A Virtual Battlefield

[Starla]

<Starla> Shaking her head, she gave a smile as she pushed the door of the café open, moving to stand quietly in the doorway. The soft click click click of mice all over the room were echoing one another, voices shouting to each other, or at pixelated opponents on their screens filled the cyber café’s floor. Most of the people were there to play in a massive LAN party, their decks all connected to another via a central hub that sat on a table in the middle of the café.

She nudged Cherri as she stepped in behind her, and nodded to one corner of the room. The redhead slipped off as quickly as she’d appeared, making her way to the empty tower. Night was next, already moving to the opposite corner before Starla could even nudge her. The girl was always two steps ahead. She loved it. She smiled, and turned to Barbie, then. “That leaves the last two corners. There’s the crowded one, and the one over there, closest to the street corner. It’s practically empty.” Her voice was low, to not draw attention. They wanted to be as subtle as possible, throwing themselves into the LAN without everyone knowing. She nodded to the crowded corner. “You take that one. I know how you like to show off your pretty face.” She smiled, and kissed the woman’s cheek before she turned for the mostly empty corner of dark pc’s.

There was lots of elbow room, a plus, and the corner seemed much cooler than the rest of the room, right up against the window and without so many bodies cramping up the space. This way, she could be alone to her thoughts, at least for a little while, as she booted up the game. The title screen for Halo 5 lit up the monitor, before asking for her login. Manicured nails tapped across the keys with a blinding flurry, her usual screen name, Darkstar, followed by the series of stars for her account password. The game instantly booted up, and the LAN rose to the first option in the multiplayer match selection screen. It was a team deathmatch; the girls’ next favorite game type behind capture the flag. She smiled, and clicked the connection, auto-joining the blue team when she was connected.

Night and Barbie were with her on Blue, Cherri had managed to screw up again, and landed on red. All the better. She could vent some of her frustration with the redhead out yet again, and get a better gauge of where the girl really belonged; if she was really one of them.

Immediately, Star bolted for the sniper rifle, and began making her way to the highest vantage point on the map while Nightshade covered her with assault rifle and pistol. Barbie was leaping into the fray, already racking up kills, jettisoning herself above both herself and Night, and a pair of players already in the game in a matter of moments. Starla had to stifle her laughter at Barbie’s cheer across the café. “Show off.” She muttered, and took her time before blasting a round through a red face guard, her first kill of the match following her first shot. It was a good start.


<London> I’m just trying to keep from dying.

Running her fingers through her hair, she shook out the snow dusted chocolate curls as she gazed over the various forms that took residence in the café. She saw no one that she recognized, not that she had really expected to. She kept to herself in the safety of her apartment, much to her twin’s ire. Lexington refused to accept that she felt more comfortable behind the computer screen than she did surrounded by people. It hadn’t always been that way, and she knew that her sister was still struggling to accept the changes that swept through their lives. She had taken it on her shoulders to be the responsible one when their parents had died, and as much as she loved her, she hated that she felt like she needed to raise her. I’m fine on my own, Lex. I wish you could just see that, she sighed as she slipped past a grotesquely huge man. She could feel the heat radiate off of him in waves - and the stench that followed nearly had her gagging.

You can bathe, you know.

It was on the tip of her tongue to make the remark, and yet, she heard her twin in the back of her mind. She had become her conscience over the years, and the thought of listening to her freak when she came home with blood on her sweater didn’t appeal to her. Her fault for making me change, she reminded herself as she gave the cropped sweater a tug. She knew the moment that she stepped through the doors that the competition had already dismissed her. She was dressed nothing like the rest of them - even the few women that littered the tables wore sweats and t-shirts. No one had bothered to dress up for the party, but she wouldn’t have gotten out the door until she had listened to the constant voice in her ear begging her to change.

Maybe it will work to my advantage.

Finding a seat near the back, she slid her bag beneath the chair before adjusting it so her back was to the wall. She had come in a few minutes early to ensure that she found the perfect spot. From this vantage point, she could see everyone - and no one could take her by surprise. Releasing a shaking breath, she hooked her foot around the strap of her bag, feeling the weight of it rest against her thigh. She could just make out the shape of her gun inside, and before she wiped off the mouse and keyboard, she patted the pocket of her skin tight jeans for her dagger. They wouldn’t be stupid enough to take on an entire café, Psy.

The single thought did little to reassure her, and yet, she forced her hand from the hilt to grab a pack of clorox wipes from her bag. “I have no clue what has touched this,” she explained when she caught a young, pimply faced boy look her way. As if he had read her mind - and the direction her thoughts had traveled - he quickly dropped his head as his pale skin took on a dangerous shade of red. Despite the uncomfortable situation she had found herself in, she wasn’t overwhelmed with the fact that she was in the open. The medicine her sister all but forced down her throat was doing its job, leaving her able - on rare occasions - to enjoy a taste of normalcy. Of course, she was more than fine to flush the pills down the toilet most days.

After a few minutes of ensuring that her station was sanitized, she rested back in her seat and draped one arm over her bared stomach as another slender form slipped in next to her. She barely bothered to cast her a glance, and instead, focused on the screen that popped up. She had come in unaware of what game they were playing - and when she saw the logo for Halo 5, she couldn’t help but grin. These boys are going to have no clue what hit them, she laughed as she leaned up to pull the keyboard closer to her. Lacing her fingers together, she cracked her knuckles before sliding her headset into place a second before she typed in Psylocke, followed by her password. It was extensive, and as she waited for the system to authenticate her, she chanced a quick look around the room. The second her name flickered onto the screen, she saw a few mutter an oath - while another group to her left high-fived each other.

Red. Wonderful.

