A shot cracked past Kari's head, missing her cheek by inches. She ducked back into the abandoned market, taking cover behind a fruit stand as further rounds whizzed by. A part of her knew she should be worried; knew she was too far from her team to hope for rescue. And yet, she couldn't bring herself to care. Instead, her attention was focused on her headset, and the gaping disbelief she could sense on the other end.
"No way." Sean's voice was barely above a whisper. "You mean it's official? You're actually on the team?"
Before Kari could answer, a flashbang erupted at her feet. As her world went white, she heard another burst of gunfire, followed by the squishy punch of a lethal shot. She was dead.
Not that it really mattered. After all, this was just a warm-up game, something to keep her occupied while she waited for Sean to hop on Discord. Now that he was here, and now that she'd delivered the big news, she didn't really care about the
Strikeforce
match on her screen; all she cared about was spinning in her chair and letting out the excited squeal she'd been holding in all night.
"Congrats, Kari!" Sean exclaimed. "That's amazing! And about damn time too."
"I still can't believe it's real." Kari grinned. "I keep checking my email to make sure I didn't, like, hallucinate it or something." But sure enough, upon yet another glance at her phone, the message was still there: an invitation to Team Salt, the new e-sports organization that everyone was talking about. Despite having yet to play in a single tournament, the team was already securing contracts with high-level pros, setting off waves of shock and excitement across the entire community. Rumor had it that a reclusive billionaire was funding the operation, with the hope of creating the ultimate
Strikeforce
squad—no matter the cost. The talk had gotten so wild, so unreal, that Kari had initially written it off as empty hype. But now, with a contract in her inbox and a fat signing bonus in her bank, she had to admit: the hype was real. Very real indeed.
Sean laughed. "I knew you'd get in. Never doubted for a second."
Kari let out an exaggerated groan. ""You coulda told me that. I was sweating like a pig the whole interview. They didn't even tell me about your recommendation till like, the very end." She paused. "Thanks for that, by the way."
"Hey, it was no big deal. The second Jas0nX tapped me for recc's, I knew I had to throw your name in. Especially with how the other teams have been treating you. All those bullshit streaming-only contracts and back-up rosters—you deserve a real shot at this."
"And you're the reason I'm gonna get it. So I owe you one. Don't let me forget. I mean it."
"If you wanna pay me back, just promise that you'll still make time to duo-queue once in a while. No matter how rich and famous you get."
Kari grinned. "Of course. And if I don't, you have my permission to show up and slap some sense into me."
Sean chuckled. "As if that'd help. Once you've set your mind to something, I know it's almost impossible to change it."
___________________________________________
Kari shielded her eyes as she stepped from the car, the searing California sun burning across her skin. She'd barely gotten any sleep the previous night, her thoughts trapped in an endless cycle of excitement and worry. By the time she'd finally managed to doze off, her phone had started buzzing moments later, announcing that her car to the Team Salt Pre-Season Bootcamp was here. Apparently, they'd taken the liberty of arranging a ride for her. Kari wanted to be flattered, but the sight of the sleek, black car outside her apartment just twisted her gut even further. If Team Salt was willing to sink this much money into her, just what were they expecting in return?
Then again
, Kari thought, extracting her suitcase from the backseat and watching the car pull away,
maybe this is all just normal for them
. The tall sandstone wall before her seemed to confirm this notion, as did the caws of seagulls and the crash of waves beckoning from the other side. Had Team Salt actually rented a beach house for their boot camp? To what end? They were gonna spend most of their time practicing indoors anyway—was a coastal view really just an afterthought to these people?
Kari hesitated before the security gate, fidgeting with the zipper of her hoodie before buzzing the intercom. For the millionth time, she wondered if she'd chosen the right outfit. She wanted to make a good first impression, but striking the right balance was like trying to walk a tightrope blindfolded. Too casual, and the rest of the team might assume she wasn't serious enough. Too dressy and, well...Kari was intimately familiar with the sort of assumptions
that
tended to conjure.
Strikeforce
was a male-dominated game, after all, and, despite their claims to stoic nerves and strategic thinking, many men still struggled with basic professional courtesy when it came to their female counterparts. For bustier players like Kari, all it took was one loose blouse button or a low-cut shirt for her to be marked as an attention-seeking slut, as if being the obsession of hostile, horny nerds was something anyone would actually want.
So today, she'd decided to play it safe and straightforward. Her gamer hoodie and dark jeans didn't exactly hide her figure, but they were as modest as she could get without looking like a lumpy mass of sweaters. And though she'd applied a little makeup to cover for lack of sleep, her short dark hair and plain silver studs would leave no doubt that she'd come to game and nothing else.
After a short pause, the security gate slid open. And Kari realized she'd underestimated her employers.
Team Salt hadn't rented a beach house—they'd rented a beach
palace
.
The lone gamer gawked as she stepped inside the walls, following a bleached cobblestone path through a garden of flowering cacti. Ahead lay a compound of steel and glass, with several boxy buildings linked together like some kind of giant puzzle, the sharpness of its corners tempered by accents of warm wood and rock. As she approached the centermost structure, Kari could see straight through the massive windows to the other side, where a beach of pure white sand sparkled in the sunlight.
