All Over Los Santos
“Son of a ...” Zola scowled at the WASTED notification on her screen while a kid’s high-pitched laughter burst from her laptop’s speakers.
“Girls don’t play video games,” he crowed. “Get back in the kitchen where you belong!”
“Go suck an exhaust pipe,” Zola grumbled as she waited to respawn.
“What kind of accent is that?” He laughed again and several of his buddies snickered.
Zola shook her head. The tribal costume and the hut in her greenscreen background were just parts of the schtick she played up while streaming, but her accent was real. Not that the squeaker who’d just gunned her down for no reason deserved an explanation.
Her character respawned and she whipped out her Unholy Hellbringer and requested her Khanjali tank. She’d appeared near one of the pickup points, so she’d have a decent chance of reaching it before that little bastard mowed her down again.
The sounds of more donation notifications flowed from her speakers and she held in a laugh. She was decent enough at the games she streamed, but appearing topless on camera -- another part of the character she played -- probably had more to do with it than anything else. Which was why she’d taken her “tribal” online persona in that direction in the first place. It brought in a lot of money, so why not?
She tended to just goof around with the rest of her team or talk about whatever was on her mind while admiring the desert scenery in her favorite games -- in this case, Grand Theft Auto Online -- but the rest of her team hadn’t joined in yet. Then this little waste of sperm had gone after her the instant he heard her voice and realized she was female.
“You don’t belong in this game,” one of his buddies said, and Zola arched an eyebrow. The voice was a little older than his and seemed familiar.
Sounds like one of the guys who won’t stop harassing me in Rainbow Six: Siege. Makes me wonder if I’ve picked up a stalker.
“You’re not really a girl,” another shouted – and again, Zola was sure she’d heard the voice before. Maybe in Siege, maybe in Overwatch. The bullies always sounded alike after a while. “You’re, like, a twelve-year-old using a voice changer. You’re not a girl!”
“Oh, yes, I am.” She rolled her eyes and sprinted toward the Khanjali the instant it appeared.
“Prove it! Show us your boobs!”
“I already have them out. It’s on my stream. Search for ‘Team Oreo.’”
“Go make me a sandwich,” one of the others snapped. The rest laughed their asses off as if he’d said something devastatingly clever.
“Never heard that one before. GG, sport.” Zola glanced at her map and found a half-dozen blips racing toward her. She recognized several of the gamertags as the usual suspects she’d met in Siege, Overwatch, CS:GO, and elsewhere. She shook her head and charged her tank’s railgun.
“Whore,” the guy growled. His motorcycle-shaped blip approached at a higher speed than the others, passing through the areas between streets -- or over them. “Kill yourself!”
He’s in an Oppressor. Probably a Mark II. She kept her eyes on the terrain ahead and pressed the W key, sending her Khanjali full speed ahead. He came within visual range and zipped straight toward her. Ah, it’s a Mark I. Good, he’ll need to land sooner or later.
“Wow,” the squeaker blurted. “You’re really black!”
“I have been aware of that for quite some time, but thank you for pointing it out anyway.” Zola nudged her mouse, leading the target, waiting for the right moment, and released the button. Her railgun scored a headshot and pinwheeled him off the flying bike. The Oppressor tumbled to the ground, bounced, and slid to a stop on the floor of the Grand Senora Desert. Zola grinned. At least I won’t have to pay twenty thousand GTA Dollars to replace it.
“You suck,” the bike’s owner bellowed.
“Ah, yes, I suck. That’s why I wasted you before you got off a single shot.”
“Friend me,” one of the others yelled.
“Friend me. Friend me! Friend …”
“Send me nudes!”
“Only if you send me money first.” Zola lined up a shot on the onrushing Weaponized Tampa and blew it off the road. Its driver let out a startled yelp before the secondary explosion propelled it off to the side, and Zola burst into a fit of giggles.
“If you’d stop harassing other players just because they’re girls …”
“We’re not! We respect wahmen!” He snickered. “Make me a sandwich!”
“I’m looking at your site,” another said. “You’re all black except the dude.”
“Yes, Captain Obvious. That’s why we’re called Team Oreo. He’s our cream filling.”
“Disgusting. You need to go back where you belong.”
“Back to Africa!”
“I’m already there.” She pointed a thumb at her greenscreen, brought up the in-game phone, and sent a mercenary team after him. The backdrop was just a generic desert scene, but she did live in Africa. She had no intention of telling these idiots anything specific about her location, though.
“Ugh,” another one grunted. “You’re bald. That’s nasty. Women shouldn’t be bald.”
