- Click.
The hiss of hydraulics, following the weight of the helmet lifting, and the sting of sweat turning cold as the gusts of AC running on full blast hit me.
The kind of sterile chill that makes your skin itch, reminding you you're alive only because it hurts.
Then again, the VR Pod runs hella hot.
The pod's hum died down, while its screen displaying the clan's chat.
Through the blur of my eyes, I could still make out my name popping in every message.
Rubbing the blur out of my eyes I looked around only to find the walls of my room glaring back — whitewashed, decorated in glass etched with designs pretending to be expensive. Well, they were.
The whole room smelled of lavenders, my mother's favourite fragrance.
But none of it was mine. Not yet at least.
Amid the screaming luxury, my eyes locked themselves on to the photo frame on my desk beside the pod, displaying and keeping alive the memories of times when all was right in the world
And on the same desk, my army application form laid. All filled up with stamps marked beside my details.
Just one empty line left at the bottom. The only thing the entire form was waiting for.
Hopping off the pod, I pulled the chair and sat at the table. Elbows supporting my chin.
And just… stared into the reflection the swam faintly in the gloss of the table - black hair sticking to my forehead with my blue eyes still dilated from a battlefield that wasn't real but my body hadn't caught up with that yet.
My hands trembled but not from fear.
Never from fear.
But from adrenaline that didn't give a damn if the fire was an exploding mini sun or digital code.
The body just knows it burned.
Sitting in front of that form I saw a possible future.
The army.
Marksman division, if they'd have me.
And out of all the things I wasn't, out of all the things they said I couldn't be, this was that one thing no one could deny…
And that was the way looking through scopes felt second nature.
Sniping wasn't just a skill I learned in-game; it was the only thing ever that none could deny I had.
And maybe that was enough.
Maybe that could turn into a career.
A uniform.
A Medal or two.
Maybe even a family of brothers in arms.
Something not pixelated.
I could already smell the oil and gunpowder, and picture myself through the early morning drills.
Something I wouldn't lose if a server crashed.
The doubt still clawed at me – no matter how advance, the game is still just a game.
But still, it was a respectable career. The kind my parents would have been proud of.
Parents.
My throat tightened, like it always did when I thought of that word.
It's been eight years since that phone call from the police. A car crash, claiming both of them in the same night.
And just like that… I was orphaned.
I still sometimes hear that old phone ringing.
I was just twelve fuckin' years old. Standing there, with that phone pressed to my ear and the ashes of my world in my hands.
Mother and I had gotten into an argument - over me being the brat I am – just before they left.
Though they did leave me fifty million credits and this villa in a suburb full of families who still had two parents and smiling photographs dotting their walls.
While I… I didn't even get to grieve.
My uncle moved in almost before the bodies were cold.
"To take care of me."
Him, his wife, their daughter, and their son.
The whole package.
At first they played it sweet.
All smiles and promises.
Like caretakers out of a soap opera. "We're here for you, Vincie. You're not alone."
And as my parent's will was declared, their sweetness curdled in few months.
The aunt — greedy, toxic, and entitled — drank from the inheritance like it was hers. Bought dresses and jewellery and partied with the money my parents had bled decades for.
And the apple didn't fall far from the tree either.
The daughter - seventeen now, followed her mother perfectly. Spoiled, bratty, and cruel in the way only someone who never earned anything can be.
The son… twelve, same age I was when I lost everything.
Still innocent. Still smiled at me and called me his "big brother."
Too young to know any better.
For now.
The uncle stayed quiet, though.
A coward's quiet.
A silence that let rot fester as long as his glass stayed full and his bed stayed soft.
One man tried though.
My father's lawyer and his closest friend.
Did what he could to protect me and the inheritance they left behind.
But the law is the law. And that law said it wouldn't be fully mine, until I was twenty-one.
So one more month…
One more month until I could sign them out of my life forever.
I'd been planning it for years.
Since fifteen, I'd stopped playing their game of "obedient orphan."
Every time they sneered, I snapped back.
Every insult, I forged into a knife and returned with a stab.
