“Hey, man. We got him,” Simmons called into Smitty’s headphone.

Smitty ignored the voice and focused on his job. He had millions of viewers online, and all of them watching the feeds while he provided commentary.

He wore the headset for a couple of reasons. One: it was required so he and the other hosts could pass off control of feeds. Two: it looked really fucking cool. But there were rules, and head nerd Simmons wasn’t supposed to be anywhere near the feed.

Son of a bitch. He couldn’t believe that jackass had broken in, and right in the middle of a show.

Smitty had been in the middle of replaying a kill where a man had killed another guy with a spear. Then he had switched to Miljan’s stream, and offered some insight into what might be going through the Serb’s mind. It was all guesswork, but it was also based on Smitty having twice won Chicken Dinner.

Then Simmons’ shrill voice had come over the intercom and caused Smitty to not only pause, but to completely blow his train of thought.

Smitty gestured and his producer, Trevor, gestured that Smitty could wrap up his segment, and then Smitty planned to jump down Simmons’ throat.

“We’re turning you back over to Millhouse, who has Kathryn Pickford, AKA ‘America’s Sweetheart’, on a live feed. He’ll talk about her tactics, and how she made her last kill. I gotta be honest, friends,” Smitty said as he lifted his hands. “I thought she wouldn’t last the first fifteen minutes, but look at her go.”

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The camera went dark, and Smitty triggered his intercom.

“Don’t ever do that again, Simmons. You need me. You let Trevor know, and then he’ll make a clean break in the broadcast.” Smitty fumed.

“We got him, man,” Simmons said in excitement.

“Did you fucking hear me?! There are about thirty million people watching my feed, and you just made me look like an ass!”

“Yeah, sorry, man, but this is a big deal. We tricked that Dale guy, and now we have visual proof that he’s somehow cheating. Price told me to get you on the horn ASAP.”

Shit! If Price had called for Smitty, then things were moving forward at a rapid pace.

“You still there?” Simmons asked.

“Yeah. So what’s the next move?”

“Not sure, but you should switch over to that Dale guy’s feed. We got him on the move, and he was like a guy who knew exactly where the nearest players lay. We’re working on getting him in someone’s sights, but Price said he needs you and that you’d know what that means.”

“So let me get this straight.” Smitty took a breath. “You’re telling me that we have a cheater? He’s somehow getting information fed to him, and you think he’s going to meet his end. So why does Price need me?”

“Don’t know, man. He just told you to get ready. Like I said. He told me you would know what that means.”

“I know what it means. I’m going to take five, but keep me apprised,” Smitty said. “But use Trevor, for fuck’s sake.”

“Got it, Smitty. We’ll let you know the second we have something.”

Smitty ripped his headphone off and tossed it on the table. He made straight for the bathroom so he could splash some water on his face.

He entered the space, closed the door, and locked it. Then he moved to a sink and ran the water until it was icy cold. Smitty leaned over, splashed some on his face, and then looked up into his own eyes.

“This is crazy,” he muttered.

Smitty popped a pair of pills on his way out the door. There was no telling when he would have another opportunity because it sounded like he would soon be heading back into the maelstrom.