I'm pretty sure it's going to be a long night.
According to Wunderground, the weather forecast says it'll be stormy. That's why I bought cup noodles, drinks, and snacks—so I wouldn't have to step outside if hunger hit, or worse, make some Grab or FoodPanda rider suffer through the rain.
I removed the VR visor and stood up, grabbing one cup noodle from the grocery bag.
I headed to the kitchen area of our con—
…my condo unit.
I pinched the "open here" tab between my thumb and index finger and peeled the lid back. The soft tack echoed through the room as the artificial aroma reached my nose.
Using the back of my right arm, I checked the electric kettle. Warm, but not hot.
It had already cooled down.
I shrugged and poured hot water into the cup noodles.
I sat on the couch and ate in silence.
[ Partner Detected: Meihua. ]
[ Status: Offline… Data Activity Detected in Singapore Core Grid. ]
The notification flashed in my mind again.
Is that even possible?
Her account was deleted. Even COD: VR management confirmed there was no trace of Meihua—no backups, no legacy data.
Slurp.
I finished the noodles and stood up to grab another cup. The kettle was empty.
I refilled it at the sink, stopping at the minimum line, my thoughts still circling the same question.
"Why would I receive that kind of notification," I muttered, setting the kettle back onto its base and pressing the switch, "if Erica's account is already gone?"
Somewhere far below, a motorcycle coughed to life and vanished into the night. The distant horns of the EDSA Bus Carousel echoed as it pulled into the station. Inside my condo, the air conditioner hummed steadily.
On my desk, the VR visor pulsed with a faint blue glow—slow and rhythmic, like a heartbeat.
I left the second cup on the counter and walked back to my desk, unlocking my PC.
11:03 PM.
I leaned back in my chair, staring at the screen, trying to force logic onto something that refused to make sense.
Meihua.
Erica's in‑game name.
"Meihua? Why did you choose that name?" I had asked her back when we were both logged in to the VR world of COD: VR.
"Love, it means Plum Blossom — the flower that blooms through winter." She let out a soft laugh, the kind that bubbled in her throat before escaping. "It suits me, right?"
"It suits you, alright." I'd pulled her into a hug, feeling her avatar against my VR body — warm, real in a way the real world sometimes wasn't.
"But doesn't it sound too elegant for someone who throws grenades like a lunatic?"
She playfully shoved me, and we laughed — walking hand in hand toward our party members for a dungeon run.
Remembering those moments now… her laugh still echoed somewhere in the back of my mind, the one that started soft and ended with that tiny snort when she couldn't hold it back.
God, I missed that.
Click!
The electric kettle finished boiling. I stood up, went back to the kitchen, and poured hot water into my second cup of noodles.
Slurp.
As I ate, my gaze drifted back to my desk. The VR visor sat quietly there—dormant now, yet alive with memories I wasn't ready to face.
"Dart nortipikasyon courdent ber dyash random?!" I muttered through a mouthful of noodles.
Not after a year.
Not with her name.
"Damn it," I muttered. I'd promised myself I would never touch the VR visor again—never log back into the game where I lost my fiancée.
But here I was.
I finished the last cup of noodles, wiped my hands, and slid the visor back on.
I logged back into Call of Duty: VR.
I spawned in the training grounds and opened my HUD, scrolling through old match logs. The interface flickered—then there it was. My past matches, her name still recorded: [Meihua].
The dark outline was gone. Her account had been deleted long ago.
Only a flat gray font remained—a quiet proof that she had once been there.
For a heartbeat, I thought I saw her icon flicker—a pale pink cherry blossom, glowing faintly—before it vanished again.
Erica wasn't just my fiancée.
She was my other half inside Call of Duty: VR. The reason the name "Drumstickkk and Meihua" once made players hesitate before pressing the queue button.
Gaia Esports called us the Undefeated Duo. Casters called us the Sync Pair.
But it wasn't just skill.
We moved like we shared a single mind.
When I peeked, she flanked. When I reloaded, she covered. When I took a bullet, she avenged.
That trust…
It wasn't trained.
It was lived.
But reality had its own patch notes.
For a while, things were good. Stable, even.