“What difference does it make? I like the way it looks.”
“No, you need to look good for us men. That’s all you’re good for.”
“Oh, you can just piss right off!”
The same guy suddenly fired off a vile racial slur. Zola’s heart pounded for a moment. She took a few slow breaths and opened fire on the rest of the oncoming vehicles.
So that’s the way it’s going to be, eh? Time to teach them a lesson. Until now, she’d been content to let them show everyone watching what a bunch of scumbags they were, but now …
She’d put up with this crap ever since her first online game. While it made for good content, her tolerance had limits. Now, she swore a silent oath to run this prick and his whole gang out of the game.
A series of messages appeared in her chat window telling her to rip them up, accompanied by more donations. She flashed a predatory grin.
“Absolutely, guys. This is where the gloves come off.”
This is going to get boring. Zola shredded the last of her pursuers, abandoned her Khanjali, called her mechanic, and requested her Stromberg once she was far enough away. She kept her Hellbringer ready in case any of them respawned nearby, took cover behind a pile of rocks, and kept spinning her POV around to avoid being caught by surprise.
The bastard who’d called her the N-word rushed toward her on the map and a grenade arched over the rocks. She scrambled out of the blast radius a split-second before the grenade blew, then drilled him with her plasma rifle until he flumped over dead. The Stromberg’s blip appeared on the map and she bolted to it and jumped in.
“Just in time. I can hear a helicopter behind me.” She sped off, armed her missiles, and headed north toward Sandy Shores. The missile-lock alarm alerted her to the next attack and she whipped around before a rocket slammed into her Stromberg. Since the car could tank a half-dozen direct hits, it wasn’t time to panic yet.
A Buzzard and a Deluxo approached her head-on. She locked on to the Buzzard and launched a missile. The chopper tried to dodge but its pilot wasn’t fast enough. The missile ripped the Buzzard open and a secondary explosion finished the job. The flaming wreckage plunged to the ground and the player let out a stream of profanity.
Her aim shifted to the Deluxo and she recognized its driver’s gamertag.
The squeaker again. She clicked her mouse button and the Deluxo fired a missile a split-second later. The blast spun her to the right and she caught a glimpse of the Deluxo popping before it slid off her screen. She turned back around and resumed her course toward Sandy Shores. The squeaker and his cohorts finally caught up with her by the time she reached the Alamo Sea.
She fired off an evil cackle and drove straight into the lake, shifting the Stromberg into submarine mode as it plunged into the water. She floated for a moment, giggling, as they cursed at her and yelled at each other while firing blindly into the lake.
“You can’t hide down there forever, you bitch!”
“Typical girl. You can’t take the heat, so you run away and hide!”
“He says after I kicked his ass all over the desert.” Zola rolled her eyes and rotated the Stromberg until its torpedoes locked on to one of them.
“Send me nudes,” one of them demanded again, then made a slurping sound.
“Send money first!” She launched a torpedo and something above the water exploded. The squeaker let out an enraged shriek that could’ve shattered glass.
A “bad sport” notification popped up and she shook her head. It’s acceptable for players to kill each other repeatedly, but if you destroy another player’s vehicle, that’s somehow wrong. Makes perfect sense.
She headed for the shore, switched back into car mode, and steered toward the nearest of her enemies. He turned to fire at her and she smashed into him and pinned him between her grille and his APC. She backed up and rammed him again and his body flopped over like its strings had been cut.
The player let out another enraged scream.
Two of his buddies demanded nudes again. Zola grumbled under her breath.
“You do realize that behaving like this is not going to get you laid, right?”
“The pictures on your site are all fake. You’re really an old man using a voice changer. Don’t send any nudes. They’d make me puke.”
Are you kidding me? She drew in a breath -- but then one of them fired a rocket into her Stromberg. Her car survived, but two nearby vehicles exploded and sent three flaming bodies into the lake. Zola burst out laughing and headed for the Derelict Motel.
“See? That’s what you get for being a bully.”
“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.
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.”
Here they come again. Zola saw only five blips this time. Either one of them had lost interest and left or he’d called Lester Crest and had his blip removed from the map for a few minutes. Which is a good idea, now that I think about it.
She opened her phone, made the call, and smirked while walking over to the Trashmaster. She’d had her Deveste Eight delivered and hauled ass back into the city while her enemies regrouped. She’d spotted a garbage truck and another idea had popped into her head. She’d stolen it, called Pegasus and requested a Cargobob, then driven the Trashmaster to its pickup location. Then she’d used the Cargobob to lift the truck to the top of the Maze Bank building, set it down, and landed beside it.
