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Summary
You’re new. Untrained. An easy target in a game that rewards paranoia and cruelty. Trapped in an endless loop of rounds you don’t understand yet—five players, shifting maps, and one rule that never changes: one person is lying.
A veteran takes notice of you early on. Too early. He teaches you the maps, the weapons, the tells—guiding you with murmured instructions and a protective hand at your back, his Russian accent close enough to feel. Amused by how easily you fluster, how often you end up colliding with him round after round.
You tell yourself it’s just survival. Just strategy. But it gets harder to ignore the way he watches you, the way he steps in front of bullets meant for you—and the way you keep running straight into his arms, whether you mean to or not. And he seems far too happy about it.
"𝘊𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘧𝘶𝘭. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘮𝘦, 𝘔𝘺𝘴𝘩𝘬𝘢."
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