We both had decent jobs back home, predictable schedules, a life that finally felt balanced after years of grinding—both in-game and out. Then she got the offer.
A data engineering role in Singapore. NeuralGrid Technologies—the same company responsible for Call of Duty's VR integration. The backbone of the system we lived inside.
For her, it was everything. A dream job. A leap forward. A chance to build the future she believed in.
For us, it was distance.
We told ourselves it wouldn't change anything. Time zones were just numbers. Flights were just money. We were already used to long hours and late nights. Compared to raid schedules and tournament scrims, how hard could it be?
At first, we made it work.
Stolen hours between meetings. Weekend calls that stretched past midnight. Sometimes we logged into the game with no intention of playing—no objectives, no loadouts—just sitting together in a quiet virtual lobby, watching the environment loop while we talked.
And when words ran out, we let the silence do its thing.
But work has a way of eating time. Not all at once—slowly, politely, until there's nothing left.
Meetings replaced messages. Deadlines replaced good mornings. And the sync we once had—the effortless timing, the shared rhythm—began to slip.
What used to feel instinctive started to lag.
So we made a decision.
Season 15 would be the end.
No drama. No drawn-out goodbyes.
Just a clean exit. Quiet. Professional. We'd retire together, the same way we'd played—side by side.
Then Gaia Esports reached out.
One last run, they said.
A final appearance. A farewell match for the fans. Something to remember.
We agreed.
And when the match started, it was like nothing had changed.
Every rotation was clean. Every engagement precise. Muscle memory took over, doing what it always had.
Just like old times.
Season 15: Battle Royale — Gaia Esports Invitational. Final Match.
The announcer's voice rolled through the VR space, smooth and rehearsed, carrying the weight of a thousand broadcasts before this one.
Crowds roared beyond the sound filters—cheers, chants, the distant hum of expectation bleeding into the system. To them, it was just another high-stakes match. Another leaderboard reset. Another night of entertainment.
For us…
It was goodbye.
"Team Gaia — Drumstickkk and Meihua. Ready for deployment?"
"Ready," we answered in unison.
Our voices overlapped perfectly.
They always had.
The loading bay of the carrier stretched wide around us, a steel cavern humming with restrained violence. Engines thrummed beneath the deck, vibrations traveling up through my boots and into my bones. Outside the open bay doors, the ruined city of Verdantia sprawled endlessly—fractured towers, scorched highways, neon signage flickering through drifting ash clouds.
Distant firefights already painted the sky in streaks of light.
I glanced to my side.
Erica—Meihua—sat beside me, helmet tilted just enough to expose her focused gaze as she tightened the strap of her gloves. Her avatar reflected her real-world calm: a black tactical braid resting against her shoulder, a pink accent scarf fluttering gently in the artificial wind of the cabin.
A small detail.
Her idea.
Her eyes moved constantly, sharp and deliberate, tracking the terrain map projected across her visor. Elevation markers. Loot density heatmaps. Player drop probabilities. She absorbed it all like breathing.
She always did.
"Let's drop early," she said calmly. "East Ridge. High loot density. Low initial traffic."
I raised an eyebrow. "You sure? Hot zone's west today."
Her gaze didn't waver.
"I'm sure," she replied. "Trust me."
I smirked, feeling the old familiarity settle in. The unspoken certainty. The quiet confidence that had carried us through countless matches.
"Always."
The carrier shuddered as it adjusted altitude. Warning lights blinked amber, then green. The countdown flashed across our HUDs, bold and unavoidable.
Drop zone in 3…
I flexed my fingers around the grip of my rifle, heart steady. Too steady.
2…
She glanced at me—not long, just enough. A shared look. No words. We didn't need them.
1…
Jump.
The wind howled as we dove into the open sky, bodies slicing through the clouds, the world far below unfolding like a war-torn canvas.
Verdantia sprawled beneath us — skyscrapers clawed by ivy and thick vines, streets cracked and jagged with age, rivers glinting like shattered glass in the sunlight. Smoke and dust curled from collapsed buildings, carrying the scent of rust and rain. Dozens of parachutes dotted the air, white petals drifting over chaos, each one a player hurtling toward survival or death.
