The lobby timer ticked down.

  00:37

  00:36

  Cameron sat back in the chair, headset crooked around his neck, hands resting on the keyboard like they were waiting for permission. The room was dim. Monitor glow. City light through the blinds. Nothing else demanding attention.

  The game client stuttered, then caught.

  Old servers. Community patch. A warning banner no one read.

  Perfect.

  The chat window scrolled.

  anyone anchoring or we freestyling into disaster

  freestyling is a lifestyle

  that’s how u lose teeth

  Cameron selected his loadout.

  No cosmetics.

  No emotes.

  Nothing that asked to be noticed.

  The queue popped.

  MATCH FOUND

  He slid the headset on.

  Voices flooded in.

  Someone coughing.

  Someone’s mic peaking.

  Someone breathing like they were sprinting in real life.

  Then one voice cut through, dry and amused.

  “Alright. Quick poll,” it said. “Who here thinks ‘running straight down mid’ is a personality trait?”

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  Someone laughed.

  Someone didn’t answer.

  “That’s what I thought,” the voice continued. “Okay. Roles. Who’s anchoring?”

  Silence.

  Cameron tapped his mic.

  “I can anchor.”

  A pause.

  “…You can anchor,” the voice repeated. “Or you want to anchor?”

  “I can.”

  “Dangerous confidence level,” the voice said. “You know the sightlines?”

  “Yes.”

  Another pause.

  “Okay,” the voice said. “No ego peeks. No hero plays. You die last or not at all.”

  “Understood.”

  Someone else cut in. “Bro talks like a tutorial NPC.”

  Cameron didn’t respond.

  The voice chuckled. “Nah. Tutorial NPCs lie. This guy sounds like he’s seen the patch notes before.”

  The countdown hit zero.

  They spawned.

  ---

  The opening push went badly.

  Two teammates sprinted ahead, got folded instantly.

  “Shock,” the voice said. “Absolute shock.”

  Someone swore. Someone blamed lag.

  Cameron didn’t move.

  He held his angle.

  When the flank came, he waited a half-second longer than felt comfortable.

  Then acted.

  Clean.

  Contained.

  Unshowy.

  The kill feed blinked.

  “Okay,” the voice said. “Anchor’s legit.”

  “Didn’t even panic,” someone added. “I panicked for him.”

  Cameron adjusted position.

  The round stabilized.

  They won by attrition, not flash.

  Between rounds, the voice spoke again.

  “Anchor,” it said. “What do people call you?”

  Cameron hesitated.

  Not long.

  “Cameron.”

  “Cool. I’m Tony,” the voice said. “And before you ask — yes, I will micromanage. It’s a gift.”

  “Noted.”

  Tony laughed. “You always this polite?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh no,” Tony said. “You’re a ‘yes’ guy. Those are the dangerous ones.”

  The next round loaded.

  Tony kept talking.

  “Alright. Cameron. Hypothetically. If your entire team ignores your callouts and dies, how mad do you get?”

  “I adjust.”

  “That’s not an emotion.”

  “It is for me.”

  Tony laughed harder this time. “Yeah, okay. You’re staying.”

  ---

  By the third round, they were moving clean.

  Tony called rotations like he was narrating a bad documentary.

  “Look at them. Majestic. Confident. About to make the wrong decision.”

  Cameron anchored.

  Didn’t chase.

  Didn’t spike.

  They won.

  “Anchor,” Tony said, “you ever considered being worse at this so the rest of us feel better?”

  “No.”

  “Rude.”

  ---

  They lost the next match by a single objective.

  No rage.

  Tony sighed theatrically. “Alright. That one’s on me. I got greedy.”

  Cameron shook his head, even though Tony couldn’t see it.

  “The timing shifted,” Cameron said. “It happens.”

  Tony paused.

  “…Did you just comfort me?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s unsettling,” Tony said. “Do that again and I’m muting you.”

  The lobby emptied.

  Tony stayed.

  “So,” Tony said. “You queue solo a lot?”

  “Yes.”

  “Figures,” Tony replied. “You play like someone who doesn’t trust strangers but does trust systems.”

  Cameron considered that.

  “Systems fail,” he said. “People misalign.”

  Tony laughed. “Oh, you’re one of those. Alright. Last question.”

  “Yes.”

  “You in for a few more games?”

  Cameron looked at the timer.

  00:18

  00:17

  “Yes.”

  Tony locked in immediately. “Knew it. Alright, Cameron. Don’t disappear on me mid-season.”

  “I don’t disappear,” Cameron said.

  Tony snorted. “Everyone says that.”

  ---

  The next match loaded.

  Outside, a siren passed and faded.

  Inside, the map resolved.

  No alerts.

  No attention.

  No system watching.

  Just bad teammates, decent plans, and one anchor who never panicked.

  Cameron leaned forward slightly.

  Not because he had to.

  Because Tony was already talking.

  “Okay,” Tony said. “New rule. If I say ‘trust me’—”

  “I won’t,” Cameron said.

  Tony burst out laughing. “Yeah. You’re definitely staying.”

  The timer hit zero.

  The game began.

  ---

  END