Patricia hated her name more than any girl could. It just didn't fit her at all. Other girls her age were interested in saccharin nonsense- fairies, unicorns, and so much pink it made her vomit. Her name suggested that she'd fit in, as anyone who heard "Patricia" would assume she was the girliest of them all. That couldn't be further from the truth; Patricia couldn't care less about any of that. Her loves were baseball, robots, and playing games- she had no time for any of the stupid things that her peers indulged in. With that in mind, she tried numerous times to find a cooler name for people to call her, one that would finally distance herself from her much hated birth name.

None of them stuck, and it drove her up a wall.

In all honesty, her name was just at the top of the list of things she disliked. She disliked most of her classmates, who cared way too much about things that were pink and sparkly. She disliked her brother and sister, who went out of their way to grind her down whenever they could. She disliked most of the adults in her life- her father played favorites constantly, her mother was off god-knows-where, and most of her teachers thought her attitude was too rotten for any serious investment. She disliked losing, and teammates who couldn't pull their weight, though some talks from the coaches were helping her come around on that.

It wasn't like she disliked everything- winning, playing games (when her brother wasn't hogging the TV), watching her shows (ditto), and especially baseball all struck a harmonious chord with her- but her passion for these things and her animosity towards what she disliked were so intense she was, as her classmates said, "scary."

Carrying around her baseball bat at all times certainly didn't help with that.

It was another lonely recess. Most of the boys in the class were in the middle of a capture-the-flag game, and they had no intention of letting a girl join their contest. The girls had already broken into their cliques, and of course, Patricia was not a member of any of them. All she could really do here was practice her swings, a monotonous process that involved far more walking back to get the ball than hitting it. It gave her far more time to brood than to improve her skills. With another crack of the bat, she grumbled something unintelligible- it was shaping up to be another long day.

"Nice shot!" a voice cried from the distance. The disturbance was major enough to actually catch Patricia's attention. A brunette boy came running up, heading towards her.

In instinct, she raised the bat so he could get a good look. "Excuse me?"

"That hit you just got- it was great. Must have been real clean to go that far."

Patricia squinted. She didn't recognize him, but he couldn't be older than her. "New kid?"

He grinned, revealing an unappealing gap within his smile. "Kinda. I've been here for, uh, three weeks I think."

Patricia was frankly a bit put off by his forwardness. It was disarming, but strange. "What do you want?"

"Can you give me the bat?"

"Why, 'fraid I'm gonna hit you with it?" She rolled her eyes. "It'd be just like 'Psycho Patricia,' right?" Of all the nicknames to stick, it was the one she hated almost as much as her birth name.

"Nah, you're not gonna do that."

"What makes you think that?"

"Cuz I haven't given you a reason to." He grinned again. "Didn't give you a reason to."

Patricia blinked. What was with this guy?

"So can I see it?"

"...Sure?" She handed him the bat with some trepidation. "Is this how you really meet people?"

"Just the ones like me." He took a close squint at the aluminum toy, and whistled. "This is a piece of work! All kinds of scratches too, must be really used." He took a broad, playful swing. "You play for a team?"

"Yeah." There was something oddly disarming about his behavior- it was beyond weird, but so earnest that it barely mattered. "We're the Bullets."

"Great name!" He took another swing before handing it back. "Guess you're practicing?"

"Sure."

"Not sure why. With hits like that, you're already plenty good. Bet'chure the star hitter or something."

Patricia flushed. She was indeed the powerhouse of her team, a reputation that rarely followed outside the field. To be reminded of it so bluntly and kindly in school was an odd rush. "I'm...pretty good."

The boy grinned yet again. "You sure are. Anyway, the reason I came over is cuz you looked like you were all on your own. A few kids and I are getting together by the basketball court, and the more the merrier, know what I'm saying? Just tell 'em Becker sent ya." He turned quickly. "Gotta make tracks now, don't want to be late!" As quickly as he popped up, he tore off across the grass, leaving a stunned girl behind him. It was one hell of an introduction, to be sure, and a lot to consider. She looked at her bat, then at the ball in the distance. Spending all recess doing this over and over was predictable, but hardly exciting. Going to the court was a risk, given how easily they could just alienate her again, but it opened far more doors. She shrugged to no one in particular, jogged to pick up her ball, and make way to the school's shoddy court.

Trish was extremely grateful for what Becker did that day. The new kid seemed to have endeared himself to every sort of outcast or loner in the fifth grade, corralling them into a new clique with sheer force of will and endless enthusiasm. The merry band initially had very little in common, but some serious prodding from Becker broke open each shell, revealing a sort of warmth and camaraderie previously foreign to them. She had found her clique, and a nickname that both sounded good and finally stuck. It wasn't Becker's nickname, but Nasim's, and it rang like heaven's sweetest bell.

Nasim was easily the second best part of being in that gang. Even if he was so quiet.

The gang was founded in elementary school, but found themselves going separate ways as soon as junior high started. This was more of a physical barrier than a practical one, easily breached with calls and informal meetings at Becker's place. Whenever and wherever they congregated, lengthy games were never far behind. Right now, the game of choice was Vanguard. Becker supplied everyone with decks, taught them the rules, and from there, it was off to the races.

Naturally, as beginners, they were all terrible, but that never mattered- the game itself was too fun.

It was their seventh-grade year, and right now it was a quiet gathering at the usual haunt (the clubhouse in Becker's backyard). Most of the gang was busy with something else, so it was only the core trio of Becker, Nasim, and Trish. Nasim and Becker were in the middle of another round of playtesting, the former trying to find his "winning image," while the latter was still trying to get the hang of a new boss. Trish just watched, trying her best to take her mind off her current funk.

It wasn't working.