She’d had enough of a head start to get into position before they reached her.
She placed five sticky bombs on the Trashmaster’s side and climbed in. Then she waited.
Their blips gathered in front of the bank.
“She was around here when she disappeared.”
“I’ll go around back and see if she’s hiding there. One of you circle around the other side and we’ll trap her between us.” Two blips began moving and the rest remained clumped together.
Morons. Zola stifled a laugh and punched it. The garbage truck rumbled to the edge of the roof, directly above the three blips.
“She hasn’t said anything in a while. Maybe she left.”
Zola drove the truck off the edge and it plunged straight toward them. She jumped out of the truck, deployed her parachute, and swung around to watch the spectacle, wondering if the Trashmaster would actually land on any of them. Which was why she’d planted the sticky bombs. As long as they were within the blast radius …
It came straight down on one guy’s head and crushed him to death, followed by three voices screaming incoherently and demanding to know what the hell had just happened. The truck toppled over and flattened the others. The two blips behind the Maze Bank charged back around to join them.
Zola touched down on a nearby roof, crouched at the edge, and selected her Hellbringer. She waited for the other two to get within range and tapped the G key to trigger the sticky bombs. The five simultaneous blasts flung all four of them in different directions, slapping one of them into the side of the bank. Three death notifications scrolled up above her map.
She locked on to the last survivor and noticed he had barely a sliver of health left. Laughing, she switched to her flare gun, locked on, and pulled the trigger.
Pffff! The flare bounced off him and set him ablaze.
“You f …”
The last of his health vanished and he collapsed in a burning heap. The player interrupted his own insult and took a deep breath.
Zola slumped over her desk and laughed until the room spun around her and splotches appeared in her vision. She forced herself to keep breathing steadily.
“Alright,” one of the guys grumbled. “Enough, already.”
“Oh, no. Hmm-mm. No. You started this.” Zola wiped sweat off her palms and returned them to her keyboard and mouse. “I’ve tattooed your names on my knuckles. I’m coming for you!”
“Oh, a mugger.” Zola watched the red blip approaching her position on the map and shook her head while turning and locking on. “That’s adorable.”
She lit the mugger up with her Hellbringer and smirked at the notification appearing above her map. One of the Incel Squad had sent him after her, alright. If they had any brains at all, they’d keep sending mercs and muggers after her to keep her distracted while they slipped up on her unnoticed. Maybe call in an airstrike. Or even enter one of their Facilities, assuming any of them had one, and hit her with an orbital strike.
Given their track record so far, she doubted they were smart enough to think of it.
“Oh, hell,” the squeaker said under his breath, followed by an indistinct woman’s voice. “In a minute. I’m right in the middle of something.”
Next came the sound of a door opening and the woman’s voice again, crystal clear this time.
“It’s past your bedtime, Mikey. Turn that thing off and …”
″Now, young man!”
“Mikey masturbates to pictures of me!” Zola burst into laughter.
Oh, she heard me! Zola collapsed in a fit of giggles. That’s why you should always wear headphones when you’re not alone.
“No -- wait!” Scrabbling sounds came from her speakers, then nothing. A notification that the squeaker had left the game appeared above her map and she nearly went into hysterics.
“Another one bites the dust,” she said once she’d caught her breath.
“This is lame,” said one of his buddies. “I’m outta here.”
Another snapped, “Wait a minute!”
“Hah! Down to three, now.” Zola aimed a huge grin directly into the camera.
“Go make me a sandwich!” The player left before she could even draw a breath.
“Coward.” Zola rolled her eyes and found the other three on her map. “So, who wants to get his ass kicked next?”
“Get the hell outta here! This is our game. You don’t belong here.”
“The phrase ‘no females allowed’ is nowhere in the game’s description.”
“You’re not even really playing. You have a dude playing while you’re on the mic.”
“I’m alone. You can see that on my stream. You can see my hands on the keyboard and mouse.”
“Fake news!” He laughed.
Zola brought up the list of players in the lobby, highlighted him, and removed herself from the map again. She drove her Deveste Eight to the waypoint, parked as soon as she spotted him, and got out. To distract him, she threw a grenade high over his head. It hit the pavement a fair distance past him, bounced, and popped just as an NPC drove a truck over it. The truck launched into the air and its momentum carried its burning wreckage over the three players’ heads. All three spun to face it and turned their heads to watch it soar over them.
Wow! That would never happen again in a million years! Never one to waste an unexpected opportunity, Zola switched weapons again, let out another gleeful cackle, and charged. She shanked the nearest of the three with a broken bottle, switched to the hatchet, and hacked another to death before the third gunned her down. She burst into laughter again.
