Leo didn't finish. He lunged to the right, firing three rapid shots. Thunk-thunk-thunk. The neon orange paint splattered against the crate, missing Jax’s goggles by an inch.
Leo pulled his foot back and adjusted his grip on his marker. "You’ve been saying that for three rounds, Jax. My sneakers are fine. Your aim, however..." PAINTBALL
Jax spun around, eyes wide behind his lens, but he was too late. Leo pulled the trigger. A single, perfect burst of orange bloomed right in the center of Jax’s chest protector. Leo didn't finish
The air in the "Graveyard" smelled like pine needles and old plywood, but mostly it smelled like sulfur and anticipation. The neon orange paint splattered against the crate,
"Give it up, Leo!" Jax’s voice echoed through the woods. "I can see your left sneaker!"
Leo rose slowly, dripping with mud like a swamp monster. He raised his marker and took a steady breath. "Hey, Jax."
Leo dropped to his stomach and began to slide. The mud was cold, soaking through his jersey, but he kept his eyes on the prize. He moved inch by inch, the sounds of distant shouting from other fields fading into the background.