At six in the morning, Isaac's mother sobered up from her drunken stupor. Blearily, her eyes fluttered open and closed, attempting to unblur her vision. She stumbled to the kitchen where Isaac sat before the dinner table with his head buried in his hands.
She ignored him to open the refrigerator and pulled out yet another glass of beer. The cold glass chilled her hands and fired off waves of dopamine in her brain, dragging her deeper into the alcohol addiction.
At her unsteady footsteps, Isaac raised his head from his hands to reveal a pair of bloodshot eyes and unruly hair. Sleeplessness and anxiety plagued him, and he had yet to get a wink of sleep.
"M-Mom," he whimpered as the tears continued to freefall, splattering the kitchen table. He pushed himself out of his seat, stumbled toward his mother, and pulled the glass of beer from her hands. "You have to stop doing this. We're about to be evicted."
His mother scowled and yanked her beer back. Her trembling hands tightened around the glass protectively as she reached for the magnetic bottle opener attached to the fridge.
"Mom!" Isaac repeated, hands settling on the neck of the cold beer bottle. With all his force, he pulled the bottle away from her, stumbling back in the process.
"Ah!" His mother shrieked in surprise and fury. Consumed by anger, she stormed to Isaac, connecting her palm with his cheek.
Isaac's hand snapped to the right, and he stifled a choked sob. But it wasn't the pain that made him cry. It was watching his mother descend into an addiction that ate her from the inside out that brought him to tears.
When his mother saw Isaac's tears, annoyance and anger swirled within her heart. "Stop crying!" she shrieked. Her expression twisted and ugly frown lines eroded into her face,
But the swollen droplets of tears continued to cascade down Isaac's cheeks and rain on the ground. He bit his quivering lower lip as he held on tight to the glass of beer.
"Men don't cry. I didn't raise you to be like this. Did you ever see your father cry?"
At the mention of his father, Isaac released the choked sobs that were lodged in his throat. They poured through the dams relentlessly. His sobs were the only noise that filled the dark apartment.
His cries leaked through the walls, awakening sleeping neighbors. "Mom, please, can you get a job?" Isaac begged. "We need the money."
Another flame set Isaac's cheek aflame as her cold, lifeless palm slapped his cheek once more.
"That's not my job. You're a man. You should be the one working. What heartless asshole makes their aging mother work?" his mother shrieked, her spit flying uncontrollably.
Isaac closed his eyes. It was useless. Waves of emotion coiled his intestines and hammered his brain. Mixes of anger, confusion, and sadness flickered over his features.
In his frustration, he slammed the glass bottle on the ground. It shattered in a tornado of glass, reflecting light on the walls. Shards of glass nicked Isaac's bare feet as red lacerations decorated his skin.
Beer spilled out of the bottle, spreading and crawling on the tiled floor. The liquid licked at Isaac's wounds which began to sting. His blood mixed with the alcohol, creating a murky brownish-red fluid.
Isaac raised his hand to slap his mother and bring her back to her senses. They were about to be homeless. How would she pay for her alcohol addiction then?
His mother squeezed her eyes shut and furrowed her brows as she prepared for the incoming strike.
But before he could slap some sense into her, Isaac's hand fell back to his side. His eyes became dazed and coated in tears. Was he just about to hit his own mother? How could he? How could he do something to the woman who dutifully raised him all these years?
Mentally and physically depleted, Isaac trudged back to his room and slammed the door shut behind him. He collapsed on his bed, burying his face into his pillow.
The pillow dampened the noise of his sobs, and he cried himself to sleep, unprepared to face the responsibilities that awaited him when he woke up.
***
Joan, who had yet to buy herself a phone, watched the clip of herself fighting One Shot One Kill on Viktor's old phone that may as well be vintage.
The Grimm Bros and Navier crowded around her desk, commenting on the video. Their heads rested against each other as they looked upon the phone screen.
"No way, Master, you're famous now!" Turner cheered.
"Huh? When did you guys play this game?" Navier asked, puzzled. He didn't remember being invited to play.
Viktor hummed, "You weren't there that day."
At his words, Navier looked crestfallen, and his glimmering eyes lost their typical shine. Had they purposefully left him out?
"Wait, isn't that Isaac," Joan asked in realization as she stared at the face in the corner of the screen. She leaned in and squinted to get a better look at the minuscule screen.
PK snickered. "You just realized?"
"Shut up," Joan said under her breath.
"Don't be rude to your employer," PK said.
"Employer? You?" Joan was flabbergasted. Who did this mouse think it was?
"I pay you!" PK said indignantly. "That makes me your employer!"
Joan glared. "Have you been paying me recently? I think not."
Turner cocked his head to the side "Eh, did you say something?"
Joan shook her head. "No, nothing. You misheard"
The Isaac on camera seemed to be completely different from real life. On-screen, Isaac became a more expressive version of himself. He appeared happier, funnier, and nicer than he did in real life.
On the contrary, from the impression he gave Joan, he was arrogant although he had nothing to be arrogant about. His combat skills were mediocre at best.
"Chat, did you see that? Let's go! We ain't Apex for no reason," Isaac cheered and laughed.
Joan couldn't help the frown that blossomed on her face. He was merely pretending to be nice on stream, but in reality, he was a douche who enjoyed schadenfreude. But what could Joan say? She killed people for a living.
"He's different in real life," Joan commented.
Navier leaned in to take a better look at the screen. "Yeah, streamers are usually different from how they appear on stream."
Pablo hummed in agreement. "Streaming is a tough job. I heard a lot of the crack under pressure." He shook his head. "Not a career path I would recommend."
"Ah." Viktor looked up, coming to a realization. "Did you hear about Roselia? She committed suicide last week because of all the hate comments."
Turner gasped, his eyes widening to saucers. "But she was so happy on stream!"
Viktor humorlessly chuckled. "Streamers like her should be actors instead.
Joan examined Isaac. How much of his online personality was real? Was it all a show to make money?
Inwardly, she scowled at the boy. He hadn't left a good impression. Not only was he weak, but he had the audacity to slap her.
Joan sourly rubbed her cheek at the unfavorable memory. She vowed to slap some sense into him the next time she saw him.