Leo didn’t hesitate. He emptied his clip. Every bullet, every ability, every cooldown. Slayer’s ninja parried the first three, but the fourth—a jam-covered, sticky, ludicrous shot—slid right through his guard and detonated in his face.
“REPORT POPTART FOR TROLLING” “THIS ISN’T REAL STRATS” “MOKE UR MOM’S A TOASTER” 2v2lol
Moke just typed back: “I am made of raspberry. You are made of salt.” Leo didn’t hesitate
(…until the next patch, when Poptart got nerfed into the ground. But by then, Moke had already moved on to playing “Suspicious Banana.”) but the fourth—a jam-covered
Moke’s mic crackled. “Trust the process, my guy.”
Moke laughed. “I told you. Trust the jam.”