"You used that unit's skill wrong," Trish sighed in frustration. "It's an on-hit, not an after-battle."

Nasim flinched. "Sorry."

Buzz looked up. "Man, who pissed in your cornflakes?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Trish snapped.

"That. You've been real surly ever since you popped in. What's going on?" He paused. "Is it your sister again?"

Trish winced. Her older brother may have left for college, but her older sister was still around, and more determined to undermine her younger sibling than ever.

Nasim picked up quickly. "What'd she do this time?"

She sighed. "She learned I've been playing Vanguard, so she got me a 'gift.'"

"Uh oh," Becker said. "What'd she get you?"

"...you know those frilly mermaid cards? She got me their trial deck."

"Ouch," Becker murmured. Nasim shook his head in solace. Giving someone like Trish Bermuda Triangle might as well be slapping them with a white glove.

"And the bitch sold one of my best decks to pay for it! Honestly, I have half a mind to take my bat and-"

"Hey, woah!" Becker practically dropped his hand getting up. "Let's not go there! I know you're angry, but come on."

Trish seethed but remained on a leash. "It just sucks. She can't ever let me be happy."

Nasim nodded again. "If it means anything, Bermuda is pretty powerful."

"That doesn't really help, Nasim. I'm still down a deck for some magical girl nonsense."

Becker scratched his chin. "I dunno, it'd help me. Those mermaids pack a nasty punch. They're kinda broken."

"They are broken," Nasim grumbled. "You can't win against them."

"Stop BSing me, guys," Trish sighed. "I know you're trying to make me feel better, but-"

"We aren't kidding," Becker interrupted. "If you have it, we can show you. Trust me, you'll be cleaning shop like it's Black Friday."

Trish paused, giving both boys a skeptical glance. "If I find out you're taking the piss-"

"You'll get the bat?" Becker grinned. "You won't. A) they really are that good, and B) you like us too much."

Trish glared at him, but the smile didn't shirk. "Whatever. One game, and if I lose, I'll knock your teeth out."

He laughed. "Now you're talking!"

Trish shook her head, a small scowl creeping across her face. Where did those times go? Back in the days, Buzz was thoughtless at worst, but never selfish, and certainly not the absolute garbage he grew into. Back then she could actually enjoy her friendship with him, but now that was more or less impossible. On the contrary, time with him was becoming more unbearable by the day. So what if he introduced her to Vanguard? So what if they knew each other for years? He had become such a monster that it didn't matter- he could be her meal ticket and she'd dumpster him as soon as she could.

The scowl grew bigger, now noticeable. In a way, it was her fault. She noticed the changes in his behavior over the years, and she had no excuse to not cut it off there. She humored it at first because it honestly was hilarious- this lily-white lunkhead calling himself "Buzz" and wearing shades everywhere? Hysterical. Then she put up with it because he was her teammate, and he won nearly every game he played. She was no prize either, she reasoned. But it festered, bubbling over years until it blossomed into what he was today. The kind of boy who would callously toss aside his old friends for the sake of winning. Even she wasn't that competitive, and she played little league as a kid.

"Game two of this intense final matchup is about to go down! From Team Villager, we have the combo queen, Sal Mendez! Her legions of lightning are going toe-to-toe with the marine angels of Team Juggernaut's Patricia Hathaway!"

"Both players are known for their intense brands of offense. With so much on the line here, we're about to see both at their best- a true fireworks display."

"Yeah, spike her down, Sal!" someone roared from the stands. Apparently, this girl had some passionate fans.

Trish shook her head. She needed to focus. The real threat was right in front of her. As much as she hated to admit it, winning this was just as important to her as it was to Buzz. But even with that reminder, she wavered. After all, who says-

"Get out of my face, loser. Don't bother talking to me ever again."

-to their best friend? Especially one who looked on the verge of a nervous breakdown? It was indefensible. Her mind was made up- win or lose, she'd take her deck and walk away from him as long as she could. She looked up at her opponent- shorter than usual, with ebony hair and eyes that could pierce steel.

"Don't get distracted," she taunted. "I'd hate to win just because you weren't paying attention."

Trish was used to pre-fight banter by now. "Like I'd lose to one of Crew Cut's fangirls. Just try and keep up, I'll leave you in the dust."

"Is 'fangirl' the best one you got?"

"Good point, how about 'bitch?' That's way more fitting. Ooh, maybe 'th-'"

"Stopping you there. Don't think anyone who hangs out with Shades has any right calling another girl that."

"Pfft, you asked for it." Buzz might have been the most belligerent one, but Trish was by far the best trashtalker. "Hope you don't give up so easily when you cardfight."

"Hello? I'm in the finals, not exactly a quitter. But, again, someone who hangs out with Shades probably doesn't have a lot to work with in terms of brains."

Lucas grinned. "Sal's going off. This is going to be fun."

Trish smirked. "I've got enough brains to know you're out of your league, here. You're facing a deck that hits harder than you ever could, and we both know Narukami can't do spit defensively."

Kiki nodded. "She's got a point. Bermuda Triangle decks can muster some impressive offense numbers. Sal can't just throw out her units without a plan."

"I know she can do it," Sean assured her. "Sal's got more than enough skills to plan around whatevers thrown her way."

"Looks like our competitors have a little back-and-forth going. Since they're ready, I'd say it's time to get game 2 started. Let's play Vanguard!"

Sal reached for her starter. "Let's see if you can back up your mouth, chica."

Trish did likewise. "Sure, I won't pummel you too badly."

"Let game 2 begin!"

"Now stand up, my Vanguard!"

A/N: Sorry about the wait. My job and life have been hectic for the past couple of weeks. I didn't want to leave you guys hanging, so this chapter will be split into three parts instead of the usual two. This'll be a long fight, so buckle in!