The Double Barrel is one of the most extravagant weapons in the Battle Colosseum, with a sound rivaling that of the heavy sniper rifle from the random supply box.
However, no matter how loud the noise is, it’s hard to pinpoint amidst gunfire coming from all directions.
Especially for stream-snipers who have to constantly switch between monitoring their own position and the streamers’ locations.
Bang! Bang!
{{HumanSignalKimFireworks >> (Headshot) illiillilititud }}
The double-barrel gunshot rang out twice, and one person fell.
{{HumanSignalKimFireworks >> (Headshot) }}
{{HumanSignalKimFireworks >> (Kill) }}
{{HumanSignalKimFireworks >> (Kill) }}
{{HumanSignalKimFireworks >> (Kill) }}
As three names quickly appeared on the scoreboard, viewers who hadn’t been watching Majia’s screen finally started to admire her skill.
Is it starting?
“Wow, look at the speed of wiping out a squad, lol.”
“She’s killing it, lol.”
“This is what a signal flare is all about~”
“Her voice doesn’t match her skill at all, lol.”
“Man, I thought it was a hack, lol.”
And when someone dies near Jiya, it means she now has a chance to loot.
“Wow, a Level 3 backpack, awesome.”
“Lol, she’s looting instead of helping the boss.”
“Man, the boss must want to smack her, lol.”
Jiya’s habit of muttering while playing games gets broadcasted directly, which adds to the comedy.
One side is panicking and begging for help, while the other is leisurely looting.
The absurd contrast is amusing.
“Employee D?! Is now the time to loot? We’re about to die!”
“It’s fine, boss. You can handle it, right? Show them the might of your well-honed gear!”
“Employee D!!! Save me!”
“Ooh, a shield battery. Nice.”
“Ahhh!”
One side feels like a battle royale game, another feels like survival, and the other like a healing game…
“Rain’s even louder than when she played a proper battle game recently, lol.”
“Even a hostage-taker would let go in frustration, lol.”
“Hey Momo, can you lower Rain’s volume a bit?”
Even though it looked like complete chaos with nothing in order, Majia was steadily sniping the stream-snipers and racking up kill scores.
Thanks to the two streamers drawing aggro, she could rampage freely.
It was almost like a mutual agreement between Cheon dohee and Majia:
The boss becomes the bait, while she does the hunting.
And since even the herbivorous boss has some teeth, it’s fine if he bites back at the predators.
{{HumanSignalKimFireworks >> (Kill) }}
{{HumanSignalKimFireworks >> (Kill) }}
{{HumanSignalKimFireworks >> (Kill) }}
This kind of ingrained instinct, almost like Pavlov’s dog experiment, allowed Dohee to feel reassured while dealing with waves of incoming enemies.
All she had to do was endure.
Eventually, Jiya would come and save her.
If she didn’t use the survival skills honed under Majia’s cruel “Changban Training” now, when else could she?
Furthermore, indoor combat, especially the three-dimensional maneuvering battles in places with ropes—known as “Rope Houses”—was one of her specialties.
The factory had multiple floors connected by several ropes, making it possible to hold out for a long time as long as she didn’t mess up.
In a way, all of this was thanks to Majia.
On open fields, the sound of the Double Barrel draws in stream-snipers, turning her into a bullet-riddled target.
Thus, she had no choice but to retreat into the variable-laden indoors for survival.
“She’s holding out surprisingly well today.”
“Has Momo really improved her Battle Colosseum skills?”
Yet, despite Dohee’s endurance, the spotlight was undeniably on Jiya.
This was likely due to the continuous kill logs popping up at intervals of less than a minute.
With a massive number of stream-snipers swarming around Dohee, the efficiency of Majia’s squad at dealing with enemies became even more pronounced.
“Wow, Employee D’s kill log doesn’t stop.”
“Is it even real to wipe out a squad, recover, and loot in under a minute?”
“How do you even pull that off with a Double Barrel? No clue.”
Barely ten minutes after splitting up, the frequency of gunfire had noticeably diminished.
—AH 55—
Of the 35 players who had died, Jiya had eliminated 17 herself.
Excluding fights between stream-snipers and a few taken down by Momo, the vast majority of kills in those ten minutes were Jiya’s.
By now, the viewers’ curiosity was piqued.
How exactly was she managing to kill people so quickly with just a Double Barrel?
It seemed as if a human tank was bulldozing the battlefield, but all anyone could hear was the occasional loud bang from her weapon.
“Tsk.”
“Rain, maybe it’s time you die so we can switch to Signal Flare’s screen?”
“This channel doesn’t let us change screens.”
“Can’t it?”
The suggestion, in essence, was telling Rain to die, underscoring the viewers’ eagerness to see Signal Flare’s prowess.
Longtime viewers of Momo’s streams might have known what to expect, but most had been drawn in by the Signal Flare hype that had been circulating in Battle Colosseum forums a few days ago.
Naturally, Rain was not about to let that slide.
“Hey, you puddles of mud. Even if my skills are crap, isn’t telling me to die a bit much? That’s sad, isn’t it?”
Until then, it had been the usual lighthearted banter.
But then…
“An anonymous sponsor has donated 1,000 Clouds!”
“You’ve been running away this whole time.”
“An anonymous sponsor has donated 1,000 Clouds!”
“Should we start by killing the puddle in front of me?”
Even Majia, busy hunting, appeared on sound to intervene when the donations pushed things too far.
