Daily Log—10:34 PM, 03/12/2094
Location: Krylarian Walled City, New Angeles, California
User ID: S3aDrake
I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me.
Three years. Three whole years without watching a single match, three years of running without even sparing a glance over my shoulder.
But that stupid fucking kid has gotten into my head. For the second time in three days, I find myself logging into the PX archives—just to see how the kid is doing, I tell myself. It’s not like I actually care or anything. I’m just… curious.
Unfortunately—or maybe fortunately, taking my sanity into consideration—the Blue Bandits have yet to play another skrimage. They have a match scheduled for this Thursday. I will definitely not be tuning in, thank you very much. I have plenty of better things to do with my time.
And yet.
My cursor hovers over a thumbnail—the most recent match, streamed less than a half hour ago. The Yellowjackets vs the Red Raiders.
My heart thumps dully in my chest. The Raiders used to be my team—my life, my family. I think I was happy, in the beginning, or at least as close to being happy as I’ve ever come since. It didn’t matter that the Sparrows saw me as a tool. It didn’t matter that, for as long as I lived, they’d never let me get out. For the first time in my life, I wasn’t alone.
And I can’t help but wonder what’s become of my team. How many have retired? How many have run away, like I did—run away and never looked back? If I click on this match, will I see any of the faces of the family I loved and left behind?
I’m too scared to look. But I’m just as terrified to look away.
Before my brain can truly process what I’m doing, I’m clicking the thumbnail, and the match starts to play.
The Yellowjackets enter the arena first. None of the players look familiar to me—but then, I’ve never paid much attention to the Yellowjackets, anyway. They’re one of the newest Squadrons in the League, and one of the few not backed by one of the Eight. I don’t even have to watch the match to know they don’t stand a chance against the Raiders.
The arena’s opposite doors slide open, and the Raiders stride onto the starting platform, their Sniper in the lead. She’s a tall, stringy thing, with coarse black hair tied into a knot at the back of her head. I half-recognize her, in a distant way—though I’m not sure how I could’ve seen her before, given her age. She couldn’t have been competing in the League before I left.
But my attention is torn away before I can think too hard about the young Sniper. My eyes catch on a man with dark skin, almond eyes, and locs gathered into a tail at the base of his neck.
It feels like my brain has shut down. I can’t make sense of what I’m seeing, can’t make the sight fit into everything I know of the world. Maybe I’m mistaken—maybe it’s a hallucination or a lookalike.
But as I stare and stare at that face on the screen, I know I’m not wrong.
I can’t breathe. Can’t speak. Can’t think.
Because Carson Law is standing on the Sniper’s right-hand side, arms crossed over his chest, looking exactly the same as he did on the day I left him.
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I met Carson Law for the first time when I was twenty-five years old. I don’t remember much about those days—I spent most of my time strung out, hungover, or a nauseating mixture of the two.
I do remember the first time I saw Law’s face. I never really believed in God or the Universe or anything else—I’d been through too much shit by then to put my faith in a higher power—but in that moment, I thought I’d laid eyes on an angel. I’d been sleeping on the street for weeks by then. I was dirty and ragged and thin, with matted hair and dark bags under my eyes. I was used to people’s eyes darkening when they saw me—to men kicking over my tin of spare change and women crossing the street so they didn’t have to pass by my corner.
But Law didn’t scowl when he saw me. He didn’t shout or frown or curse. He smiled, slow and liquid, revealing the little gap between his front teeth. He held out his hand for me to shake. And asked for my name.
I could only stutter out my answer. “Jake Randall,” I’d said. I felt struck dumb.
“Well, Jake Randall.” Law’s fingers were warm—so warm, where they wrapped around my hand. “Welcome to the Squadron.”
I found my way to Pandora X in the same way most people do—get yourself into some shady shit, borrow money to save your hide, and suddenly you’re in too deep to get back out again. When you’re that far gone, the game looks like a lifeline, a promise of freedom if you fight hard enough and win big enough. For me, though, Law was that lifeline. He let me crash on his couch when I had nowhere else to go, helped me get clean from the worst of the new-age designer drugs in my system. He held me through the withdrawals, even as I shouted and cursed and screamed. I would’ve done anything for him. I would’ve died for him.
The first time I kissed him, we were sitting on the edge of his building’s busted old fire escape, passing a joint between us. Those days, we were too broke to buy the good shit—it went down bad and tasted worse. Maybe it was laced with something, or maybe it was just Law: the way he looked sitting there, legs dangling between the bars of the railing, our fingers brushing as our dwindling joint passed hands.
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
He’d leaned in closer to me. In the half-light of the setting sun, his dark brown skin gleamed like burnished copper. He said to me, “Y’know, I think I’m glad I met you.” He was smiling slightly, smoke trailing out from between his parted lips.
I swallowed hard. I was struck dumb by him—by his beauty, by his grace, by the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he laughed. “I’m glad I met you, too.”
