2. The Team

2 �" The Team

After we kick some random team's a*s with a score of 13-2, the rest of my team starts to perform the usual after-game fiddling. In no particular order, this will primarily consist of:

-quitting the game (obviously.) But not, of course, before typing the typical 'Good game, you nearly had us' patronizing niceties to the losers.

-Closing SquadSpeak�"a useful and, to be quite honest, mandatory software where team players can effectively communicate with each other whilst being in-game.

-Stretching of the keyboard-warrior fingers and revelling in the satisfying crack that they give in response

-Removing top of the range headsets and feeling the cool air return to the red-tipped and sweaty earlobes

And last but not least:

-Giving a small, slightly fake sigh. The type of arrogant 'this game is just too easy, will I ever meet someone as good as me, it's actually boring' type of sigh that every elite gamer has after they win a match, regardless of whether they're in first place or in fifth.

Just as I walk over to the sofa where Eric is sat, Chris, our in-game Medic does a rather loud and overtly-dramatic aforementioned sigh before he plops down onto the red leather couch. I watch as he ruffles through his backpack for what I can only guess will be a snack of some kind. You see Chris is, what I like to call, the typical chubby gamer. These gamers are  strictly Otakus, meaning they spend most of their lives never leaving their bedroom, (or any room where a computer and a bed share the same space,) watching anime, reading manga and religiously playing multiplayer games. All the while never getting any physical exercise, eating foods that are microwaveable and preferably take less than two minutes to cook, and trolling through gaming forums trying to find any female being that may just 'see them for who they really are'. Which I suppose could work if Chris was the soft, gentle, secretly loving type who actually respected women.

Unfortunately, brown-eyed, brown-haired Chris isn't one of those guys. Chris is the 'show tits or gtfo' kind of guy. The guy who will only ever ask one question: Is she legal? And then inadvertently refer to a 'rapesloth' meme quote and chuckle hysterically while his entire larger-than-life body shakes and wobbles with each guffaw. He is also the kind of guy who actually thinks he's attractive. Not just physically attractive, but mentally attractive. He always says that if he were to actually venture out into the real world, women will be all over him. Though he usually  phrases it more like: "B*****s would love me."

But regardless of his major, major cons, Chris is a ridiculously good Medic. Since he started playing Contra-Force, it has been the only class he has ever played. He has mastered each skill-set, each weapon to medpacks ratio, (As a medic, your weapon options are dramatically weaker than other classes, and while the option to beef up is available, it decreases your ability to heal your team mates considerably), and his communications are always clear-set. Add this to the fact that I seem to be the only female he treats with a shred of respect, I have come to see him as not only an invaluable part of our team, but also as a friend.

Just as he victoriously holds up a pack of cookies in the air, I climb onto Eric's lap and lazily wrap my arms around his neck. Chris chomps on a few cookies while staring at his phone, seemingly reading a manga of some kind, (it is literally the only time he is silent) before he looks in our direction. "How'd you like my save in that game huh, Letti-chan?"

I laugh and throw him a 'oh well' shrug, "Yeah, I failed kinda hard there," I say. "But I saved your a*s pretty good too when that sniper re-spawned."

Chris grins, nods and taps on his phone a bit more as he talks. "Maybe. Maybe I would've deep dived, done a double flip and strafed over the bridge then back-raped the punk."

"Or, seeing as half of that isn't even possible, maybe you would've just like... Died?"

"Letti-chaaaan," he takes on this whole Japanese, whiny pitched voice while his round face contorts into a try-hard puppy-dog type of expression. "Why yeww noo feed maii egooo?"

Sometimes, it was hard to believe that this guy was eighteen.

"Why you no shut the hell up?" Eric mumbles quietly into my neck and I smile."You did great, baby," he says and I slowly run my fingertips over his cropped hair (or what was left of it). I had always suggested he grow it so that I could do the whole 'running my hand through his hair' type of thing as opposed to over it but Eric always refused. Apparently, long hair is for girls, and even though I have pointed out that I wouldn't want him to grow a fully fledged, face whipping, voluptuous, bouncing head of shoulder length hair, he still sees any hairstyle that isn't cropped as a girly one. Still, I liked smoothing the soft blond strands. Even if they were stubby.

