Chapter 3: Something’s Wrong

But the next round, I was setting up to hold A doors.

My hands moved on autopilot, lining up my crosshair at the perfect angle, muscle memory from hundreds of hours kicking in. The smell of someone’s burnt popcorn drifted in from the hall, grounding me back in the dorm.

I asked the dorm leader, Derek, to throw me a pop-flash from behind.

It was our usual play—a little teamwork to get me a peek advantage. "Yo, Derek, you got that flash? Hit me from behind A long."

But he just stared at me, confused:

"Huh? How do you throw a pop-flash from behind? I have no idea."

He looked dead serious—not joking at all.

He blinked at me like I was speaking another language, shoulders slumping. I waited for the punchline, but it never came.

Now I was the one left speechless.

My mouth hung open. "Bro, we literally drilled this last week. Remember?"

Just hug the wall at A long and jump-throw a flash behind me, isn’t that basic?

I gestured at the screen, replaying the move in my mind. It was a staple in our strat book—nothing fancy, just classic teamwork.

How did he forget something so simple after just one night?

He used to flex his perfect pop-flash on stream, bragging to his followers. Now he looked lost, as if he’d never played this map before.

But the match was getting heated, so I didn’t have time to teach him on the spot.

The timer was ticking. I could hear the enemy footsteps thundering through my headset, adrenaline kicking in. No time for a crash course.

I had to improvise, jumping up to bounce a flash off the wall myself.

My hands worked fast, fingers dancing across the keyboard as I lined up my own flash. It bounced off the chipped brick wall, popping just as the enemy rounded the corner.

As soon as the flash popped, I turned my back and peeked out.

A white burst of light. The world slowed down, and I felt every heartbeat in my chest. Then, as my vision cleared, chaos erupted.

The four attackers on the other side were literally covering their eyes, running around like headless chickens.

It was cartoonish—one guy even spun in circles, blinded, firing wildly at nothing. I bit my tongue to keep from laughing.

I flicked my mouse—four instant headshots.

Each kill landed with a satisfying click, the killfeed lighting up with my name. The dorm exploded into cheers.

Now only one enemy was left.

I sucked in a breath, heart still pounding, scanning for the last threat.

I held the angle, shoulder-peeking for info, and spotted him camping behind A doors.

He crouched, aiming at nothing, probably praying I’d walk into his sights. I waited a half second, then snapped to him.

One clean tap, another headshot, round over.

The game announcer’s voice rang out, “Ace!” My roommates whooped and hollered, banging on their desks.

The enemy instantly called a timeout.

My Discord pinged, chat exploding with accusations. It was clear: things were about to get messy.