we play games with guns (valorant)

chapter 7

The last five seconds, he saw. Chamber saw the last five seconds of Raze's life. He was staring at the screen dumbly. Had it not been for his idling on the previous screen, on Yoru's house, he would've watched the whole scene unfold.

He could've saved her.

That was three hours ago. Now Chamber stood in the center of his room, thumb hovering over the spy monitor again, grease spots still visible from his sweaty hands. The muted clip of Viper and Raze at a standoff was already near its end by the time he began watching.

Raze with the syringe, Viper with the gun.

Chamber with the camera. He was looking down at the room again, fingers wrapped sloppily around the tablet, redolent of a child holding their present on Christmas.

He was afraid.

Neon dragged herself out of the sofa. Her neck hurt and her spine hurt, she felt like all her bones were twisted. Neon equipped her sword and sought out Jett. It was a disappointment that she was not with her last night.

She was scared that Jett had been hurt. But it was just her paranoia, Neon thought. The agents were not eager to jumpstart the game. She didn't think any of the members would die anytime soon. Her members were stubborn, rebellious, and sure as hell did not listen to strangers. Neon spotted Jett, but before she could call out to her, someone grabbed her wrist.

Neon slipped, her toe cap catching on the stone crease. The hand pulled her back and twirled her like a princess, so that she was facing them. Her face showed her bewilderment. "Is there something you need?"

Phoenix's answer came quick. "Listen, I'm sorry for being rude to you yesterday."

It was funny. Neon had almost forgotten what had happened. A nap had fixed the problem for her. Neon fully faced Phoenix and the two of them analyzed each other. "No, I forgive you." It felt like a truce. Or rather, a false deal.

Phoenix played with his fingers. She looked at his hands. Phoenix took a step back to briefly search through his bag. A few seconds later, there was a book, yellowed and curly, in his hand. "I'm sorry."

"You don't have to say it twice."

Phoenix knew this. Neon was concise and straightforward and unexpressive. He wanted Neon to really feel his emotions, that he really wanted to make up for it. He zipped up the bag and abruptly left the conversation.

Neon's eyes trailed after his departing figure.

She pulled her watch tighter. The squeezing sensation on her wrist made her feel relaxed. It was like a warm hug. A demanding hug, but a hug. It was 7:00 AM. Neon saw Jett come from Yoru's house, her cheeks slightly sunken and her eyes weary. Neon beckoned her over, but Jett didn't need to be told.

"Are you okay?" It was worrying. Jett was in the same lethargic state from their journey here.

"I'm really tired." Jett tracked Phoenix's movements; he was waking back to his house. They locked eyes, and Jett shut her mouth. "I don't want him to get ticked off again. Let's talk later."

Neon's brows arched. "Oh, we made up." Plus, who gave a damn if Phoenix was angry? He could kiss her ass. Neon searched for Jett's hand with her own. She put her index finger on Jett's palm.

"Glad to hear," the mumble came low and careful.

Neon had nowhere to put the bulky sandwich of yellow paper. She let it hang awkwardly at her side. Jett looked at her. What book is that?

"'Fahrenheit 451'."

"What's it about?"

Neon delivered a spiel to demonstrate the world of Guy Montag. A man in a world of oppression, individuality, and misunderstanding. It made Neon sad.