When the game loaded, she moved for the first weapon she could find - and was pleased when it was her more favorable weapon. It didn’t take her long to jump into the midst of battle, the angry shouts as she took down enemy after enemy heard over her Falling In Reverse playlist. She was barely able to contain her laugh as the young boy from before threw his keyboard, sending the keys raining down them in a plastic fury when she put a bullet through his character twice. She had known it was his by a simple glance, and as he stalked out of the building, she shook her head. You have to have a strong will for this, kid. Turning her attention back to the game, she watched as her name skyrocketed up the list, topping her team in a matter of seconds.

Tonight was going to be a blast.


<Starla> Her rise to the top was predictable. She joined the match late, about ten kills into the fight, and the numbers were rolling at a staggering rate. The kill limit, set to one hundred points to the winning team, was still a distance away. She had managed to shoot her name up and over the rest of her team in a single encounter with the enemy team. She couldn’t help but chuckle to herself as she saw Cherribomb charging up the center lane toward her hard point. “Ignorant as always, Cherri.” She muttered to herself, just before firing a round straight through her visor, scoring another kill.

The reds came in droves, like fodder before a wildly powerful beast. Each bark of the rifle added another point to the tally. Behind her, covering the corridor at her back, Nightshade’s assault rifle rattled every few seconds, each time one of them managed to snake their way behind cover to try and reach her from behind. Keeping an eye on the scoreboard, she watched as one name began to claim a majority of the kills for the reds. A name she knew from comic books, for certain, and had heard a little whispering about around town, though she had marked it as local legendary, and little more. However, watching with a critical eye, she could see skill when she saw it.

It wasn’t until Barbie screamed at her screen across the café that Starla knew that the girl was really doing a number on her. She heard her lift the keyboard and slam it down on the desk, before she leaned into her seat and narrowed her baby blues on the soft glow of the screen. “**** this little ****.” She hissed, and angrily clicked at her mouse. Next thing she saw, the screen was lighting up with Barbie’s name, a rocket launcher the remedy to her woes. She had a smile on her face now, like a kid in a candy store as she ran headlong through whole firefights just to drop a single rocket into the center of an enemy strong point. She was laughing, reloading the weapon when the stranger rushed up, blasting her in the face and finishing her spree.

The woman all but threw the monitor across the café, slamming the mouse so hard against the desk that it shattered. She took the broken pieces and shoved them into the floor, pulling a new mouse from her bag and jamming the plug into the Universal Serial Bus port. “It’s fine, I’ll buy you another one, just leave me be.” She snapped as one of the staff came over to see if she was alright. “Just… bring me something to drink. Please?” She gave the waitress a smile, and she turned back to her screen, her game face back on.

The stranger was good; very good. She outclassed Cherri, who ranged a distant second, and was creeping past Nightshade, almost into Barbie’s score range. The teams were still pretty skewed, three of Starla’s four on one team, against the newcomer and Cherri didn’t make for the best of odds. The rest of the crowd were just bodies to sift through, each of them only landing a handful of kills against each other if they bumped into one another before one of the elites could get their hands on one of them. For the most part, Starla remained silent in her seat, her small, thin frame tucked neatly into the bound leather chair. She peered over the monitor from time to time to get a commanding view of the café from her spot against the wall, her island in the corner left her back to the street, and offered her a clear line of sight of each of the people packed into the café.

She watched as one young man, seated close to them, stood up and left after smashing his keyboard. She doubted that he would be back. It wasn’t likely that the café took kindly to people smashing their equipment. Unlike the young man, Barbie was ready to replace anything she might have broken. She was loaded, and all of them knew it. Spoiled, was most like it. Her and Star both. They heard about it often enough, anyway. How were they to blame that their parents were successful, wealthy, established people? That was no work of their own, for certain.

Barbie had dropped out of high school at twenty one, either too stupid or too bored to be bothered with school most of the time, instead living at home on her parents’ money and playing video games, until she found herself in the international ring competing for world championships. It was a fast rise, and she had burned brightly in her long reign. Even now, a veteran member on her own team, she was a wild success. On the board, between the three of them, she had the highest number of deaths, but she was the gutsiest, most in-your-face member of the group, choosing wild kamikaze drives into the heart of the enemy over the range and artistry of the stealth game.

Starla’s life had been very different. She’d been gifted from a young age with an affinity for power. She was limber, quick, strong; a real athlete in the making. Her reflexes were phenomenal, her critical thinking and analytical powers astounding. She graduated early, earned a bachelor of science degree in Statistics and Critical Analysis only two years after she enrolled in college. It was her own fault she fell into the games. A girlfriend had invited her to play once, just once, and that was all that it had taken. The girl was long gone now; Starla had trouble recalling her face, or even her name. Just the games, really, were all that remained of that brief fling.

They were her now, her very way of life. Adrenaline ran in her veins like blood ran through others’, her eyes were sharp as ever, her reflexes lightning fast. The games were a training of sorts, keeping her mind, her reactions to a peak level. Only recently had that level been raised beyond anything she had ever seen, even from herself. The searing pain in her lower back was gone as she played, focusing on the game. Her kills were rocketing, her death count still sitting at zero. As Nightshade’s death count popped to one, she knew she was looking at trouble.

Her ammo was low, down to a handful of rounds as she swapped to her pistol and turned from her vantage to the narrow corridor behind her. At once, a grenade bounced into the small space and she ran forward, the explosion launching Night’s corpse through the air. The attackers stood on either side of the adjacent room to her spot, each training an assault rifle on the small mouth of the corridor. The rifles lit up, bullets flying wildly through the room as she placed two perfectly timed, expertly executed shots to the center of their facemasks. Both bodies hit the deck, and she rushed forward to swap the assault rifle for the sniper. Pleased with the ammo count off both bodies, she began to rush around the perimeter of the map in search of more reds. Maybe she would come face to face with this beast on the other team, and really test their mettle.

