Deadbeat in a game

"How the fuck have you let them plant?" Cain barks down his microphone, catching some microscopic saliva as he does so. His emerald eyes dart up and down, behind the lenses of his glasses, from one side of his monitor to the other. Checking his minimap, he notices it is clear of enemies and moves into the site where the bomb is. 

A frustrated teen boy's voice comes back at him through his headset "And who decided to roam around the map instead of doing what you should have been doing?". His voice grew louder and more aggressive halfway through combating Cain's remark as if realising that Cain was utterly at fault. 

A strand of coiled brown hair falls in front of Cain's eyes and gets caught in the metal bracket of his glasses. Cain shakes his head from side to side as if to dismiss his hair and his teammate's comments at the same time.

He taps at his keyboard with his fingers, his chewed-down fingernails grazing one of the keys as he does so.

Footstep audio ques subtly linger their way out of his blue headset and into Cain's left ear, his right hand swiping his mouse across his mousepad in response but gets stopped short as it catches a poorly placed beer bottle on the left side of his black mousepad. It makes an audible tink as the mouse and bottle collide, with the momentum carried on through the mouse and into the bottle. Cain's eyes redirect their attention off from his monitor and onto the now airborne brown beer bottle. It falls onto his left leg, splashing half of the contents of ale onto his baggy grey sports shorts. Cain's hands remove themselves from his mouse and keyboard, moving their efforts to the beer bottle. Cain's expression turned from irritation to shock as the beer bottle was nose-diving for his floor. Consequently, an impact on his carpeted floor occurred, bouncing and flipping, spraying a small radius on his floor with an amber ale.

Cain watched the beer bottle flip erratically, his hands holding still a few inches from the bottle, failing in their mission to stop it from reaching the floor. Its kinetic energy dissipates as it rolls briefly, now empty of its contents. Cain watches, biting his lip to deal with the frustration that has overcome him. Cain's mouth begins to move and forms a sentence, notes of irritation present.

"Now the carpet is going to stink of bee-" He is cut short.

Bullet shots blow through his headphones, followed by a squelching sound that is assumed to be the audio of a headshot. 

Cain's neck twists back towards the angle of his monitor, his head following suit. His assumption was correct, Cain's in-game character now lays on the virtual floor, lifeless.

GAME OVER flashes across his monitor in a bold font.

He throws his arms up into the air, his old gaming chair squeaking as he does so, followed by a sigh.

"This is your fucking fault" The teen voice chirps up once again and through the headset.

"you shouldn't need me sat on sight like a glorified sentry turret." Cain quickly rebutted, throwing his arms up in the air again.

"What is the point in playing a team game if you can't play with a team? It's like buying a pair of running shoes for a fucking hike in the mountains, it doesn't make sense." 

A small chuckle comes through one of the other teammate's microphones.

Cain sits and listens to his point, although it only goes in one ear and out the other.

"Whatever, I just won't play with you anymore, fucking nit-picking all the time anyways." Cain snaps.

Another chuckle comes through Cain's headset.

"eh? I'm not nit-picking, just an obvious fact that you are an ass teammate." The teen replies.

A new voice chirps up, flat and monotone. 

"I don't laugh a lot but you two change that fact often."

Cain exhales, blowing a breeze onto his microphone.

"Well, I'm pleased I make you giggle like a schoolgirl Lance."

Cain remarked.

Cain grabs his mouse with his right hand, guiding it to leave the game and back to the lobby. He sits in the lobby, now by himself. Cain stares at his monitor. His green eyes stay unblinking as his LED monitor reflects off of them.

With just a mere glance into Cain's room it was obvious he lacked any motivation to put it lightly.

A messy bed and dirty laundry on his floor, accompanied by an empty pizza box on his nightstand with an assortment of empty beer bottles scattered around his room like collectables. Furthermore, even the curtains on his window were closed as if to shut out the rest of the world, shutting out anything extrinsic that could interfere with his blissful ignorance.

Cain sits hunched in his chair, his shoulders forward as if being magnetically pulled towards his monitor.

Slowly, he drops his head into his left hand, with his elbow propping it up on his desk.

His cheek is flushed red, contrasting the rest of his pale face, as it squishes against his hand.

Vocal cords in his throat vibrate, letting a whisper push its way out of his chapped lips.

"I need to do something with my life."

Cain uttered. It was quiet but just barely audible.

FWUSH

Suddenly, a yellow digital rectangle appears in front of Cain, breaking his quiet stooper and causing him to jolt back into his chair, it squeaking as he does so, his posture now the opposite of what it was. Cain's eyes have grown wide with disbelief behind his hair, which has covered a majority of his eyesight. 

"initiating sequence." It read on the digital yellow interface. It hadn't moved and stayed still in the air just in front of his monitor and was about the same size as the monitor. His pupils dilate, taking in the bright light from the interface.

"Wh- what?" Cain stumbles over his words briefly. He has a genuine look of confusion rather than shock at this point. 

Cain raises his right hand from one of the arms of the chair, a small indent can be seen where he initially gripped the chair out of shock.

FZZT

An audible electronic tone emits from the digital interface as he prods his finger through.

A frown moulds itself on Cain's forehead. He squints whilst prodding the digital interface again.

"Was there something in my bee-"

The word 'beer' didn't even to have time to escape his mouth by the time he had vanished. 

Gaming chair empty and rotating slightly with a squeak. Beer bottle empty on the floor. The whole room devoid of presence. One could guess he had been plucked out of reality if it didn't seem like such an abstract idea.