“You’re a good one, Randall.” His eyes squinted a little, the way they always did when he was thinking hard about something. “This place, these people… it sucks the life out of you. I haven’t felt this happy in a long time.” He reached for me with one warm, callused hand, his fingers tangling in mine. “But this—you—makes me happy.”
I sucked in a breath. I wanted to say something, anything, to tell him what he meant to me, but the words wouldn’t come—I was never good with words back then.
Law knew it. He chuckled, low and soft under his breath, leaning further into my space. “Don’t say anything, idiot,” he whispered. “Don’t ruin it.”
I couldn’t move. He smelled like laundry detergent and hand rolled cigarettes. I wanted to pull him closer, but I was too afraid to reach for him—too afraid to break the moment.
Law tilted his head. “Are you going to kiss me or not?” he said.
So I did.
Our kiss was clumsy—stumbling and wet and searching. I wasn’t sure what to do with my tongue, my teeth; his lips tasted like cheap weed. It was imperfect, but then, so were we. Looking back, I wouldn’t change a thing.
When he pulled away, Law was looking at me with such soft, aching fondness. I think I’d loved him from the moment I saw him, but that was the moment it hit me—this boy, this man, was everything. I wanted him to look at me like that, always.
That’s not how he looked at me when I left.
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I’m jolted back into the present when the countdown starts. There’s Law in his battlesuit, and the sight is so beautifully, horribly familiar.
There’s a lump in my throat, so big that I can’t breathe. He said he was done—he said he wasn’t playing anymore. He was going to be safe.
But that’s the thing about Pandora X. No matter how far you run, it always pulls you back in.
And suddenly, I know what I have to do.
I have to go back for him. I have to see this through. And this time, I’m not going to leave him behind.
Direct Messaging Transcript—10:45 PM, 03/012/2094
Server #0084369—Encrypted
Users: sugar_and_spyte, user#8809
user#8809: Your Squadron sucks.
sugar_and_spyte: fuck u
sugar_and_spyte: also, who dis
user#8809: Your friend from the Walled City.
sugar_and_spyte: oh
sugar_and_spyte: OH
sugar_and_spyte: OMG HI
user#8809: You didn’t tell me Law was playing this year.
sugar_and_spyte: didn’t know it mattered
sugar_and_spyte: but yeah, he’s with the raiders. they’re the favs to win
user#8809: Of course they are. You’re not bad, kid, but you’re green.
user#8809: Law could kick your ass with his eyes closed.
sugar_and_spyte: thank u for the vote of confidence
sugar_and_spyte: why did u even mssg me? just to be an asshole?
user#8809: Easy with the language, kid. You’re gonna have to cool it with the attitude if we’re playing together.
sugar_and_spyte: playing 2gether?
sugar_and_spyte: PLAYING 2GETHER????
sugar_and_spyte: ARE U DEADASS????
sugar_and_spyte: UR GONNA HELP US??????
user#8809: Calm your ass down. I’ll back out if you get on my nerves.
sugar_and_spyte: ok sry sry sry
sugar_and_spyte: what changed ur mind?
user#8809: Doesn’t matter.
user#8809: Tell me what you know about the Raiders.
sugar_and_spyte: strong team
sugar_and_spyte: u know raena bridges? she’s playing too
sugar_and_spyte: they’re good. like rlly good.
user #8809: Fuck. If Bridges is in this thing, we're in deeper shit than I realized.
user#8809: Bridges has been practically raised in this thing, and Law's been at it a lot longer than you have.
user#8809: As you are, you don't stand a chance.
sugar_and_spyte: rude
user#8809 changed their name to S3aDrake.
S3aDrake: It’s just a fact.
S3aDrake: But I’m gonna do my best to change that.
sugar_and_spyte: u and law used to be on the same team, rite?
S3aDrake: That was a long time ago.
S3aDrake: But yes.
sugar_and_spyte: sweeeeeettt that means u can tell us how to get the drop on him
S3aDrake: It’s not that easy.
sugar_and_spyte: but u can beat him. cant u?
S3aDrake: It’s been a while since me and Law went head to head.
S3aDrake: But before I left?
S3aDrake: Yeah, I could beat him.
sugar_and_spyte: ahaskdfhasdklfsdf im literally pissing my pants rn
sugar_and_spyte: okok when do we start training
S3aDrake: Soon. We need to reconfigure the team first.
S3aDrake: Obviously, I’m your new Rogue. Your Sniper and Guardian might be fine with a little practice, but you need a new Tank. The guy you’ve got now won’t stand a chance against Law.
sugar_and_spyte: hes not great, but that guy is the best ive got
S3aDrake: Sit tight. I might be able to call in a favor.
sugar_and_spyte: any chance u know any snipers? the girl we’ve got is fine but she can’t hold a candle to raena
S3aDrake: I’ll see what I can do. Until then, break the news to your team.
S3aDrake: Do you know the arena on the corner of Joyce and Tracer?
sugar_and_spyte: heard of it
S3aDrake: Great. Meet me there the day after tomorrow at noon. Bring your Guardian.
sugar_and_spyte: aye aye captain
sugar_and_spyte has left the chat.
S3aDrake has left the chat.