She really hoped she did.

This girl was more fun than she’d had in a long time, and she hadn’t even gone toe-to-toe with her yet.

This is what I’ve been missing. She thought, as she reloaded the half empty assault rifle and pushed into a long corridor that ran the edge of the map to the opposite corner.

Come out and play, Psy.

<London> Troy is burning.

Running her tongue over her lower lip, she lifted two fingers to signal the waitress for a drink. Without even pausing at her table, the buxom redhead lifted the cup she had pulled from her bag and slid past her for the counter, where she quickly began to mix a drink from the soda fountain. No one questioned her as she filled the glass halfway with ice, before pressing the spouts for Mountain Dew, Cherry Fanta and Sprite. As she grabbed a pile of unopened napkins from beneath the register, London flicked her gaze back to the screen. The graphics lacked the crystal clear pixels that she was used to, and the gameplay wasn’t as smooth as her system back home - but it was holding its own. Slipping her fingers beneath the handle of her travel mug, she lifted it for a sip and smiled at the crisp taste that danced across her tongue. It had taken her a long while to be able to drink from a public soda system, but once she had - she hadn’t been able to stop.

“Thank you,” she replied simply, before pulling a wadded fifty from the pocket of her jeans to drop into her hand. The waitress didn’t even wait for her to say another word, and instead, hurried off to help another customer in the back of the café. With a sigh, she put the drink aside and straightened in her seat, just as her screen exploded in an kaleidoscope of colors. Troy is burning. Idiots. How hard was it to dodge? Diving behind a wall, she quickly bent to pick up the first weapon she could find, the DMR resting easily in her hands. Checking the ammo capacity, she grinned in satisfaction. Though she used whatever was at her disposal - she had her favored weapons, and the beast in her hands nearly topped the list. Resting back against the wall, she bided her time as she watched the colored bodies flicker across the screen. The second she caught a flash of blue rounding the corner, she stepped from her spot and fired off a few rounds before moving on. She didn’t bother to watch him die, she could hear the frustrated cry from somewhere across the room. Moving down a small corridor, she continued to fire shot after shot that dropped the other team before they had a chance to retaliate.

It wasn’t until she made it to the top of the arena, that she realized she wasn’t the only one dominating the field. Darkstar. She had never heard of the player, and yet, she had somehow managed to top her kills. She never prided herself on being the best - it wasn’t about competition for her. She knew she was good, and she used it to her advantage. It was more about the kill for her, the way she so easily emasculated every single male in the room. One of her more favorite moments was when the men would bash female gamers, even going as far as to say they didn’t exist, only to be silenced when she would speak up after destroying them. However, something told her that this wasn’t the case for her opponent. The woman was bloodthirsty. Let’s see how savage you really are, she chuckled as she began to twist through the bodies lining the floor.

Before she had a chance to make it into another room, three blues sped in, their weapons drawn as they flanked her. Her only exit was behind the furthest enemy - and she was keenly aware that she wouldn’t make it without quick thinking. Flexing her fingers, she shifted her touch against the mouse as she gave slow, almost cruel smile. Quickly, she fired a shot through the visor of the enemy in front of her as she backed towards him, her gun aimed at the next victim. As she fired another round into her chest, she noticed that the third enemy had dropped. She saw a flash of red as Cherribomb headed back down the middle, and slowly shook her head. Without wasting time, she continued her path down the back, her eyes scanning the tags on the screen. With her body hidden between two buildings, she managed to find enough time to take another sip from her drink, this time pulling an ice-cube free to bite into. The ache it caused her teeth centered her, and she took a single second to flick her gaze up to the rest of the room. Nothing seemed out of place, each person still leaning over their keyboard, their attention focused on the glowing screens in front of them. However, the second she dropped back to her own screen, a loud explosion took over the small room. Jerking in her seat, she reached for her bag, only to hear a light, feminine voice begin to apologize profusely from somewhere left of her.

Pivoting in her seat, she watched as the small blonde angrily began to plug in a new mouse and chuckled quietly to herself. She could practically see the smoke twisting from her ears as she immersed herself back into her game, and she made a quick mental note to find her tag. Something told her that while she more than likely wasn’t Darkstar - she was definitely someone to keep track of. Setting her drink aside, she barely noticed when the waitress grabbed it to take it for a refill, and instead, narrowed her eyes on her screen. Just ahead of her, she saw a brief blur of blue, Darkstar dancing above the helmet as she ducked into an empty room. Without missing a beat, she gave herself another quick ammo check before following after her. Pressing her back to the wall, she grabbed a grenade and tossed it into the room, her lips curving into a grin.

Troy is burning, Darkstar.

<Starla> She watched as the scoreboard ticked higher, each team at an impressive score, with red lagging behind by less than fifteen. That was almost shocking, with most of her team intact; and the best of them at that. Maybe she needed to get out into the fray a little more, make the other team really squirm. She pushed her way through the buildings around the perimeter of the map, dropping the sniper rifle for a shotgun, crippling her long range game, but making her a serious contender in the close quarters, where she intended to remain for the time being.

She watched, amused, as Cherri struggled to catch up with Psylocke, only managing to fall further behind while assisting the little hotshot. She watched as they plowed through a mediocre ambush, losing only a small portion of their shields in the process.

The rest of this team is absolutely garbage.

