“Take that, you stupid tit prisons,” I grumble, sliding into the throne that is my enormous gaming chair and slipping my headset on.
I flick through my messages, ignoring most of them as I wait for Runes of Chaos to boot up, munching happily on my pizza. The clan is already in the lobby, waiting for me.
“Miss me?” I ask, sliding into the voice chat.
“Hey,cariño,” StoneRE1—aka Slate—croons, and I blush. “Have fun on your trip?”
“It was a blast,” I reply. “Sorry, just let me scarf down this pizza and finish my ice cream, then I can come save your asses.”
Prophet’s scoff is barely audible, but Dodger covers for him.
“Pizza and ice cream again, Dark?”
He calls me by the first half of my username—they all do, except Slate with his silly nicknames—because they don’t know my real name. The topic came up organically a couple of times, when we swapped numbers, and again later. But Man would never have allowed me to disclose anything that major about myself. Assassins are supposed to be ghosts. I didn’t have the heart to give them a false identity, so I dodged the question. Eventually, they stopped pushing.
Strictly speaking, I know I should’ve respected their anonymity as they respected mine, but I’m a hacker. I wasn’t going to spend years of my life playing with people without getting a little bit curious.
We’ve gamed together for a decade, but four years ago, I couldn’t stand it anymore, and I went snooping.
I nearly shit my pants when I discovered their real identities. Dodger, Arlo, Slate, and Prophet are the four members of the record-breaking metal band, Hazardous, and I never once suspected a thing.
They don’t know that I know, and I made a vow never to bring it up. We were friends before they were even a band. For years, I assumed they were a bunch of college dropouts living in their moms’ basements, and I didn’t care. Their fame changes nothing for me.
“No answer,” Fr0gg0—Arlo—notes.
I sigh, hating that they’re familiar with my break-up rituals. “Tommy broke up with me, by text, if you must know.”
“What a piece of shit,” Dodger commiserates, and perhaps it’s my imagination, but he doesn’t actually sound too sad about it.
“Complete loser,” Slate agrees.
“Did he give a reason?” Arlo asks.
My next sigh is louder. “The same reason they always give, Frog. I got bored, and he knew it.” I scoff. “At least it wasn’t the good old you’re-just-too-much excuse. Oh, but he let me know the sex was great—on his end, at least.”
“Why do you keep dating these limp-dick losers who can’t even get you off?” Slate asks. “You deserve better.”
Prophet makes a throaty noise of agreement.
“You know why,” I retort. “He was stable and sweet and—”
“Boring?” Arlo adds, helpfully. “You’re worth so much more, Dark.”
I stuff my face with more pizza to give me an excuse not to reply.
My phone chimes, theribbitnoise letting me know that it’s Arlo before I even look.
[HzD]Fr0gg0
Soz if I upset u
I frown and quickly type back—cursing my greasy fingerprints on the screen.
D4rk4ngel
You didn’t. It was over for at least a month, but I’m still disappointed in myself.
[HzD]Fr0gg0