"Michael was asking about us again," I say.

"Oh, really?" He ducks his head and nuzzles at the skin at my throat and I hum and try to squirm free. Even though in movies and books and columns of epic sexy-style magazines, it is said that us females get ridiculously turned on whenever any part of a guys face comes into contact with our necks, I am obviously broken and/or possibly not one hundred percent even female because... I hate it. It tickles, and the thought of  someone's hot, wet breath or (even worse) their tongue even touching my neck actually kind of makes me shudder. And not in the good way. Of course, Eric knows this. And of course, he doesn't care.

 "That dude is such a hater," Chris muffles through a mouthful of cookies

"He's just concerned," I raise my left hand to start chewing on my thumb-nail but Eric slaps it away before I even get the chance. He scowls at my pleading pout and shakes his head.

"It's a bad habit, stop that s**t," he says, his voice rather sharp.

"You stopping me is a bad habit," I huff and fold my arms. Eric sometimes had the tendency to snap at me. During our first few weeks together it made me nervous and I would usually go silent and meek and kind of disappear into the background. But one time he told me that he only got like that because he wanted to protect me, so now I tend to give as good as I get. Because you know, I want to protect him, too.  "What about your smoking?" I ask accusingly. "If you ask me, that's a way worse habit, and it's technically prohibited."

He grins his winning, wide smile and shrugs. "I'm allowed to smoke."

"Says who?"

"Me. Besides, no one sees me if I go to the back of the farm." The farm of-course being a massive picturesque style field at the back of the academy where physical sports and non-computerised socialising occasionally takes place. Michael said he named it the farm so that when people asked where he was, he could say he was farming.

Get it? Yeah... This is a man in his thirties.

I roll my eyes and mumble, "At least biting my nails won't kill me."

"Come on, Letti," he laughs and wraps both arms around my waist, "Smoking won't kill me. You know why?"

Feigning disinterest, I give a nonchalant shrug.

"'Cus I'm awesome!"

"Not as awesome as your mom," Chris muffles, bits of cookie crumbles flying from his mouth and landing on his ill-fitting Kasabian t-shirt.

It should be noted now that our third and final teammate, Fen, who we like to call Fenny, is absurdly quiet. In fact the only time he will speak is during a game so that he can keep up the needed communications to secure our victory. Apart from that, he is literally always silent. He will smile, nod or shake his head, but most of the time he remains expressionless. At first I thought this may have been because his English wasn't too great, (He was snapped up by the G.A. all the way from China), but during our first in-game session, it was revealed that actually, his English is excellent, he just doesn't like to speak. He even stayed quiet when Chris heard his full name for the first time�"which happens to be Fen Dong�"and almost choked from laughter.

So right at that moment Fen, the quiet Asian boy who hardly ever says a word lets out a noise that we have never, ever heard from him. Right at that moment, just after Chris says the Not as awesome as your mom joke and splutters bits of cookie everywhere, Fen laughs. And it isn't a somewhat normal, everyday laugh. It's a high, reedy, snorty kind of laugh with like a quick intake of breath in the middle. It's a weird kind of laugh. One that, undoubtedly causes  Chris, Eric and I to fall completely silent and just stare at him as he stares at us.

"That's the first time I've ever heard you laugh, Fen," I say slowly as if trying to coerce him into further  bouts of conversation. But alas, there is none. Instead Fen gets up from the swivel gaming chair and leaves the practice arena, (the name makes it sound a lot more fancy than it really is, which is basically a classroom with leather couches in the middle, and top of the range computers all around the edges.)

With Fen's departure I decide to remove myself from Eric's lap and kind of awkwardly slide onto the couch. I check the time. Nearly 2:45, which meant only one thing.

