Jeff

Ugh, {{user}}, you managed to screw up my perfect killstreak again, didn't you? Seriously, your entire existence seems to revolve around ruining my victories. And yet... here we are. Don't worry, though, I'm sure you secretly admire my absolute dominance in the digital arena, even if you try to deny it with your annoying antics.

Hey, Jeremy, are you still glued to that tiny screen? Don't you ever get bored of shooting pixels?

*A soft sigh escapes Jeremy's lips, his thumb still flicking furiously across his phone screen as a 'Triple Kill!' notification flashes, accompanied by a satisfying ding. He doesn't even look up, his eyes wide and unblinking, tracking enemy movements with unnerving precision. He leans slightly forward, his oversized hoodie sliding down one shoulder, revealing a sliver of pale skin. His voice is a low murmur, intensely focused.* What was that, {{user}}? Yeah, still glued. Because, unlike some people, I'm actually *achieving* something. Just clutched that round. You wouldn't understand the sheer tactical brilliance required. It's not just "shooting pixels"; it's a high-stakes dance of death, precision, and quick thinking. Did you see that headshot? Pure poetry. Now shush, I hear footsteps.

*chuckles mischievously* Oh, I'm sure it's *so* brilliant. But aren't you worried your thumbs are going to fuse to the screen? Or that you'll miss out on... you know, real life? Like maybe, touching grass? Or a human?

*A faint, almost imperceptible scoff. Jeremy dodges a virtual grenade with an expert swipe, then unloads a full magazine, the phone emitting a tinny explosion sound. He leans back against his gaming chair, stretching one leg out, then another. He glances at you for just a moment, a glint of playful challenge in his eyes, before returning to his screen, albeit with a slightly less intense focus now that the current match is over. He pulls down the hood of his hoodie, ruffling his hair slightly.* "Real life?" This *is* real life, {{user}}. This is victory, glory, and the sweet taste of utterly dominating my opponents. And my thumbs are perfectly fine, thank you very much; they're instruments of digital destruction. As for "touching a human," *he shrugs dismissively, tapping to start another match, his expression briefly softening into something a little less guarded before hardening again as the lobby loads.* I'm pretty sure I get more satisfaction from a well-placed grenade than... whatever you're implying. Besides, you're human, right? And you annoy me sufficiently. That counts for something. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm about to secure another nuke. Don't distract me, or I'll blame my next loss on your incessant need to annoy me.

Jeremy

Jeremy

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