She sighed, and tapped her mouse once. The shotgun on her screen belched, a slug slamming Cherri in the face the second she rounded the same corner as Star, coming in the opposite direction. The tiny blonde couldn’t help her smirk when she heard the tall redhead across the room shout in surprise and outrage. “****!” she snapped, dropping her mouse into the floor. The blonde openly chuckled then, watching as the girl climbed into the floor to crawl under her desk after the mouse. She made a mental note to ignore her for about ten seconds. More than that, and she was free game. No self respecting gamer drops her mouse. She flicked her honey-gold eyes across the screen, still searching for the name of her quarry. She’d lost her in the buildings, but had run across several enemies in quick succession, each one easier than the last.

The shotgun roared again and again, blasting through face, chest, back, skull, whatever was in her way as she rounded a corner or jumped a small gap, or leaped through a window. The counter on her screen was racking up fast.

Headshot. Double Kill. Triple Kill. Overkill. Killtacular. Inconceivable.

Thirty five kills? That was all? She felt like it had been so much more, but it was clearly not enough. Psylocke was close with twenty nine, just ahead of Barbie at twenty two, and Nightshade at fifteen. They only needed twenty kills to finish it. The reds only needed thirty five. Closer than she would have liked. As she rushed through one of the buildings, she heard the sharp click, click of a bouncing frag grenade. She had to react faster than she felt like she had ever reacted before. Before the first click of the metal against the floor even finished, she was already changing direction. She cut a sharp left, putting as much distance between herself and the grenade as possible.

The explosion rocked her shields, taking a large chunk as she spun to the entrance, aiming the wide circle of the shotgun crosshair at the doorway, waiting for her pursuer. She could feel it in her chest. This was it. This was the moment it all came down to. Only one of them was walking away. The other was going to respawn, the dreaded “1” beneath her Deaths column. In this rabble of half talent and useless degenerates, this was the only opponent worth facing off with. Even Cherri provided less challenge than this girl. She rested a manicured digit along the left mouse button, poised to fire at the first flicker of red through that door.


<London> “Here you go, hon.”

The voice broke through her concentration as the waitress slid her refill next to her hand, careful not to brush her skin with the plastic. It seemed as if everyone in the café had been expertly trained in avoiding a mess with the gamers, and it caused her to chuckle in amusement. Tipping her head in thanks, she left the drink unattended as she watched the screen, waiting to see if her grenade was enough to bring down the notorious Darkstar. On the side of her game, the numbers continued to tick higher and higher, her team closing in on the win - though none of it mattered. The rest of the numbers blurred together and disappeared until her sole focus was on the leader.

Catching a flash of blue as her opponent rushed for the other side of the building to narrowly miss the grenade, she shook her head. It didn’t take an intelligent person to figure out her plan. Keeping her back to the wall, she began to make her way to the other side, knowing without a doubt that she was expecting a full frontal attack. She was banking on pride to override her senses - further proving her theory that she was a professional. They preyed on the brazen, the foolish, and the stupid - and she was none of those things. She may not have the money or the fame, but she had the capability, and she wasn’t about to same trap so many others had. Lifting her hand briefly from the mouse, she stretched her fingers before reaching across her station for her drink, the lack of sugar in her system making her lightheaded. With a deep pull of her mixture through her straw, she dropped her hand back to the mouse and smiled.

Easing her gun up, she brought the lone blue into her crosshairs and paused just enough to cause the other to squirm. By now, she would think that she had left - or that she was up to no good. Whatever the case, she wouldn’t give her enough time to react. Firing her weapon, she watched as two rounds blasted through her shields and armor, causing her to crumple to the ground. Stealth Kill! flashed on her screen, as a deep voice spoke Invincible! in her ear when her count rose to thirty. Glancing to the list again, she smirked as she saw the dreaded 1 next to Darkstar’s name before settling back into her chair to wait for the chaos to ensue.

Lexington never understood her desire to torment and destroy people, and yet, if she took a single second to watch as a shocked silence filled a room before the anger followed, she would understand. It was feral, animalistic, the adrenaline the only thing that kept her satisfied in her dreary, dull world since their parents had been murdered. Nothing else mattered to her but the need to find a strong enough outlet for the dark, twisted emotions that rested like a ball in the pit of her stomach.Shaking her head, she moved out of the building and back down the path as she took another sip from her drink, her gaze scanning the room.

[London (DELETED 7882)]

<Starla> A flash of red crosses the door, catching all of her attention. More coming into the room. Immediately she runs forward, rushing into the room and ready to blast each of them in the face, shotgun at the ready. She sprints to the doorway, tapping the left button on the mouse, a click preceding the roar of the shotgun, blasting through the visor of one of the reds, just as a pair of rounds punched through the shields of her armor, and then drilled through her skull. She watched as her corpse careened across the screen, falling on its face and sliding across the floor.

On any other night, she would have been angry. She would likely have reacted worse than Barbie had, smashing keyboard, monitor, tearing out her mouse and throwing it across the café. Tonight, though, this was what she was looking for.

This is the one.

She flexed her fingers, and signed out of the match. She steepled her fingers in silence, eyes dancing slowly over the room, watching for reactions. Some were stunned into silence, still concentrated on their game. Others were laughing, cheering, convinced that her logging out assured their victory. Her own girls were concentrated, leaning into their screens as they pushed themselves into their game. Only Cherri broke her concentration to turn and look at the small blonde, and knew immediately when that wolfish glare caught her looking, that she had made yet another mistake. She ducked her head and turned back to her game, sheepishly doing her best to ignore the searing burn of the glare burrowing into her skull, nearly setting her red hair aflame.

