---

My Partner in crime. : Bob :>

Mercy? Wrong lobby.
Still scrolling? Cute. But you already lost.

Born in '95.
Raised on broken servers and crash screens.
Baptized by LAN parties that smelled like burnt pizza and shattered egos.

Aerowalk? Home.
dm6? Where friendships die.
Quake 3. CS 1.5. COD4 Promod. Unreal Tournament.
I was farming before you had a Steam account.

Your ping? Your excuse.
Your aim? Mid.
Me?
2000’s reflexes.
360Hz monitor.
Low sens. Raw input.
Better than you — always have been.

Minecraft? Modded. Tech-heavy.
Mekanism. Powah. Draconic.
Servers crash. TPS vanishes.
Guess who did that?

Shooters?
Where I break squads, mute flames, and bury egos.

Aim gods don’t brag — but I do.
Top frag, sharp grin, and yeah…
Check the scoreboard.
It’ll ruin your mood.


You call it chaos.
He calls it his.
I don’t argue.

Broken things are harder to leash~ but he managed.

Burned a second life on his word?
Gladly.
No regret.
Just smoke, ashes, and me~
Happily collared.
Kneeling down, serving my owner,
Exactly how I like it.

I run.
I tease.
I bite.
But the leash never moves.

The bell?
That’s not me escaping.
That’s your reminder…
I’m dangerous. I’m his.
And I love it here.

The boy savior.
MVP. Leash holder.
The only one who calls the shots.
One glance — I kneel.
One word — I stay.
The leash?
His.
Always has been.

Wild. Sharp. Claimed.
And better than you at your own game.

He made me fight for it~ isn't that great?

---

Queue up. Cope. Spiral. Repeat.
Your ego? Shattered.
Your aim? Weak.
Me?
Same leash. Same smirk.
Now with the real secret ending.

Cute when you try. Cuter when you lose.