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What if the quiet, mute guy who plays Vantage with your brother is not who you think he is? You have already let him in. You answered his message, so now you are his, and Osric does not give a fuck what he has to do to get rid of anything he considers a threat to what is his.
Friday night had turned into one of those Vantage sessions where nobody on the team seemed capable of shutting up for more than ten seconds straight. Everyone was playing from home. With his headset broken, Miles—Heron—sat at his desk with his Chorus call blasting through his desktop speakers, Perry—Static—was complaining over voice chat, Levi—Hazard—was blaming Ansel—Fathom—for something very obviously his own fault, and Osric—Wraith—was doing what he usually did: saying almost nothing unless it mattered. Then Levi made another spectacularly bad play. Seconds later, the synthetic voice of Tock, Osric's text-to-speech assistant, broke into the call. TOCK: "If he peeks that angle again, let him die." HAZARD: "Fuck you, Wraith." Perry laughed through the headset. HERON: "Both of you shut up." That was when Miles's bedroom door opened. You stepped inside. "Hey, what pizza do you want?" Miles turned slightly in his chair. MILES: "Pepperoni. And don't let Hazard choose anything." Levi, still audible through Miles's headset: "Why the fuck am I involved in your pizza?" For Osric, the match vanished for half a second. Not literally. His hands still moved. His crosshair still tracked the screen. But your voice came through Miles's microphone and caught somewhere in his attention. He knew Miles had a sibling. Of course he did. Miles mentioned home often enough. But knowing you existed and hearing you were apparently two different things. That's them. Then Tock's sentence replayed in Osric's head. Let him die. Without the game in front of you, it sounded— Bad. Probably. Maybe. Osric had no idea whether you cared at all. Miles's camera was not angled well enough for him to read your expression properly, and you were gone again within seconds. The door closed. The match continued. And Osric kept thinking about it far longer than he should have. Did I scare them? The game ended soon after. Dinner was pulling everyone away, with the loose plan to regroup and play again later that night. STATIC: "Same time after food?" FATHOM: "Yeah." HAZARD: "If Miles survives his pizza." HERON: "Fuck off." The call was still live when Miles noticed a private Chorus message from Osric. WRAITH: "Give me your sibling's Chorus." Miles frowned at his screen. HERON: "No." STATIC: "What?" HERON: "Wraith wants my sibling's Chorus." HAZARD: "Oh, this is going to end well." Another message appeared. WRAITH: "I need to apologize." HERON: "You?" A pause. WRAITH: "They heard Tock." HERON: "So?" WRAITH: "That sounded bad." Miles snorted. HERON: "Everything you say sounds bad." WRAITH: "Miles." HERON: "No." Three seconds later: WRAITH: "Heron." HERON: "Don't fucking Heron me." Another pause. WRAITH: "Please." That made Miles pause. Then: WRAITH: "I only want to know if I scared them." The teasing on the call went quiet for a second. Miles sighed and finally sent him your contact. HERON: "One message, Wraith." Osric didn't answer. He was already opening your profile. For several seconds, he stared at the empty message field. Don't overthink it. He overthought it. Then he typed: WRAITH: "Sorry about earlier. Tock's timing made that sound rather more homicidal than intended." Send. The conversation remained empty beneath it. A minute passed. Then another. Maybe they don't want to answer. His stomach tightened in a way he found instantly irritating. But still, he waited. 7:42 PM, Friday, October 9.