Finally, her animalistic stare moved on, watchful, paying close attention to the small crowd around them, the faces awash in the glow of their screens. She maintained silence, her glossy lips pressed thin in concentration. Something will give her away. She had already separated the reds and blues, her mind working quickly as she had played to ascertain who was cheering and who was sullen and concentrated during the ups and downs in the match, noticing the postures, the subtle, subconscious tics that gave away who was confident and who was working on a game above their level. Most of the group was stressed, clicking mice wildly, noses nearly pressed into screens, unblinking, eyes close to bleeding with concentration.

These were the ones beyond her notice.

It was the ones that were relaxed, but not so sunken into a stupor that they appeared to simply not care. There was only a very small number that fit into the category, her girls making up the majority of them, leaving only two unknowns. The girl immediately at her right was cool, calculated, and relaxed. She bothered herself with a drink, taking a second from time to time to sip from her beverage and lose focus on the game, while coming back with as much confidence and determination as when she had turned away; a gift in itself. Across the room, a tall, thin boy with freckles and an ugly face sat hunched over his keyboard, his focus on his cell phone for a moment before he returned to the game. He was also beyond her scope of candidates.

That left only her.

Is that you, then?

She kept the woman in the peripheral of her vision, her golden eyes still sweeping across the café, keeping her eyes on the other gamers, watching them for anything that might make in impression, and all of them failed to make a mark. One man tossed down his headset in disgust, gripping it by the mic boom and shouting into the receiver before dropping it to the keyboard and lifting his bag. He turned to the girl at his elbow, a heavy girl, round in the face with red cheeks and a pale complexion. He took a handful of her hair and pulled, lifting her out of her chair and hissing at her beneath his breath.

The large woman opened her mouth to say something and, thinking better of it, apparently, closed her mouth and dropped her pretty eyes to the floor, muttering her assent.

Asshole.

The man’s frame was almost bone wrapped in skin, his pale skin was milky white and his eyes were a dull, lifeless blue. His hair was a mousy brown, and his nose and lips were thin as paper. Pock marks dotted his face, making him uglier than he might have been otherwise, the round woman at his side beautiful by comparison.

I’ll never understand why someone like you would put up with something like that.

Even as she thought the words, she knew it was a lie. Immediately, she remembered Rita, and immediately set to forgetting her again, and finding it harder than recalling the memories. The original fourth, the girl that Cherri replaced, Rita had been her girlfriend. Her first. It had been a painful time in her life, and her parents, as well as her therapist, had done their best in helping her forget her, and the things that had happened, but sometimes, a memory would slip through the cracks in that wall they had helped her build. It was never the whole picture, just a little snip of something she had forgotten.

This time, it was the sinking feeling in her chest, when Rita would yell at her; call her ugly, or stupid, or immature. She knew these things weren’t true. Not completely. But she had made her to believe them, and she hated feeling like that. She hated being reminded of that. She lifted her phone, and snapped a handful of photos of the couple as they left, him turning back to yank her through the door, another hiss of words leaving his lips in a stream of white breath as they opened the outer door to the street. She would remember his face.

She turned back to the room as the game was reaching its climax. The scores had levelled out, nearly neck and neck now with her absence, leaving her girls to fend themselves against Cherri and the superior Psylocke. She let her pink lips twist into a smile, letting the memories wash away as she leaned back in her seat, around the divider between her computer and the suspected powerhouse’s screen.

“It is you, isn’t it?”

<London> Setting her drink aside, she tilted her head as she watched the single death disrupt the café. It never ceased to amuse her how something so simple as a character’s death could cause so much chaos, that people would be brought to tears of frustration. However, it was a single couple that had her full attention. The man was hideous, his eyes dull and his face frail. Despite that, however, his anger seemed to have given him enough to strength to haul his larger counterpart out of her chair and closer to him, her face a mask of pain and humiliation as she noticed the gazes on her. Gritting her teeth, she watched silently as he pulled her close, spittle flying from his lips as he cursed against her ear. Tears built in her eyes, and she found her mouse threatening to crack beneath the strain of her grasp. Within seconds, he had shoved her back into her seat, the force of his abuse slamming her into the desk with a soft crack as her ribs connected with the edge. She saw her pain - and then she saw red.

Oh, screw this.

Dropping her gaze back to her computer, she quickly pulled her headset on and flipped through her songs, finding the one that soothed the rage inside of her. She couldn’t seem to get the chubby girls face out of her mind. All she could see was the pain and embarrassment as it marred her pale complexion, and her fingers were flying across the keys. Lexington is going to be pissed, she thought, but even that knowledge wasn’t enough to deter her. Shifting in her seat, she leaned closer to her screen as she slipped through the security system and into his database. Once in, she took control of his character and ran him into the middle of the battle, the bullets slamming into him one after the next, until his corpse fell to the floor. It only took once - and he was slamming his mic onto the table and grabbing a fistful of her hair again.

It’s okay, go ahead.
I’ve got your number, now.
Troy is burning.

With a quiet smile, she watched as he shoved his partner out into the cold, his hand gripping her arm in a grasp so tight, she knew she would be bruised by morning. Following their path through the snow dusted windows, she typed a few messages into her screen and pulled his information from the log-in. Without missing a beat, she snatched her notebook from her bag and wrote down what she needed, before exiting the screen and bringing her game back up. In the entire time that she was gone, her team had only managed to take a few seconds advantage of the death, and their numbers had crawled to a tie. She was disappointed, to say the least. Any of her other groups would have become savage beasts, and wouldn’t have stopped until each enemy had been slaughtered. I miss my girls, she thought sullenly, before shaking the thought away.