Erica descended first, angling toward a half-collapsed radio tower. Her figure cut a precise line through the wind, movements measured, confident.
I followed close, cutting my chute at the last possible second. Boots struck gravel. Her voice crackled instantly in my ear.
"Two squads to the west. One rooftop. I'll take high ground."
"Got it. I'll sweep lower floors."
No hesitation. No wasted words. We moved as one.
She scaled the tower with fluid precision, her sniper rifle humming alive in her hands. I breached the lower building, clearing rooms methodically, looting without distraction. Every door opened and closed with purpose, every corner checked twice.
The HUD blinked.
Loadout Acquired: M4 - Black Gold Royal
Perks Active: Ghost, Quick Fix, Dead Silence
"Contact," she said, her voice calm, almost casual.
Crack!
One shot — the feed flashed: [Meihua > K3v1n99]
"Got one. His teammate's pushing your side."
I turned a corner, sighting movement. Pop. Pop. Pop. Three precise taps to the chest.
[Drumstickkk > SpadeX]
"And that's two," I said, reloading. "You good?"
"Always."
Her tone was light, confident — but I caught it. That small laugh, the one that betrayed enjoyment, the one I hadn't heard in months.
Minutes passed in rhythm, like a silent dance we'd performed a thousand times. We rotated zones, picking off squads with mechanical efficiency. Thirty left. Twenty left. Ten left.
Every fight felt like déjà vu — our synergy untouched by distance, untouched by time. I could anticipate her moves, her lines of fire, her instinctive rotations. And she could read mine. We didn't need words; a glance, a ping, a flash of light from a kill marker was enough.
The storm wall glowed violet at the map's edges, a creeping death that narrowed the world. Below, explosions rippled across the valley as desperate survivors sought cover.
We reached the cliffs overlooking the Solar Array, a high-tech ruin glittering with neon panels and jagged metallic debris. A perfect vantage point.
Erica crouched beside me, eyes narrowing through her scope.
"Four squads ahead. One on the ridge, two near the hangar, last team camping underground."
"Plan?"
"We bait a third-party. You shoot once — make noise — I rotate left flank."
"Classic Meihua strat."
"Classic us," she corrected, a ghost of a smile under her visor.
I fired, and chaos erupted. Bullets stitched the valley in lines of fire. Two enemy squads collided in confusion. Erica moved like a shadow — sliding between cover, planting traps, tossing grenades that forced players into her sights. Every move was a calculation, every shot a promise.
[Meihua > Yurei_]
[Drumstickkk > L33tBoy]
"That's eight kills for you," I said, ducking behind a crate, chest pounding.
"You're slacking," she teased, her laugh weaving through the static.
"Saving my bullets for the final circle."
"Sure you are."
Her laughter lingered, warm and alive, cutting through the storm of gunfire. For a fleeting moment, it didn't feel like a game. It didn't feel like VR. It felt like coming home.
The storm wall closed tighter, violet fingers creeping in from every edge. Only five squads remained.
Every step, every heartbeat, every breath counted.
And we were still together.
We moved through the wreckage, hearts pounding in sync, boots crunching against shattered metal and scorched concrete. The air shimmered with heat and smoke, every shadow a possible threat.
A red flare screamed into the sky ahead of us — an enemy drop zone.
"Careful," Erica said, her voice steady. "Two on our left. High ground."
"Copy."
We sprinted, diving behind the twisted remains of a downed cargo drone just as gunfire erupted. Plasma rounds tore through the air, sparking violently as they struck the hull, bathing everything in harsh flashes of white and blue.
"I'll flank right—" she started.
Then her voice broke.
Static.
"Meihua?" I said, spinning toward her last position. "Say again?"
No response.
My HUD flickered. Her health bar froze mid-drop. Her signal strength spiked, plummeted, spiked again — wrong, erratic, impossible.
Warning: Partner Connection Unstable.
"Erica?" My voice came out louder this time, edged with panic. "Meihua, come in!"
