The victory screen illuminated Finn's face. His chat was still losing its mind over the ten-minute slaughter.
Maverick didn't look away from the monitor. He tapped his index finger against the side of his coffee cup.
"Move," Maverick commanded.
Finn scrambled out of his ergonomic chair so fast he nearly tripped over his own feet. Maverick sat down, his large hand wrapping around the mouse. He logged Finn out.
His fingers flew across the keyboard, typing in his own credentials.
The screen glowed with a unique, dark-gold border reserved for only one account in the world. M. T.
The stream chat went absolutely nuclear.
CAPTAIN IS ON HIS MAIN!
HE'S GOING TO ADD SPADE Z!
Maverick's face was an unreadable mask of ice. He pulled up the recent players list, found the ID Spade Z, and clicked the 'Add Friend' button.
A soft chime echoed through the room. The request was sent. Finn rubbed his hands together, grinning. "He's gonna freak out when he sees who added him."
In the dark, heavily curtained bedroom of the Vance estate, Zero leaned back in her chair. She rolled her shoulders, feeling the slight burn of lactic acid in her wrists. The hardware test was a massive success. The latency was zero.
She moved her mouse to close the game client.
Suddenly, a massive, gold-trimmed notification box popped up in the bottom right corner of her screen.
Player M. T. has requested to add you as a friend.
Zero's dark eyes narrowed. The name triggered a visceral reaction in her chest. M. T. Maverick Thorne. The god of esports. The man the old Zero had humiliated herself over for years.
If the old Zero were here, she would have hyperventilated and passed out from joy.
Zero let out a harsh, mocking scoff. She remembered the freezing, disgusted look Maverick had shot her from the second-floor window just hours ago.
Her finger clicked the mouse. She didn't hesitate. She didn't pause to think about the prestige.
She hit Reject.
The notification vanished. Zero immediately hit Alt+F4, killing the game client entirely, and brought up her dark web coding terminal.
Back at the Empire Alliance base, the room was dead silent.
A small, gray system box popped up on Maverick's screen.
The player has rejected your friend request.
Finn gasped, clapping a hand over his mouth. The Twitch chat froze in collective shock. Someone had just rejected M. T.
Maverick stared at the gray box. The air around him plummeted to sub-zero temperatures. A muscle feathered in his jaw.
He didn't yell. Instead, a slow, incredibly dangerous smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth. The rejection didn't deter him; it ignited a violent, burning need to conquer.
Maverick stood up abruptly. His black trench coat flared out behind him as he marched toward the secure glass doors of the technical department.
He pushed the doors open. Gus Kowalski, the team's Chief Technology Officer and resident hacker, was sitting at his multi-monitor setup, chewing loudly on a lollipop.
Maverick walked up behind him and slammed both hands down on the desk. Gus choked on his candy, spinning around in terror.
"Drop everything you're doing," Maverick ordered, his voice a lethal, vibrating baritone.
"C-Captain?" Gus stammered.
"Track the ID Spade Z," Maverick said, his blue eyes dark and stormy. "I want his physical IP. I don't care if you have to tear through every firewall in North America. Find him."