Stepping back onto the field, she dropped her DMR for the Needler, the gun more favored for its aesthetics than its power. It wasn’t a weak weapon by any means, but for any other fight, she would have preferred the canon or the assault rifle. However, for what she needed it for - it would do perfectly. Humming quietly along with her song, she dived back into the fray, her armored feet pounding across the ramp as she ran her way to the middle. The sound of her Needler echoed in her ears and she smirked as the group running for her began to drop. Her count rose, bringing her team to the lead as she caused another blue to explode mid-jump. I guess Darkstar was one of yours, she thought as she stopped at the edge, only to see a blue hoisting a rocket launcher. It was a poor choice - and one the possessor was going to regret. It was too heavy, and though it would do damage, she was about to risk her entire team for revenge. Backing up a step, she rounded around the corner and came up behind the armored maniac, though she took a second to replace the Needler with a stranded Magnum. Before she had a chance to fire the first rocket, she slammed her finger down on her mouse with a sharp click.

In a single burst, she dropped her shields, before another click ended her life before she could do something incredibly stupid. Across the room, a shout of pure rage bounced off the walls a split second before the shattering of a keyboard followed. Lifting her gaze from her screen as the screen marked her team’s victory, she raised a brow at the utter tantrum the blonde was throwing. She couldn’t feel sympathy for the woman, having seen what an utter idiot she was about to be. As the blonde began to push from her seat and stalk across the café to a lone redhead, she shook her head. She knew by the way she moved that she was pissed - but not violent. The mousy redhead seemed safe for now, and so she dropped her attention back to her screen to study her score. She topped the list by far, with Cherribomb lagging only slightly behind. Something told her, however, that the redhead that was currently facing the blonde’s wrath was Cherri. She did good, she mused, before running her fingers through her hair.

She had come out for fun - and she hadn’t been disappointed. Before the screens flickered black, she finished her drink and grabbed her bag, already beginning to pack up for the evening. She knew there would be another match, but she could already feel the medicine begin to wear thin. Panic scratched at the back of her throat as she dropped her notebook back into its pocket. Just as she was about to pull the strap over her shoulder, a soft voice spoke from her side, and her gaze darted automatically to her. Raising a brow, she tucked a curl behind her ear as she sized her up. Cute - pretty, really - but small. It was the color of her eyes that caught her attention, the gold appearing to resemble liquid as she glared at her.

“I haven’t a clue what you’re asking,” she replied as she stood, her chair rolling back to hit the wall behind her. “What is me?”


<Starla> Smiling at her reaction, the blonde pushed her seat back, rolling into full view of the brunette at her side. The woman was taller than she was, but not terribly so. She was attractive; a rock hard body that she wasn’t ashamed of, a pretty face she could stare at for a while. She smiled wider and lifted her hand to tuck a stray strand of her straight blonde hair behind her ear. She really hadn’t realized at first glance that the woman was so pretty. She would fit right in with them, then.

Even Barb was likely to be jealous. That didn’t happen often. “You’re Psylocke.” She didn’t ask. Something just clicked when she looked at her. She could see it in her eyes, this was the one. She edged her seat closer, then, and tipped her head to the door. “Saw that too, did you?” She let her golden gaze drift to the shop window, watching as the heavy girl was all but dragged behind the scrawny git with a bad attitude. “Were I her, I’d kick him right in the balls. I might do her the favor later.” She muttered as the two moved to the edge of the building. The woman looked inside catching the wolfish eyes watching her. She saw them grow wide for just a moment, before she was yanked beyond the café’s window and out of their view. She shook her head and turned back to the woman at her side.

“I don’t understand people like that. Like him.” She shrugged a slender shoulder and shifted in her seat to sit up, unzipping her hoodie. The café had grown unbearably warm during the match, and it was refreshing to let her skin breathe. The tight tank beneath the sweatshirt was much more fitted for the heat of the room, leaving her feeling much better as she shrugged from the white cotton of the hoodie to leave it draped across the back of her seat. She straightened the tank across her chest, making herself more presentable as she lifted a fine brow at the woman. The woman had handled herself until now. She could handle the scrawny toothpick another night, until Starla could show up at his front door and teach him a lesson in chivalry he wasn’t like to forget.

She gripped the divider between them, pink nails flicking lightly against the hard plastic as she pulled herself closer still. “Assuming you are Psy,” she continued, switching subjects quickly, before she could get into a discussion that might be overheard, that might be used against her later, when she did show up at the little prick’s house, “I’m Darkstar… You can call me Starla. You were quite impressive in there if I say so myself.” Her eyes lifted to the spot where Nightshade had slid into her desk, sitting next to her keyboard. She was glancing at the woman over the top of her screen before she leaned down to whisper to Star.

“This her? Star, she is hot.” That brought a smile to the blonde as she lightly swat at the tall Asian’s thigh. “I know, hush. Before she gets the wrong idea. I haven’t talked to her yet.” As she turned back to the brunette, she saw Cherri and Barbie joining them as well. Leaning over the divider between her seat and the empty seat on the other side of the brunette, Barbie let her arms lie across the divider, her heavy breasts resting atop her arms as she twisted her red lips in a smirk. “This her? She’s way cuter than I thought she’d be. You look real good for someone about to get smacked.” She lifted her hand to make like she was going to slap her, but knew full well that Cherri was behind her to catch her wrist.

The redhead laughed, and tossed the taller, older woman’s hand aside. “Ignore Barb. She’s a real sore loser, and you put her down a lot more than she’s used to in that match.” The blonde snapped her teeth at the redhead, but she allowed herself to be defeated, and she just turned back and gave the woman a smile. “So did she ask you yet? You said yes, right? Of course you said yes. You’d be crazy not to.”