“Down to two, now.” Zola waved bye-bye to the notification of another arch enemy’s departure. The remaining pair continued following her as she approached Fort Zancudo’s main gate. Having purchased a hangar there a while back, she could get onto the base without any trouble.
Whether the same could be said for her pursuers remained to be seen.
She aimed the “camera” backward to take a quick look at what was going on behind her. An Armored Kuruma plowed straight into the gate and stopped cold. The other guy, on a Shotaro this time, rear-ended him at high velocity and catapulted off the bike, shot over his buddy’s car, crashed headfirst into the gate, and died on impact. Somehow, his corpse flipped forward and ended up draped over the top of the gate. Zola belted out another laugh.
“That was awesome!”
She kept an eye on the map as she continued on to her hangar and spotted the Shotaro guy approaching Zancudo from the highway. She grinned, knowing exactly what he was about to do, having done it herself more times than she could count. She then found the guy in the Kuruma moving slowly around the base, trying to find a way in. She shook her head and entered her hangar.
Hmm. Haven’t taken this one for a ride in a while. She entered the B-11 Strikeforce and exited the hangar. Another quick look at the map showed her that the Kuruma was still bumbling around the edge of the base and the other guy was inside, having most likely ramped up the hill outside and jumped the fence.
His death notification appeared above the map and Zola snickered, knowing he’d just been filled with bullets by the base’s personnel. She focused on the other guy as she rose into the air. He’d finally found a way through the outer fence and ended up trapped between it and the inner fence. Zola climbed higher while he continued driving around the base’s edge, then she went into a power dive, lined up a shot near the Kuruma, and fired a short burst from her explosive cannon. It wasn’t a direct hit, so the car survived the barrage, but the splash damage was enough to kill its driver.
She giggled at the mental image of the guy being pulped by multiple concussions, pulled up, and glanced at her chat and stream notifications.
“Ah, thank you for all the donations. Let me know if there’s anything in particular you’d like them to go toward. And sorry for not thanking you sooner. I got all caught up in dealing out the punishment to these idiots.”
“Why are you going after us?” one of her arch enemies whined. “We were only joking around.”
Ah, yes, the usual fallback position when they get called out on their crap.
“Yeah,” the other chimed in, “whatsa matter? You don’t have a sense of humor?”
“My sense of humor is fine. After all, I laugh at things that are funny.”
“Why are you even here? Girls don’t play video games.”
“Obviously we do. The evidence for which has been kicking your ass all over Los Santos.”
“Get out of this lobby! You don’t belong here!”
“I belong wherever I decide to go.”
“You should be playing The Sims or something. This game is for boys.”
“Ugh,” she said under her breath, “shut up.”
“Hey, why you bein’ so hostile, sweetcheeks?”
“You need to ask after all the things you and your friends said to me?” She found him on the map and noticed the motorcycle shape below his gamertag. He’s back on an Oppressor. That could be a problem.
“Sounds to me like you just want attention.”
“Yeah, that’s it, isn’t it, sweetcheeks? You just wanted attention from a bunch of guys.”
“Call me sweetcheeks one more time and …”
Zola narrowed her eyes at the screen and caught sight of a Mark II in the distance. A few seconds passed and she realized it was flying straight toward her. She rolled her eyes.
Not too bright. She ripped him apart with her cannon, circled around to the one on the Shotaro, and dropped a cluster of bombs as she passed over him, no longer caring if she got penalized for destroying their vehicles. All she gave a damn about right now was forcing them to leave out of sheer frustration.
Another glance at the map revealed the other guy’s location and she changed course accordingly. She found him on foot, scurrying past buildings and under awnings as he tried to stay under cover. She angled downward, got him in her sights, and shredded him and every NPC and vehicle around him, then giggled at his latest profane rant.
Back to the map. The guy she’d shot off the Oppressor had yanked an NPC out of his car and sped off, heading out of the city and back to the north. She caught up with him as he reached the windmill turbines of RON Alternates Wind Farm and blew him off the road again. She laughed again at his predictable bellowed cursing and racial slurs, then she found his cohort on the list of players in the lobby and highlighted him as more donations, applause, and cheering came in.
She took a moment to drop some altitude and admire the windmills. There’d never been any where she had grown up and she hadn’t even seen one until her village had finally acquired a TV. She’d always enjoyed the sight and the Wind Farm was one of the environments in GTA that she liked to stop and just ogle. Windmills had always looked sort of alien to her. There was something majestic yet eerie about them that she just loved.
