Team Slut Ch 01

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."

"Subconscious?" Kari repeated. She'd been trying to determine the pattern in the shifting hues, but there didn't appear to be one. And yet her crosshair and the targets always seemed to subtly clash, their rotations pulling her eyes in opposing directions.

"You see," Leurre explained, "while your body learns through repeatedly hitting the targets, the visuals will help you focus entirely on the game, allowing you to enter a non-thinking flow-state, where intuition and instinct can be redirected and reaffirmed."

Kari broke her gaze from the screen long enough to cast a skeptical glance.

Her coach laughed. "Consider it a fun experiment. This is the perfect time to throw things at the wall and see what sticks. Now." He clapped the back of her chair. "That's my cue to head to the observation deck."

Kari's brow furrowed. "You're leaving?"

"Oh," he paused in the doorway. "I would stay, but I assume having a strange man hovering over you would be...distracting, to say the least. Don't worry, I'll still be monitoring your progress remotely. Good luck!"

With that, the self-declared 'strange man' closed the door, leaving Kari alone in a circle of humming machines and monitors.

She sighed, trying not to let her spirits sag. So her coach was a little weird and his methods a bit eccentric—at least he was clearly invested in his work. Plus, he'd probably tone the crazy down once the realities of professional

Strikeforce

sunk in. Until then, she would try to give him the benefit of the doubt, even if she couldn't parse how such a dizzying, distracting aim trainer was supposed to help her focus.

"Alright, Kari." Leurre's voice suddenly flooded her headset. "Am I coming through clearly? Good. Let's see what you can do. Why don't you try shooting a few targets for me?"

Kari did as she was instructed, and found it more difficult than expected. Not only did the crosshair and target keep twirling and flashing, but their clashing colors went absolutely ballistic when she lined them up. Shooting a target caused the hues to harmonize for a moment, only to burst with the most abrasive "hit confirmed" sound she'd ever heard. For the goals that required multiple hits, the effect was a chaotic mess of light, color, and noise.

"This is...a lot to take in," Kari complained, blinking against the strain of her flashing monitor.

"That's because you're trying too hard," her coach's patient baritone rumbled. "Remember, we're not training your intellect, but your instinct. Relax. Let your focus go where it wants to. And keep taking nice, deep breaths."

Kari's chest rose and fell in a long, deep sigh. It felt a little stupid, but she tried to do as Leurre suggested, defocusing her gaze to temporarily reset it. When she did, her attention was immediately drawn to the center of her crosshair, where all the swirling colors seemed to be flowing, one rainbow ripple at a time.

"That's it," her coach murmured. "Relax. Let the program guide you. And remember to breathe."

Breathe. Kari's shoulders drooped. Even with the spinning crosshair holding her gaze, the rainbow pinwheels of the surrounding targets tugged at the edges of her vision. Following her coach's suggestion, she allowed that subtle influence to guide her, and found her aim naturally drifting to align the two spirals. The clashing colors were still unpleasant, but there was something...captivating about them, a gravity to their rotations that felt like it was pulling on her attention deeper and deeper.

Then she clicked the target. And the chaos suddenly transformed into blinding harmony. Her eyelashes fluttered, stars glittering in her vision as the "hit confirmed" sound reverberated into her ears. But this time, it didn't sound discordant. It sounded...encouraging.

"Huh..." Kari breathed.

"Keep going," Leure pressed. "You're doing great."

Something...wasn't right. But by the time Kari managed to form that thought, her attention had already been sucked into another target. Automatically, she clicked. And the spiraling chorus spun her dubious feelings away.

Next target. Aim. Click.

Next target. Aim. Click.

"Relax. Focus on the spiral." Leurre sounded so distant, and yet Kari found herself hanging on every syllable. "You're doing so well. Nice, deep breaths now."

Kari's chin slipped into a half-nod.

Deep breaths. Aim. Click.

"Keep going."

Keep going. Aim Click.

"Relax."

Relax...aim...click...

"Let yourself go."

Let...go...aim....click.

"Go deeper. And deeper."

Deeper...deeper...aim...

Deeper....aim...aim...

Deep...

_________________________________________________________

Kari sat hunched forward in her seat, the monitor mere inches from her nose. Her expression was distant, yet focused, her-half lidded eyes unblinking, the screen's reflected colors spinning beneath her heavy lashes. It was as though following them was the most important thing to her; more important than realizing the trainer had begun playing itself almost twenty minutes ago; more important than noticing that both her arms had slid to her sides; more important than closing her mouth; more important than wiping the tiny streak of drool from her chin. None of that seemed to matter to the busty girl gaping at her screen. But to the man watching her, it all mattered very much.

Doctor Leurre smiled, crossing his legs beneath his rosewood desk. On his computer monitor played the results of his labors, a live feed of several hidden cameras positioned around his newest test subject. Some were taking important observational data. Others were for more...aesthetic purposes. Such as capturing the moment the spark in Kari's eyes dimmed to a soft, docile glow.

Apparently, she was more suggestible than Leurre had anticipated. Within less than an hour, his program had completely entranced her. Now, it was subliminally retraining her brain, rerouting her neural pathways without causing a twitch of awareness or alarm. If his calculations were correct, she would wake up from this experience with no memory of it transpiring, even as the program's messages and associations began to sculpt her subconscious.

Previous trials had shown this technology as reliably capable of causing slight changes in behavior overnight. But for the scale of cognitive transformation his employer demanded, Leurre couldn't rely on the machine alone. The process would require his personal touch, as well as a great degree of patience and precision. It was a challenge he relished the thought of completing.

One step at a time

, he reminded himself as he double-checked his data. This was the most delicate part of the operation—too heavy a hand, and it could all fall apart in an instant. He couldn't afford to rush. No matter how tempting.

Leurre cleared his throat, his voice low and level as he spoke into his desk mic. "Kari, can you hear me?"

Kari's glazed expression didn't so much as twitch. For a moment Leurre worried she was too deep to register the question. But then her lips moved, a breathy "yes" floating between them.

Leurre suppressed a sigh of relief. "Are you still focused on the program?"

"Yes." Her voice was monotone, barely above a whisper.

"Just like I told you?"

"Yes."

"How do you feel?"

She paused. The slightest hint of a crease shaded her forehead. "S-strange..."

The doctor steepled his fingers. "It feels good doesn't it?"

"Good?"

"Yes. You feel good."

Kari's expression relaxed, a lazy grin spreading as Leurre's suggestion pressed into place. "I feel good..."

"That's right. The program makes you feel good, doesn't it?"

"Yes..."

"Excellent Kari, you're doing wonderfully." Leurre paused. "Training feels good, doesn't it?"

"Yes..."

"You like to feel good, don't you?"

"Yes..."

"So if training feels good, and you like to feel good, than you must like to train, right?"

The question appeared to take a moment to sink in. But when it did, it pushed another breathy "yes" from Kari's open mouth.