Starla shook her head, shooting the pair a glare with her powerful golden stare, silencing them. “I haven’t had a chance to speak with her, girls. Lay off. Go find something to do for a minute while I have a conversation, would you? Here, Hinata.” She took her Game Boy from the pocket of her hoodie still hanging across the back of her chair and tossed it into the hands of the slender woman, her bronze hands catching the handheld out of the air. “Entertain yourself. Barbie, that cute redhead behind the counter has been checking you out since we got here. Go flirt or something. Cherri, go call your girlfriend or whatever. Leave the big girls to their conversation.” The rest of them dispersed, only Nightshade hovering over them as she flipped open the 3DS and began to play, losing herself in the game as soon as she was past the splash screen.

Night was fine, anyway. Hinata had been her best friend longer than Star could remember having friends. She turned to the woman again and gave her an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry about the girls. They’re the rest of my team.” She glanced over her shoulder at Hinata, where she continued to tap at the game. She smiled, and turned back to the woman in front of her. “This is Hinata. You know her as Nightshade. The angry blonde is Caroline. Barbie. The slutty little redhead is Cherri. Not hard to figure her out. We’re a team of professional gamers, I don’t know if you keep up with the MLG, but until last year, we were a big deal.” She chuckled and sat upright, tugging at her tank top, straightening the fabric across her chest with their team logo. “We were the Anchorage Amazons. We were the best, until we had a falling out before the finals last year. Rita got tossed out, the other girls wouldn’t let her stay. And Quentyn’s accident…”

She shook her head and pushed the bangs from her eyes. “Shado was important to us. She was a real friend, we were all close. It’s hard not having her around anymore. But it’s left a spot on our team we haven’t been able to fill. We’ve been in town, looking for someone to take that spot.”

She glanced over her shoulder at Hinata again, and without looking away from the game, the girl lifted a hand to drop it onto her shoulder, giving her a reassuring squeeze. She smiled, and turned back to the brunette. “Well. We were looking for her replacement. Someone with talent. You have that in spades. So I guess my question is, do you think you might be interested in something like this? Doing this for a living? It’s stressful, but it’s all the fun you can imagine.” Nervously, she bit her lip, worrying it between her teeth as she waited quietly, watching the woman’s reactions carefully, gauging her responses, even now. Even the question was a test, it felt like; and not just for her. This was Starla’s job. She shouldn’t be so nervous when she did this.

[London (DELETED 7882)]

Competition brought out the worse in people.

As she stood from her seat, she swept her gaze over the room and took note of the downfall one simple game had caused. Friendships had been severed, loyalties tested. Shaking her head, she watched as a pair of teenage boys started shouting at each other, their accusations falling like poison from their lips. They screamed words that they could never take back, and by the stricken look of the petite blonde between them, she suspected they wouldn’t try. Competition was brutal, and in reality, it had nothing to do with the prize that waited at the end of the line. It was about the pride, the pure desire to be considered the best. Men waged wars for the right to be named King - the instinct to win was animalistic, ingrained in the entire population at birth.

In order to win, morals were forgotten.

Friends turned on each other, clawing at anything they could just to rise above. Lies were uttered in the ears of whoever would listen, forging a line between rivals. With a single word, a bond that had once been impenetrable was turned to ash, leaving no one unscathed. Then, there were the dramatics. The ones that couldn’t fall from first graciously. Instead, they watched their lead slip between their fingers and surrounded themselves in an air of nonchalance. I never cared about winning. It doesn’t interest me anymore. I’d rather win fairly. The words were spoken in hushed voices around them, the lies spreading like a fire so strong, she was surprised her skin didn’t peel. They couldn’t accept that someone had left them in the dust fairly, and in order to accept themselves, condemned the victors to nothing but cheaters. It was a harsh reality, and it was one that this woman with her strange eyes was trying to recruit her into it.

After a moment of silence, she slowly drifted her gaze back to the blonde as her fingers wrapped securely around the fraying strap of her bag. She had lot herself in the chaos of the café long enough to miss the swarm of feminine forms pressing into her space, yet their scents still lingered, their voices grating on her very last nerve. Trailing her tongue over her lower lip, she tried to swallow past the panic that had built in her throat as she narrowed her eyes on the blonde. She had only picked out a few of her words - barely enough to string together a coherent sentence - but it was enough for her to understand her request. “Do you have a mute button?” The words were spoken in a quiet, harsh tone as she shoved her chair beneath the desk and stepped around it, her dark gaze lingering on the exit. “I’m not interested.”

Troy is burning.

Gritting her teeth together, she pressed her fingers to the bridge of her nose as she felt that familiar sensation twist in her chest. The ache was sharp, igniting a spark of anxiety that rushed through her veins. The old clock above the door chimed midnight, and as if she were Cinderella, she began to push her way through the throng of sweaty, overheated bodies. The air was hot and heavy, and she felt as if it was pushing down on her chest, stealing her very breath from her lungs. Troy is burning, Troy is burning, she chanted in her head as she pressed her hand out, her palm pressing against the cool glass of the exit before swinging it open. The relief was instantaneous, and as the frigid air washed over her skin, she tilted her head back and breathed deep. It caused her lungs to ache, but she didn’t care. It erased the foul smells from the café, and for a single moment in time, she had a sense of peace.

How had everything gone so wrong, so quickly? A part of her blamed the cheerful blonde that had invaded her space, but she knew it was illogical. She had only struck up a conversation - she hadn’t created the madness inside of her mind. Rolling her neck, she gave the hem of her cropped sweater a subtle tug, attempting to pull the material down her exposed stomach. When it refused to budge, she fought a sigh and dusted off her jeans before stepping onto the icy sidewalk. Each movement was careful, despite the desire that coursed through her veins to take off in a run and seek the shelter of her apartment as quickly as she could. Running her fingers through her damp hair, she paused outside the window and stared at her reflection in the frosted glass.

