My Arrogant Ex Is My Gaming Master

The deafening roar of the plane vibrated through Grace's headphones. She stared at the screen. A small yellow parachute icon popped up next to Jax_Teller's name in the bottom left corner. It was an invite to follow his jump. She panicked and mashed the 'F' key to accept. Her character instantly lost all autonomy, locking into place right behind Jax's avatar. "Jumping!" Jax yelled through the in-game voice chat. His voice was loud, carrying a thick, unmistakable East Coast accent that cut through the engine noise. Grace frowned. The voice scratched at the back of her brain, feeling strangely familiar. But the adrenaline of the game wiped the thought away. The two characters dove straight down toward a massive complex of buildings labeled School. The altimeter on the screen plummeted. The wind howled. Grace rotated her camera and her stomach dropped. The sky was swarming with dozens of other parachutes. They looked like a flock of vultures diving for a carcass. Jax steered them perfectly toward the flat roof of the main building. But Grace's cheap apartment Wi-Fi stuttered. Her screen froze for a fraction of a second. When the frame rate caught up, she had detached from Jax. Her character slammed hard against the concrete ledge of a two-story building next to the school. Her boots slipped. She plummeted off the edge, crashing onto the cement courtyard below. The screen violently shook. Her health bar instantly vanished, leaving only a sliver of red. Her character groaned in pain, dropping to the ground. It got worse. A player holding a rusted sickle landed ten feet away. He turned, saw her crawling on the ground, and sprinted straight at her. Grace's heart hammered against her ribs. Her fingers scrambled across the keyboard. In her blind panic, she held down the 'T' key. "Help! Someone's coming at me with a knife! I don't have a gun!" Her voice cracked. The raw, terrified plea of a girl echoed through the proximity chat, broadcasted to the entire area. On the roof of the main building, Jax and Morgan froze mid-loot. "Holy shit, it's a girl! And she sounds cute!" Morgan yelled into the squad comms. Jax didn't hesitate. He racked the bolt of the UZI he just picked up, vaulted over the edge of the roof, and sprinted toward Grace's icon on the minimap. A hundred yards away, in the third-floor window of an adjacent apartment block, Ø stood perfectly still. Adelbert's finger rested on the left mouse button. He slammed a magazine into his M416 assault rifle. He heard the scream through his headset. His jaw tightened. The voice sounded familiar, but the heavy static from her cheap microphone distorted the pitch. Annoying woman, Adelbert thought, his eyes narrowing. Despite the irritation flaring in his chest, his wrist flicked. His crosshairs snapped perfectly onto the courtyard where Grace was crawling. The player with the sickle reached Grace. He raised the blade high above his head, ready to swing. CRACK. A single, deafening gunshot ripped through the sky. A 5.56mm bullet tore straight through the attacker's level-two helmet. The player's body went limp and instantly transformed into a wooden loot crate emitting green smoke. The kill feed in the top right corner updated: Ø killed Player_123 with M416 (Headshot). Grace sat frozen in her chair. Her chest was heaving. She stared at the wooden box in front of her face, her brain completely short-circuiting. A few seconds later, Jax's character sprinted into the courtyard, panting. He looked at the box and groaned into the mic. "Damn it, Ø! You stole my kill!" A voice crackled through the headset. It was incredibly low, freezing cold, and dripping with absolute impatience. "You're too slow, trash." That freezing, impatient tone hit her like a physical blow to the chest. The sheer arrogance in his voice was staggering. "Don't worry, sweetheart, big brother is here," Morgan said, running up to her. He dropped a first-aid kit and a bottle of painkillers onto the concrete. Grace clicked to pick them up. She started the healing animation. "Thank you," she whispered into the mic, her voice still shaking. Hearing her soft, nervous gratitude, Jax and Morgan went into overdrive. They started throwing boxes of ammo and armor at her feet. Ø stood in the distant window. He watched the pathetic display through his 4x scope. His jaw ticked. "Loot your shit and get up here to hold the angle," Ø's voice cut through the chatter like a knife. "I'm not here to babysit." He turned his back to the window and vanished into the shadows of the building, leaving Grace staring at his cold, black icon.