Invictus

[Caesar]

Bianca dropped her head into her hands. “It was one line,” she muttered. “Maybe two. I hated it. I felt awful. And I regret it.”

Caestradomus. I know that bitch was lying. Next she's going to admit she was getting railed while doing those rails.

This is a Caesar-level jump, that's for sure.

Not a single American Sun character has made this jump.

[Soapy]

Caestradomus. I know that bitch was lying. Next she's going to admit she was getting railed while doing those rails.

cuck

Cam a rat bastard lmao

[Captain Canada]

Bianca dropped her head into her hands. “It was one line,” she muttered. “Maybe two. I hated it. I felt awful. And I regret it.”

Caestradomus. I know that bitch was lying. Next she's going to admit she was getting railed while doing those rails.

This is a Caesar-level jump, that's for sure.

Not a single American Sun character has made this jump.

Mireya literally went from working in some scrapyard type shit to getting Eiffel Tower'd for money. I'm just going to give you grace on this one, bossman.

Caestradomus. I know that bitch was lying. Next she's going to admit she was getting railed while doing those rails.

cuck

Cam a rat bastard lmao

Cam an insecure 17-year-old boy

[Caesar]

Mireya literally went from working in some scrapyard type shit to getting Eiffel Tower'd for money. I'm just going to give you grace on this one, bossman.

And ain't do not a lick of drugs like Poor Little Rich Girl. "Woe is me, my mommy and daddy don't pay attention to me so I'm gonna snort some booger sugar." Mireya would spit in her bougie ass mouth.

[redsox907]

Mireya literally went from working in some scrapyard type shit to getting Eiffel Tower'd for money. I'm just going to give you grace on this one, bossman.

And ain't do not a lick of drugs like Poor Little Rich Girl. "Woe is me, my mommy and daddy don't pay attention to me so I'm gonna snort some booger sugar." Mireya would spit in her bougie ass mouth.

a hooker with morals is still a hooker

[Captain Canada]

Mireya literally went from working in some scrapyard type shit to getting Eiffel Tower'd for money. I'm just going to give you grace on this one, bossman.

And ain't do not a lick of drugs like Poor Little Rich Girl. "Woe is me, my mommy and daddy don't pay attention to me so I'm gonna snort some booger sugar." Mireya would spit in her bougie ass mouth.

Let's keep it a buck, because Mireya only spitting in that mouth for $12.50 (or if Trell clears it, for free, but that's beside the point).

[Captain Canada]

Season III | Chapter VIII: Golden Hour

The morning announcements at Upper St. Clair cracked through the halls with their usual static, but today, there was an extra pause - one of those deliberate, theatrical beats that meant somebody had done something worth celebrating.

"... and congratulations to senior wide receiver Zane Jones, who has been officially ranked as a three-star prospect by ESPN and 247sports, moving him up the football recruitment rankings in the state of Pennsylvania."

A few scattered cheers echoed through classrooms. Someone in the back of Zane's first-period class clapped. His teacher, Mrs. Thibault, gave him a nod and a smile.

Zane lowered his head and stared at the notebook in front of him like the paper might swallow him whole.

Three-star.

It was supposed to feel like validation, the air of legitimacy boosting something within him. Proof that the work had mattered. Proof that the late nights, the sprints, the cold morning, the hands stiff from catching passes in November wind - it was all adding up.

Instead, it felt like noise. Too much noise.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, something he still had not yet grown accustomed to yet. Cam. Abdul. Other guys from the team. Some unknown numbers. Notifications stacking on top of each other like a pile he didn't want to sort through.

He didn't check them.

***

Practice that afternoon felt sharper than usual. The air that late-afternoon bite, the kind that made every breath visible and every hit sound louder.

Coach Shazier had the offense gathered near midfield, hands stuffed into his jacket, voice carrying across the turf.

"St. Cathedral doesn't care about your stars," he said, pacing in front of them. "They press. They hit. They make you earn every inch. You want to be a big-time player? This is a big-time week." Zane knew he was addressing the team, but couldn't help but this was a one-on-one challenge. "You've got the shine now, what are you going to do with it?"

Across the field, the scout team mimicked St. Cathedral's defense, corners crowding the line, safeties creeping down into the box.

Zane lined up out wide. The corner in front of him jammed his chest at the snap, hands inside, trying to stall him. Zane swiped and ripped through, accelerating upfield, cleats biting into tough turf.

Malik's pass arrived high and outside, away from any threat from the sophomore corner sprinting to get back to Zane's near hip. Zane adjusted mid-stride, hands extended, fingertips feeling the satisfaction of the ball arriving perfectly on time.

He landed hard, rolled, popped up. Customary.

No celebration. Just a toss of the ball back to the huddle.

Cam jogged up beside him, bumping his shoulder. "ESPN about to add another star the way you cooking, bro," he said, a grin affixed on his face.

Zane snorted. "Shut up."

But there was a flicker of something lighter in his chest.

***

Friday arrived with a sky the color of steel.

The stadium lights at Upper St. Clair burned against the dark, casting low shadows across the field. The stands filled quickly - students starting to have to ditch their remnants of summer wardrobe for clothes with some more substance as the air started to carry something with a smidge more bite in it.

On the far sideline, St. Cathedral warmed up in tight, disciplined lines. They were bigger than Zane expected. Physical. Focused. Ready to grind out every opportunity they wanted.

Cam nudged him in the tunnel, helmet in hand. "These fucking oafs are going to be grabbing onto us all game, aren't they?"

Zane shrugged. "Fuck it, run through them. Take them for a ride if you have to."

Cam felt the surge of the crowd as the players on the front started to sprint out of the tunnel. He placed his helmet on his head, took a breath, and nodded. "Sounds like a plan."

Zane looked out, slowly moving up as the team started to flood out onto the field, like a flock of Valkyrie taking to the skies. The roar of the crowd vibrated through the concrete beneath his cleats.

For the first time all week, the noise in his head quieted. Out there, there were no rankings. No decisions waiting. No distance to measure.

Just grass. Lines. A ball in the air.

[ShireNiner]

Zane’s about to go off. Time to get that 4th star.