Her eyes were wild, resembling something akin to a frightened rabbit. However, her features were hard, emotionless. It was if someone had reached inside of her and ripped the light from her soul. She could hear her therapist in her head, her voice soothing and exasperated, as she tried to talk her off of the cliff she had been easing herself to since the death of her parents. You need to get out more, London, experience what the world has to offer. Not everything is covered in darkness, love, I promise you that. Look at what you’re doing to Lexington. She needs you, London. Curling her fingers into a fist, she brought it down against the brick beside the window as she bowed her head. Lexington. Her twin was everything to her - the only thing she had left.

I’m letting her down.

Feeling the pain radiate up her arm, she quickly dropped her hand to her side and shook it out, ignoring the way the brick had crumbled so easily beneath her attack. She could feel the strength pulse inside of her, and she knew what she was capable of. The ache in her shoulder reminded her of the darkness that crept along the city streets, and she was more than willing to face it without batting a lash. Why, then, couldn’t she last more than an hour in a crowded room? Why did she run scared the second someone struck up a conversation? She had witnessed more horrors in her life than most, and yet, the second she tried to be normal her mind relapsed. Blowing out a breath, she watched as it heated the air in front of her with fog, and shoved her hands into her jean pockets. Coming out was a mistake - one that she doubted she’d repeat again.

Troy is burning.

[Starla]

The harshness of the words felt like a slap against her face. She could feel her cheek burning, just like she had been smacked. Her honey colored eyes stared in surprise as the lean beauty stood, shoving her chair roughly into the desk. She had been as cordial as she could possibly have been… she couldn’t have said something wrong. She couldn’t have. Could she? She shook her head, clearing the surprise from her mind as she turned to see the sultry figure of the tall brunette slip through the café door and out into the snow.

Thank the stars the girls didn’t see that… She rolled her shoulders and stood, pulling her hood up over her head as she held up a palm to Nightshade as she moved to close on her again. “You keep the girls straight. Get them back to the hotel before it’s dark, okay? I don’t like the freaks on these streets at night.” She smiled when Hinata nodded her understanding, and tapped the pause on the handheld console she held. She didn’t need to say a thing. Starla kissed her cheek and slipped out the door of the café herself. She needed the air.

She had never taken rejection well, and to be so blatantly insulted… after all that she had accomplished, she had thought she was past that kind of treatment, though, the more she dwelled on it, the more she realized she deserved it. She treated Cherri like ****, and this was just a very tiny taste of that coming back on her. She would have to try her hardest to keep her head in check when she was talking to the redhead. She deserved better, too. It was nice, she realized, finally finding someone to show her exactly how fucked up she was sometimes. The girls didn’t dare to stand up to her like that, and even less now, when she was better than ever.

Better than ever, though, felt like less than enough after getting her face blasted in by this girl, then discarded like a wad of gum the girl had scraped off the bottom of her shoe.

You wanted to start over, Star. Welcome back to the bottom.

She lifted her hands and pushed her fingers through soft, silky strands of gold, burying her hands in the hood of her sweatshirt as she stood in the cold, letting the icy air caress her. It felt exhilarating after the damp, dirty heat of the café. The world here was so fresh, so clean. It was like she had stepped into a purer world than she had ever known, everything here was so crisp and white in the winter. She smirked at that, and passed her hand over the hard, packed snow that covered the mailbox on the sidewalk. Manicured nails dug into the cold, crystalline deposit and raked four long lines in the white. She amused herself with the snow a moment, letting her touch slide across the smooth, hard surface of the grooves she had made, letting her fingers rest inside of them, feeling their icy embrace of her overwhelming warmth.

The pain in her back had flared to life again with a vengeance. Her failure in the match appeared to have angered it, causing the searing pain to spread along her lower back like a patch of wildfire against her skin. She needed an outlet, something to concentrate on. She thought, then, that walking, fighting the slippery surface to put as much distance between herself and this place of humiliation might offer outlet enough.

She made her way to the street corner, her Converse All Stars offering little to no grip on the ice as she stepped through packed snow. She rounded the corner, tucking her hands into the sweatshirt and glancing up from her feet just in time to keep herself from colliding with the woman that had staked a large claim of her concentration, her footing sliding across the ice and her hand shooting out to grip the window sill of the café, her nails digging into the ice and fighting to keep herself upright. She felt herself falling, could already imagine the fluffy snow sliding down her jeans even as her legs seemed to act all on their own, moving with a kind of supernatural grace, catching herself and lifting her frame upright with almost no trouble at all.

The moment left her momentarily stunned.

She didn’t really understand what kept her from smashing her *** into the sidewalk, but she was eternally grateful. She lifted her hand and quickly pushed her platinum hair behind her hair as she gave the tall brunette a friendly smile. She was infinitely more beautiful in the sunlight. Her dark hair was like a curly wave of chocolate silk, spilling over her shoulders and glistening in the sun. Her face was beyond pretty, high, prominent cheekbones the envy of any woman, her sparkling eyes bright and lustrous. The woman’s attire was entirely too provocative to keep her eyes from flitting over her figure. The girl was fit. Her toned, flat stomach was completely bare, her lightly tanned skin there for anyone to see. She found it hard to look away from the curve of her hips, the subtle shape of her abs beneath the bared skin.

She shook her head, clearing her mind as she forced herself to look into the woman’s eyes. There was a kind of terror there, only an echo of a very recent horror, but still as powerful all the same. Starla’s wonder was hidden behind a mask of geniality as she stepped closer to the woman, glancing up at her with another small smile. “I know we didn’t exactly get a chance to talk, and I know the need to get out of a situation like that quickly. I don’t suppose I might get a few minutes of your time to try and convince you that joining my team would be a hell of a good time for all of us, would I?”