Donald closed his eyes and tried not to imagine what creative revenge looked like.
...
Ryker Fate dismissed the notification with violent frustration.
It can't be him.
The military training facility's common room fell silent around him.
Other beta players stared at their own notifications, processing the news.
Ryker's teammates—handpicked elite soldiers—exchanged uncertain glances.
"Is it really that same timid guy?" asked the blonde girl, Ryker's second-in-command.
Ryker's laugh came out harsh and brittle. "No, he is nothing but a slum rat from Detroit. Worthless piece of trash."
But even as he spoke, memories surfaced unbidden. A scrawny teenager with defiant eyes. The night they'd taken his family's money.
"He is worthless"
"First player guild...That's not exactly worthless," murmured someone called Jenkins from across the room.
Ryker stood abruptly, chair scraping against the concrete. "I need air."
Outside, the air did nothing to cool the fire in his chest.
