wouldn’t blame them. It’s exactly what she would do.

Once she crept near the house, she slid her character into it as soundlessly as she could, closing the door behind her and peering out the window to see if any of the other players were out there waiting for her. A glance to her second monitor showed her chat yelling encouragement, and she grinned, loving it all—the support, the love of the games, everything.

Min played a lot of different kinds of games on her stream, some social and relaxing, some puzzle oriented, some stressful as hell. She was grateful for the day she had been able to quit her day job at the coffee shop in order to be a full-time streamer, and would happily sign on for any type of game to try it out. But her true love was the competition, the games where she got to sneak through an environment and take out the other challengers. And though she’d never admit it, she lived for the times she got to play against DeathsHead.

They had never met in person. DeathsHead was strict about his anonymity and privacy. He never met up with other streamers in person, even though at this point, they had all known each other for years. As far as she knew, no one even had his phone number, since they all just messaged through an online server. He was just a voice. A dark, gravelly, admittedly sexy voice that played video games.

As if he could hear her thoughts, his deep voice filtered through her headset.

“I can hear your heart beating.”

She quickly ducked under the window she had been looking out of and did a quick scan of the area. Was he lying? Or was he really that close? Bleeding Sword was a horror-themed game, meaning the atmosphere was created to scare the shit out of the players while they hunted each other down. So the creak she was hearing could be DeathsHead coming through a door, or it could just be idle noise from the game. Details like that kept players on the edge of their seats, hearts racing with fear and excitement. Exactly the type of game DeathsHead loved.

“I think you’re lying, Death.” She was all bravado as she scanned the house for weapons—any weapon, really, since her 9mm had run out of ammo taking out another player, and then the zombie who had attacked her on the way here. All she had was her rifle, and that ammo was dangerously low. Her blinking red health icon warned her that she was one lucky shot away from being out of the game. She’d have to work fast if she wanted to win.

She crept her way upstairs as his deep chuckle filtered through her headphones, giving her goose bumps. A glance at her chat showed that they were loving the interaction. The rivalry between them always spawned Min’s best streaming numbers, and she couldn’t blame her fans. Who wouldn’t want to hear that voice calling for them?

---