She turned away and headed for the other guy. The map showed his current location was near the hat and mask shop on Vespucci Beach. Once she reached the area, she circled around and approached the storefront straight-on to be sure he could see her coming.
“Oh, god,” he bellowed a few seconds later, ”no!”
Cackling, she opened fire and chewed up the storefront and everything around it. Her arch enemy let out another enraged scream and she laughed even harder.
“How long are you gonna keep this up, you petty bitch?”
Until you stop coming back. Zola rolled her eyes and found him on the map after he respawned. She headed straight for him.
A sudden explosion rocked her plane, followed rapidly by another, and she frowned.
Uh-oh. There was no lock-on beep and it wasn’t an RPG hit. Must be using the Heavy Sniper Mark II with explosive rounds.
Another blast shook the plane and it suddenly became harder to steer. Realizing the explosion had broken off some of its control surfaces, she ejected and plummeted for a few seconds before popping her chute to make herself a harder target. She pulled her phone out and had Lester hide her blip again as two more explosions finally took her B-11 out. She landed on a rooftop as the plane’s wreckage plunged out of the sky onto the beach, sending pedestrians running away screaming.
“Where are you?” he said under his breath. “Come on, where are you?”
You’ll see. Zola brought up her weapons menu again. Hmm. Let’s have a little fun with this. She selected the Up-n-Atomizer and slid off the roof. She found his blip some distance away, crept toward him, and took cover behind a parked truck. He walked into view, sweeping the area with his sniper rifle.
She lined up a shot with the retro-futuristic pistol and fired an energy pulse. It knocked him off his feet and sent him flying off to the left and out of sight. Snickering, Zola ran closer and found him picking himself up near the road. She locked on and fired again, blasting him right into traffic.
An SUV hit him first, bouncing him into the oncoming lane, where a Pißwasser truck slammed into him and finished him off with a hilariously sickening crunch. His lifeless body tumbled along the street and a Sandking ran over it. Ka-thump, ka-thump!
He let out another bellow and something crashed in the background. Zola wondered if he’d thrown his controller across the room.
A notification that he’d left the lobby appeared above her map. She burst into laughter, snorted, and laughed even harder.
“And then there was one.”
“Come here, you sonofabitch.” Zola fired off another sinister laugh as she chased him down in her Scarab.
“Where’s my sandwich?” He laughed, but it sounded a little forced.
“I’d shove it up your ass, but your head is in the way,” she growled. Sounds like I’m getting under his skin. He probably won’t stick around much longer. “What’s it like to see the inside of your own colon, by the way?”
He responded by spewing another stream of profanity and insults -- then he left. Zola stared at the notification for a few seconds and let her Scarab coast to a stop.
“Well.” She arched an eyebrow at the camera. “That was anticlimactic. But a victory is a victory nonetheless.”
“Nice,” one of the onlookers said. “You ran ’em out of town!”
“Thank you.” She flexed her fingers. They’d begun cramping up in the last few minutes. “So, kids, the lesson today is … don’t try to bully Zola. Zola doesn’t just fight back. Zola goes to war. Especially when it makes more content for her channel.”
More donations flowed in. She glanced at her notifications and found a handful of new subscribers, as well.
“I think that’ll be all for now. I need to relax after all the ass-kicking.” She smiled into the webcam. “Thank you all so much for the donations and subs and just for watching. I hope you had as much fun as I did. Again, if there’s anything specific you’d like your donation to go toward, PM me and I’ll see what I can do.”
“Think you’ll end up in the Bad Sport lobby?” a viewer asked as Zola reached out to close the stream.
“Probably.” She grinned and waved at the webcam. “Totally worth it, though! Goodnight, everyone.”
She ended the stream, made sure a local copy was saved on her laptop for editing later, then leaned back in her chair and sighed. Teaching those guys a lesson had been fun, but also kind of draining. Not that they’d learn anything from it, anyway. She was sure they’d be right back at it tomorrow, or even tonight, maybe even throwing the same crap at her all over again. And if not them, it’d be someone else. The bullying often came from different sources or took on different forms, but it never ended.
She started an invite-only session and waited for the rest of her team to show up. In the meantime, she called her mechanic and requested another of her favorite vehicles, the Coil Brawler, which looked like what would happen if a Humvee had angry sex with a Camaro. Just cruising around and taking in the scenery always helped her relax. Which, she realized now, she needed rather desperately after the barrage of harassment she’d just endured.
And would endure again. And again. And again. Still, for a chance to give the bullies the spanking they deserved and show it to the whole world …
Yes. Totally worth it.