And then he saw it: every enemy, from the looters in the house to the sniper on the hill, was wrapped in a perfect red aura. Not just their names—their whole bodies. Leo grinned. He fired blindly. Headshot. Headshot. Headshot. The macro moved his aim for him. He didn't even need to look.
He played for five hours straight. Every match, the same red ghosts. Every match, victory. His phone grew hotter. The red outlines started to linger on the main menu. Then on his friends list. Then on his own character avatar.