"We got tactical approaches next," I say with a sigh because the lesson is probably the most boring out of them all. They say practice makes perfect, a saying which I believe in fully and although I have always disliked the idea of having actual coached lessons on how to beat our opponents, I partake in them diligently. Even in the exams, (yes, there are even exams) I usually get a score of 90/100 minimum. Not that I am proud or egotistic about the results. Ultimately, I find them a waste of time but there is nothing I can do because under my actual gaming talent and my passion for Contra-Force and my abilities as a team player, I am here under a contract forged between my mother and Michael. A contract which basically says that I either ace every single exam and take my 'studies' seriously regardless of my practical performance, or get booted back to Phoenix with my Uncle and Aunt. So, yeah. I guess it makes sense why I work my a*s off to ace those exams now.  

Eric musses my hair and smiles, "We know you love it really."

"Not as much as I love your mom," Chris guffaws, his eyes still fixed to the screen of his phone.

"You've never even seen my mom," says Eric as he puts an arm around my shoulder.

"That's what you think," Chris replies and then they both start to engage in a your mom war and I throw in a few laughs here and there. After a couple minutes we gather our headsets, mice and keyboards and leave the practice arena. Just as we're walking down the stairs towards the FPS Auditorium where our classes usually take place, I feel my cell buzzing in my back pocket. It's from an unknown number, which is actually a very well known number I just haven't bothered saving it as a contact yet.

In my office. NOW!!

I frown at the sharpness and the capital letters and the exclamation marks and the use of any punctuation in general. Michael's texting was usually of the lazy kind, with whole sentences being condensed into about three words, so given the change in tone, I decide that it must be important and stop in my tracks. Eric, who is a few steps ahead of me turns and raises a curious brow.

"It's Michael," I say and hold up the cell. "Sounds pretty serious so I should probably go," with an apologetic smile I wave and then proceed to tackle the four flights of stairs that ultimately lead to Michaels office. And I'm rushing, because the text really did sound serious, and suddenly thoughts of my mom having, like, been kidnapped or arrested or something even more bizarre and dangerous come to my mind and then I'm actually running through the corridor.

I push open the office door and breathlessly stare at Michael as my heart thuds in my chest. My vision is almost blurry due to the whole running thing, (I hate running) and I have to steady myself by grabbing the office door handle a little tighter.

"Letti!" Michael cheers and swivels in his white leather chair. His smile is wide, his body completely relaxed. My mind is so full of crazy images and thoughts related to the possible kidnapping of my mother that at first I fail to notice the slouched figure sitting on the plush suede-style couch.

"Is she okay?!" I say rather loudly. I mean it wasn't a shout, but it was close enough.

"What? Who?"

"My mom! Why else would you sound so serious?" my eyes momentarily flit to the figure sitting on the couch and I can see him staring at me. Something about his dark hair and piercing gray eyes seem familiar but I'm too focused on getting my heart rate back to a normal figure.

"Oh," Michael laughs and looks at the guy on the couch with a sort of arrogant women, eh? expression and I start to feel the anger building up inside of me. Which I guess he notices when he focuses back on me, because his expression becomes meek and apologetic. "Well, I just really wanted you to get here fast so you could meet him!" he makes a grand gesture and, once again, swivels in his chair to face the guy on the couch.

"And he is...?" I realize that I probably should have said it in a more polite way seeing as he is sitting in the same room but... I had to run.

"He's our Finnish Crystal, Letti!" Michael stares at me as if waiting for me to share his over-powered level of enthusiasm and excitement and whatever else he's feeling in that moment. I hold my hands up in exasperation and give a frustrated sigh.

"So wait, you called me up here, up these four flights of stairs, so that I can meet the new kid?"

"Well," he gives a nervous laugh and there it is again. That hopeful and pleading look as he pushes his golden specs further up  his nose. "Well, actually Letti... I was wondering if you could possibly... show him around."

I stare at Michael in shock, my mouth agape. I don't even have the words. The Finnish Crystal stands and walks over to me and it's then that I notice how tall he is. His dark hair falls over his brows and his gray eyes stare down into my own. His voice is accented yet his English is completely smooth as he holds out a hand towards me and smiles. "Hi," he says. "I'm Mika."