“My family owned your ancestors,” one of them shouted.

Zola’s hands clenched and she had to force herself to relax.

“Oh, she’s not shooting her mouth off,” the squeaker said. “You hit a nerve.”

“Typical woman. Not even responding.”

Zola gnashed her teeth as she bailed out of her Stromberg and sprinted to the hotel. She climbed the stairs and planted a proximity mine at the top before dashing to the far end and sticking more mines near the tops of the other sets of stairs.

“Oh, are you mad?” Loud laughter exploded from her speakers and she winced. “Aw, why are you mad, sweetcheeks?”

“She finally remembered her place.”

Pig. Zola darted through one of the crumbling, rotting motel rooms and stuck another mine to the ceiling just inside the door. Then she dashed through the hole in the opposite wall, took cover, and waited while the laughing continued.

A rapid beeping came from the left, followed by a bang and another startled shout. One of the voices fired off another racial slur.

“I’m gonna find where you live and rape you!”

I’ll slit your throat if you ever try. Zola glared directly into her camera.

“I’m pretty sure these pillars of society are the same ones I’ve run into many times in other games. They said the same things and refused to stop.” She sighed. “This kind of crap is why so many female gamers play with their microphones muted.”

“Gimme your digits,” another of his buddies blurted. “I need your phone number!” When she ignored him, he continued repeating, “You gonna give me your digits? Huh? Where are your digits?”

“You can have one.” She flipped the screen off.

“Well? Which one?”

“The middle one.” She glanced at the map to locate their blips and prepared to jump out of cover as they approached the doorway. “Nincompoop.”

One of them rushed past the proximity mine and triggered it. The blast threw his burning corpse out through the broken wall, past her, over the balcony, and out of sight. He cussed her out again and she burst into laughter.

“There’s plenty more where that came from.”

“Oh, why you so mad, sweetheart?” The squeaker giggled. “Is it ’cause he doesn’t really wanna bone you? He wouldn’t be able to get it up for your bald, ugly ass!”

“You know why,” she muttered as she brought up her weapons menu and switched to the Marksman Pistol.

“Yeah, I know why -- it’s because nobody would stick it in an animal like you.” The squeaker threw another slur and snickered.

“You shouldn’t even think about these things until your balls drop.” Zola popped up from cover and one-shotted him through the chest. The boom sounded like a cannon and was so forceful that she swore she could feel its shockwave. The guy’s body stumbled drunkenly forward and toppled over. “Who sucks now, you little shit?”

“Oh, this one’s feisty,” another of the Incel Squad laughed. “Me likey!”

“As if you’d have a chance with any woman.” Zola found him on the map, taking cover on the other side of the wall, beside the open doorway. She switched weapons again, selecting a tear gas canister, and rolled it across the floor while laughing to cover up the noise.

“Oh, why? You play for the other team? Is that it, baby?”

“I play for both, thank you very much, but you couldn’t even get laid in a kennel.” If I keep him distracted for a few more seconds …

His character suddenly coughed and gagged. Zola smirked at the camera.

And there he goes. She lifted her right hand and flicked a finger toward the camera, finishing the move just as the guy collapsed. Another glance at the map showed the remaining pair trying to sneak through another room and those who’d respawned running back to the motel.

She pulled out a Molotov cocktail and lobbed it at the spot where the pair in the motel were about to emerge. Both of them grunted and spewed more profanity. Zola hopped over the rail, hit the ground and rolled, and sprinted for the other half of the motel.

“She’s trying to run away,” one of the others yelled. “Go around to the stairs!”

Perfect. She stifled another laugh and kept running until they found another proximity mine. She turned back just in time to see a pair of burning bodies tumble from the second floor to the parking lot.

One of them picked himself up -- but he had the disadvantage of standing beside a parked vehicle. Zola ran back to him and whipped out her Compact Grenade Launcher.

Thoomp!

The grenade blew the car to smithereens and rocketed his body across the street.

A cacophony of laughter erupted from her speakers and she arched an eyebrow at the map. Over a dozen other blips appeared to be converging on the motel.

“Seems we have an audience.”

“Don’t worry.” She hadn’t heard the voice before. “We’re just here to watch.”

“We heard the whole thing,” another voice said. “Everything those idiots said to you. Mop the floor with ’em!”

“White knight,” the squeaker grumbled.

“Will do.” An idea formed and she guffawed. “Keep back, though. I don’t want any of you getting caught in what’s about to happen.”

“Oh, hohoho! I can’t wait to see this!”

Zola called in an air strike and watched six blips darting between the two halves of the motel while she held the flare. She estimated the spot they’d be occupying in a moment, tossed the flare, and ran like hell.

“There she is!”

The roar of a jet faded in from the distance and grew steadily louder.

“I’ve got her! Gonna take this sniper rifle and Jesus Christ!”

A rapid series of explosions drowned his voice out. Zola turned around in time to catch the last of a hail of rockets pulverizing the ground where her pursuers had paused to take aim. Their furious screams merged with cheers and applause from the onlookers. Zola leaned back in her chair and laughed until tears filled her eyes.

“Bravo,” one of the other players said.

“Thanks -- but I’m just getting warmed up.” She aimed a Kubrick Stare into her webcam. “These guys pissed me off and I’m going to run them out of town.”