A flicker of pink light appeared beside me. Her avatar stuttered into existence mid-run — distorted, fragmented, her face frozen in a half-turn as if she'd been reaching for cover. The model jittered, glitched, and locked in place.
Then—
[ Teammate Meihua has disconnected. ]
The sound that followed wasn't an explosion or gunfire.
It was silence.
The kind of silence that swallows everything — the gunshots, the storm, even your own breathing — until there's nothing left but a hollow ringing in your ears.
"No… no, no, no!"
I yanked open my map, fingers shaking, searching for any sign of her icon. Maybe it was lag. A temporary drop. Anything.
But her marker was gone. Completely erased.
I was alone.
The storm wall roared closer, violet lightning tearing through the sky as it devoured the valley. Enemy fire closed in from every direction, squads circling like vultures sensing blood. I fired blindly, rage and panic flooding my veins, every trigger pull fueled by denial.
"Erica, if you can hear me—just hold on!"
Nothing answered me.
No calm voice. No laughter. No callouts.
Only static.
By the time the match ended — a messy, desperate elimination in the top five — I didn't even register how it happened. My screen blurred as my character fell, and the world dissolved into darkness.
The announcer's voice echoed, distant and hollow, like it was coming from underwater.
"Team Gaia — Eliminated. Drumstickkk and Meihua's final match ends at Rank 5."
Final.
I tore the visor off, breath ragged, hands trembling. My room snapped back into focus, but it felt wrong — too real, too empty.
Her comms — offline.
Her account — gone.
I stared at the loading screen where her name used to be, the empty space beside mine burning more than any defeat ever had.
"You promised…" I whispered. "We'd log in one last time."
Outside, the rain continued to fall — soft, endless, heavy with memory — tapping against the window like it was trying to remind me of something I'd already lost.
And that was it.
She was gone.
When I tried to contact her afterward, her account didn't exist anymore. Not suspended. Not deactivated.
Deleted.
As if she had never been there at all.
Gaia's management had scolded me afterward — accused me of throwing the match, of disgracing the team, of humiliating the banner we'd built together. Their voices had blended into one sharp, corporate noise, full of metrics and expectations and things that no longer mattered.
Because for me, that match wasn't just a loss.
It was the moment my world desynced.
I rubbed my face, fingers pressing into my eyes as if I could physically push the weight out of my chest. A full year had passed since that day. A year of silence. A year of unanswered questions.
And now here I was again, staring at her name as it flickered back to life — a ghost signal bleeding through from the past.
Status: Offline… Data Activity Detected in Singapore Core Grid.
My heart thudded once.
Then again.
Could it really be her?
Or was it just corrupted data? An echo trapped in the old system's memory, replaying something that no longer existed? I wanted to believe it wasn't her. Belief would hurt less than hope.
Outside, the rain softened into a drizzle, the city exhaling after a long night. I turned off the desk lamp and slid into bed, but sleep refused to take me. Every time I closed my eyes, she was there.
Erica.
Long dark hair falling over her shoulders, usually tied neatly into two braids. That calm, focused expression she wore when she was thinking — the kind that quieted a room without her ever saying a word. She favored oversized tops that swallowed her frame, soft pinks and whites, like she never quite belonged to the noise of the world around her.
But inside the game?
She was something else entirely.
Meihua was sharp. Ruthless. Brilliant. Every movement deliberate. Every decision lethal. The contrast had always fascinated me — the gentle warmth of Erica in the real world, and the cold, surgical precision of Meihua in combat. Two sides of the same person, perfectly balanced.
My hand drifted to my phone. I scrolled until I reached our last message, the words still untouched by time.
[ Erica: Next time we log in, let's just play for fun. ]
[ No rankings. No sponsors. Just us. ]
That next time never came.
I let out a shaky breath and set the phone down, my chest tightening with the weight of everything left unsaid. My eyes shifted back to the VR visor on the desk. Its faint blue light flickered once — a soft, rhythmic pulse, like it was breathing. Waiting.
"If it's really you," I whispered into the quiet room, "then wait for me in there."
Tomorrow, I would log back in.
Not for ranked matches.
Not for titles or glory.
But to chase the signal — the one that still dared to whisper her name through the noise.