Dear gamers, my apologizes for the delay in a new chapter. I saw all your messages and was motivated to write for you guys! I've been having a busy summer, and of course lots of grinding for Fortnite!

Drift had never seen Gunner so pissed, and confused at the same time. Brite's twin had been his good friend for months. They'd been nowhere near brothers, but there had always been a sense of peace and understanding between them. Drift's stomach roiled in anger as Brite slouched against the stomach, wincing in imaginary pain. Gunner looked back and forth, trying to process what was going on. He thankfully lowered his gun, but a menacing look replaced his initial face of shock as he turned to the nervous Drift.

"Get out," he said in quiet fury. His voice was taut like a loaded boom bow.

"I swear, I didn't do anything," Drift defended himself. "I pinky promise, cross my heart-" he was cut off by an angry look.

"Alright, what happened?" Gunner asked impatiently, like he was waiting for the whole situation to be over. Drift's throat went dry.

"Drift shoved me right off the table. Just because I was trying to help him heal himself," Brite replied, an evil glint in her otherwise clear, childlike eyes. She tried to hide that by letting out a quiet whimper.

Drift opened his mouth to respond, but not before a fist collided with his jaw. He was thrown backwards, staring in shock at Gunner. The latter was trembling in fury.

Drift's jaw reverberated with a heady, hot feeling. He wanted to explain himself, defend his actions; but all he could do was stay frozen in a shocked position. He flinched as Gunner reached over to the table, where he picked up Drift's coat and kitsune mask. The items were dropped in front of the cowering blond with a thud.

"Leave," Gunner growled coldly. It was clear he wanted no explanation. The action spoke for itself. As Drift picked up his things and stumbled out the door, he thought he saw a glint of regret in Gunner's eyes. But before he could get a second glance, the door was slammed in his face.

All that night, Drift curled up in his Paradise Palms blanket and sobbed his eyes out. He felt so confused and befuddled. He wanted to feel angry, he only felt sorry. He wanted to scream, but could only cry. He had returned home with just a throbbing jaw and hurt feelings; but sight of the laughing selfie of him and Brite, tacked up on his bedroom wall, made him burst into tears. Minutes, then hours passed, everything else forgotten but the sweet, innocent image he'd always carried of Brite disgustingly tainted and ruined.

Five months ago...

"I'd like to welcome our new student, Drift Abernathy," Principal Wick announced. The retired hitman principal walked about with an air of dignity and urgency wherever he went.

Drift felt himself being herded into the classroom. It was hardly a classroom, but some secret agent type bunker they'd jumped down two stories underground for. How they were supposed to get back upstairs Drift didn't know, but the sight of the suppressed pistol on Wick's belt made him hold his words.

Inside the bunker, students sat in rows of desks with the teacher in the front. She was a young, enigmatic woman with light up blue butterflies on her clothes and blinding radiant eyes that welcomed him with an angelic smile.

"Hi Dream, this is Drift, the new student," Principal Wick announced. Pairs of eyes swiveled on him, making Drift shrink.

"Hello, Drift. I'm Ms. Dream. Please sit next to this young lady over here." She gestured towards an empty seat next to a pink haired girl.

Drift had barely taken his seat when he heard a muffled sob emit from the girl's clenched lips. She was so colorful and beautiful he caught his breath. A crumpled paper was clutched in her hands; scrawled on with ugly, red handwriting. As Drift watched, she quietly tore the paper into little pieces and shoved them off her desk, her bottom lip trembling.

As Ms. Dream carried on with the day's lesson, Drift turned toward towards the girl. "Is everything okay?" He whispered.

"Bullies," Brite mumbled.

Drift leaned in, compassion tugging at his heart. Who'd bully this sweet looking girl?

"Who?" He asked.

"Strider, Snorkle, those girls right behind us," Brite replied.

Locating the girls proved to be easy. Drift had dealt with enough popular bitchness from where he'd came from to last him a lifetime. Their twisted, gossiping faces, long acrylics, and designer clothing could be spotted from a mile away. They were all using their phones under the desks, ignoring the world around them.

Drift tore a scrap of paper from his notebook and scrawled on a message: ur moms a hoeee

Folding it carefully, he created a tiny rift and tossed the paper into it. It landed right on the girls' notebooks, piquing their interest. The two relished in the protesting squeals behind them.

And that was how Brite Bomber and Drift Abernathy became friends.

Present

Drift sighed heavily as his soul plummeted to the depths of despair at the memory. Finding no other solution to his misery, he settled for one of his last resorts. He slid off the couch and crawled over to a locked cabinet under the sink. Undoing the locks with heavy hands, he drew out several slender bottles containing heavily spiked shield liquor. He felt guilty, but knew he deserved it.

"Just this one night," Drift whispered, squeezing his eyes shut. He ripped off the cap for one of the bottles and chugged.