Every attempt to control me, I burned down.
Petty arguments? I never let them win, even if it cost me another shred of innocence.
And piece by piece, it did.
Picking up my phone I texted my father's Lawyer – "Hi uncle Pete. Can we meet?"
His reply was instant, "Something happened? You okay?"
"No, nothing urgent. It's late now. Let's talk tomorrow. Your office?"
"Sure, see you there at 1."
And with that I dropped the phone on the table before once again resting my eyes on that form.
I pressed the pen into the corner of it right where I was supposed to sign it.
And yet my hand didn't move, letting the ink leak through the nib onto the paper.
Didn't even notice when the pen slipped from my hands.
That's when I noticed…
The high-pitched voices that were carried up from the dining hall.
Fake laughter and cheap high-fives sounding no different than a couple of harpies.
Dinner.
Nearly forgot why I ditched the greatest war our clan has ever fought.
Resigning to the headache of having to deal with those idiots below, I dragged myself down the stairs.
Hunger doesn't care for much.
The dining room glittered in its stolen wealth.
Chandeliers dripping warm light.
Velvet chairs, looking more expensive than comfortable.
Oil paintings of random people from ages long gone.
It screamed luxury and class.
All of it theirs for now… But soon will be mine again.
"Well, look who finally crawled out of his toy cave." My cousin sister's voice was sharp, as though rehearsed, dripping smugness she hadn't earned.
She leaned back in her chair at the dining table, her lips curling. "Gosh, look the shape you're in. That dishevelled mug you call a face. And all that sweat and gunk. No wonder she rejected you."
I stopped in the doorway.
Letting the silence stretch.
Letting her smirk widen like she thought she'd landed a blow.
"Well…," I said, lips curling into something sharper, "At least I wasn't caught blowing that fat old toad of a chemistry teacher for a A."
Her smile cracked just the way I wanted.
"Vincent," my aunt's voice cracked like a whip draped in honey and poison. "Must you always drag your family down to your level? You're an adult now, yet we let you stay in this house, eat out of—"
"My house," I cut her off, yanking a chair out. The screech of wood against marble made her flinch. While I sat slow and deliberate. "You're here because the law says I can't throw you out yet. Don't get this twisted."
Her lips quivered.
She hadn't expected that one to hit so clean, though she should've.
She hated when I reminded her.
"Ungrateful brat."
"Entitled parasite." I leaned forward, and elbow propping my chin, grinning like I owned the whole room. Which I did.
Then came the shrill duet — mother and daughter, and their words over words, voices climbing, attacking and accusing, every venom-laced line bouncing off the walls like ping-pong balls..
"You'll never amount to anything besides your inheritance!" the daughter spat.
"Why are you such a selfish brat? Grow up!" the aunt snapped.
"You think hiding in that pod makes you special? Makes you a man?" the daughter hissed. "News flash, cousin, the real world doesn't care about your digital sniping skills."
"And what will you do when all this money's gone?" the aunt piled on, lips curling. "Starve in the gutter because you never learned to stand on your own two feet?"
While sat there, smiling through it all.
I always did.
Winning this little fight didn't matter.
Winning today's war did.
Bleeding them dry did… that was victory most days.
Then through the storm of their voices, crashing louder and louder… came footsteps.
Lighter, hurried, and not venomous.
At-least not yet.
"Big brother!" My cousin brother came barrelling in, eyes too bright for this house, his warmth shoving away the frost.
With cheeks flushed and arms clamping knees, he was already on my lap before I could blink.
His grin was wide enough to light the whole damn room. "When will it be my turn to play that game?"
The room went silent.
The aunt smirked.
The sister grinned.
Waiting for me to falter and validate what they think – I may croak as much as I want but when the times comes… I won't have the guts.
So, I looked down at him, staring into his eyes, and his smile.
And for one second, that one raw second, my chest loosened.
For that one second, I wanted to pat his head and say, "soon." or "Let's go now".
Wanted to give him something no one had ever given me since I was twelve.
But kindness here wasn't just kindness.
Kindness here was blood in the water.