It was breathtaking. For a moment, Kari felt as though she'd left everything familiar behind, and had entered a strange, surreal dream. Then she heard a door open with a loud
click
, and nearly jumped out of her skin.
"Whoa," came a surprised male voice. "Sorry, didn't mean to startle you."
"Oh, uh, no. It's okay." Kari winced, trying to hide her embarrassment as she faced her mystery greeter. What she saw only deepened her disorientation.
The man standing in the main doorway was completely off-type for an e-sports staffer. At a glance, Kari guessed his age was anywhere from mid-40's to early 50's. His short, sandy hair was laced with silver, and subtle wrinkles crept under his trimmed beard and glasses. His attire lacked the usual faux-athletic touches of the e-sports crowd, his pressed slacks and knit sweater screaming "preppy professor" more than "competitive gamer." For a terrifying moment, Kari wondered if she'd arrived at the wrong address.
"You must be Kari, right?" The man extended his hand. "Or 'RoseNade44,' I suppose."
"Kari is fine." She shook his hand, feeling reassured but no less confused. "And...I'm sorry, you are?"
"Michael Leurre. But from here on out, feel free to just call me 'Coach.'" Kari must've made a face, because he laughed and gestured to his clothes. "I know. Don't really look the part, do I? Hopefully you won't judge this book too hard by its cover."
"Of course not," Kari replied, forcing a smile. "I've just never seen you around the scene before. Have you been working in the Tier-2 Circuit or...?"
"Not exactly." He rubbed his jaw, seeming slightly abashed. "To tell you the truth, my past work has been in clinical trials and research, mostly in the psychiatric field. I've dabbled in life-coaching, but this will be my first time on an e-sports team. Though I guess that's something we have in common, right?" He winked.
"Uh, yeah." Kari hesitated. "If you don't mind me asking, what, uh, made you want to—"
"Join Team Salt?" Leurre swung open the door. "I've always had an interest in the psychological aspects of team bonding and self-improvement. And, if I'm being perfectly honest, our employer made an offer too good to refuse."
"Ah." Kari nodded, following him into the main building, her footsteps and suitcase wheels clicking on the polished tile floor.
"It wasn't just the money though," her coach clarified. "I'm not sure how much you've heard, but the team founder has some rather...unique ideas regarding this organization. For him, Team Salt isn't just an e-sports group, but a testbed for some of his theories regarding how to acquire, train, and maintain talent. Or so he tells me." Leurre's laugh bounded between the white walls. "It also possible that he's bored and just wants a new toy to play with. You know how the rich are."
"Mm," Kari hummed noncommittally. Her excitement was rapidly dimming, allowing shadows of doubt to creep in. Had she actually made a mistake? Had the promise of success baited her into becoming a billionaire's guinea pig?
"Don't worry," Leurre chuckled, as though reading her thoughts. "I intend to take this very seriously. My approach will be based not just in the science of the sport, but in that of the human psyche as well. To that end," he pushed open a heavy black door, "I've developed a...somewhat unique training regimen, one that I hope will lead you to become your best self. All that I ask in return is that you keep an open mind. At least for a little while."
Kari stepped past him and into what seemed to be their practice space. A long, curved desk wrapped around the edges of the room, with glowing game stations set at regular intervals. Unlike the rest of the compound, there were no windows or décor, save for patches of soundproofing scattered across the walls.
"Now then," Leurre strode over to the centermost game station and pulled out a chair. "If you please."
"Huh?" Kari's eyes flitted to her suitcase, then back to the chair. "Y'mean...right now?"
He gave her an ironic smirk. "Did you have other plans?"
"Well, no...but I mean, shouldn't we wait for the rest of the team?"
He frowned. "Sadly, many of them have outstanding contracts with other teams, which has turned into a bit of a mess, legally speaking. The lawyers tell me we should have it all sorted soon, but until then," he swiveled the chair to face her, "I think it's best you and I get started. Especially since the two of us are the team rookies, so to speak."
Kari supposed she couldn't argue with that. Still, there was something about the situation that bugged her. As she slid into the chair and adjusted her mouse and headset, she had the distinct impression that her coach was looming over her, his tall, slim frame lingering in the corner of her vision. When she finally looked back and met his eyes, the glint in their depths didn't seem wholly innocent. Kari hoped she was imagining it.
"Wonderful." Leurre smiled. "Now, let's proceed," he gestured towards the screen.
Kari returned her attention to her monitor. And squinted.
"I assume you're familiar with aim trainer programs?" her coach asked.
"I...guess?" But this was unlike any aim trainer she'd ever seen. In lieu of the usual targets and guns, her crosshair was comprised of an endlessly spinning spiral of color, her surroundings filled with similar twirling, dazzling pinwheels.
"This is a new breed of aim-trainer," Leurre continued. "A little pet project of mine, actually. It works by not only training your muscle memory, but your subconscious habits as well."