“Puddle people, if you keep telling Rain to die, I’ll start banning you.”
The viewers, who had been under the impression she was just a player named Signal Flare, were shocked.
Oh right, she’s also a parallel manager.
“An anonymous sponsor has donated 11,111 Clouds!”
“Employee D, please show mercy.”
“An anonymous sponsor has donated 10,000 Clouds!”
“It was just a joke, just a joke, just a joke, just a joke, just a joke.”
Did Majia spare these two?
“Those who donated 15 won, you’re banned for an hour. That’s Rain’s exclusive donation pool.”
Hearing this during a brief lull after clearing a squad, Dohee couldn’t help but admire her.
While she had suspected Majia of throwing her and Rain into dangerous situations for laughs, this moment proved otherwise.
It highlighted her carefully balanced position in this collaboration.
“An anonymous sponsor has donated 1,000 Clouds!”
“I felt such a strong connection to Signal Flare, but after seeing this manager move, I’m a bit shook.”
“An anonymous sponsor has donated 1,000 Clouds!”
“I want to be banned as a reward, too.”
“Monmon’s at it again, spreading chaos everywhere.”
“Calling it a reward, lol.”
“Honestly, it is, lol.”
The merciless judge.
Typical of an Employee D protege, their blade was sharp.
Dohee, too busy fighting enemies to notice the situation, felt grateful to Jiya.
Even though Jiya must have been preoccupied with her own gameplay, she prioritized handling Rain’s predicament first.
Perhaps Jiya would help her too?
Tentatively, Dohee decided to test the waters.
“Employee D? Can you come help me now? I’m really struggling…”
However, while her attitude on-stream was professional, in-game, Signal Flare was still as ruthless as ever.
“In five minutes, at the Sabaody Archipelago.”
“Hey!”
“Ah, just hold out for five more minutes, lol.”
“Trying to leech off her?”
“Let’s go, Jade!”
Their boss treated even persistent stream-snipers as content rather than enemies, unless they completely ruined the game.
She’d even befriend slightly mischievous ones.
It was this “Alpha Woman” mindset that led her to take on all comers without hesitation, turning her broadcasts into a WWE-style spectacle.
“Bring any move you’ve got,” her stance seemed to say, as she stood tall like a pro wrestler.
Of course, such resilience made her a constant target, whether in ranked or casual games.
Even opponents who might have backed off couldn’t resist testing her endurance.
That’s why I recommended the Factory as her drop point.
On a day like today, the inevitable congregation of stream-snipers made the Factory the ideal place for her to hold her ground.
As expected, my suggestion paid off.
Unlike Rain, who was being herded like prey by her viewers, the boss was fighting back and enduring.
Though her shields and health were constantly on the brink, she never died.
She seemed determined to last the 20 minutes I’d promised.
“Ugh! Can you stream-snipers calm down?! And if you’re coming, come all at once! Did you guys plan this? You’re lining up like it’s a fan meeting!”
“Boss! Save me!”
“You’re down again?!”
“These puddle bastards keep knocking me down and running off!”
“Then at least take one down with you!”
“I shot, but ugh. Boss, why don’t you understand? I’m about to cry here…”
“Rain, what have you been doing this whole time, lol.”
“She spends more time crawling than alive.”
“The stream’s getting damp.”
The 20-minute timeframe wasn’t arbitrary.
It was roughly how long the boss could endure in the Factory’s unique terrain before the inevitable.
If she died just as reinforcements arrived, I could tease her with a “too bad, almost made it” comment.
Though I couldn’t say if she expected this, longtime viewers, nostalgic for her antics from three years ago, were already reminiscing.
“An anonymous sponsor has donated 10,000 Clouds!”
“Damn, my old-man spine feels like it’s straightening out.”
“An anonymous sponsor has donated 1,000 Clouds!”
“I haven’t played Battle Royale in years, but this makes me want to come back, lol.”
“An anonymous sponsor has donated 1,000 Clouds!”
“Signal Flare, how could I ever forget you…”
As they reminisced about the past, so did I.
Because I’ve always loved seeing the boss scream.
“Employee D? Has it been five minutes yet?”
“Ow, ow, it hurts! Stop!”
“Stop throwing molotovs already!”
I loved being cursed out, called a jerk, and sworn at by her.
I loved hearing her sigh whenever we matched in random queues.
I loved her genuine screams and roars when forced to equip something random.
And most of all, I loved her gratitude after a hard-fought win.
Whether on-stream, at work, through chat, or in-game, her reactions to my antics were always satisfying.
And when I arrived just in time to save her, only for her to unleash her fury?
That was the best.
“Boss, I’m almost there. Still alive?”
“Can’t you see my health bar?! Are you mocking me?!”
“Busted.”
“You want to die?!!”
Yes, this was the sound I loved.
“Workplace harassment.”
“Threatening murder, lol.”
“She’s being so mean to her rescuer, lol.”
“An anonymous sponsor has donated 1,000 Clouds!”
“Signal Flare’s just here to help.”
“If you were going to help, you should’ve done it 20 minutes ago! How is this my fault?!”
Laughing, I replied, “Then should I just turn back?”
“Are you crazy?!”
“You don’t sound desperate enough.”
“HEY!”
“She needs to say ‘Please help~,’ lol.”
Sometimes, when people are too happy, they mumble things they don’t even realize.
And in those moments, their minds feel hazy, as if they’re drunk, unable to recall what they said.
Just like me now.
“Hehe, I wish I could always play with the boss like this.”
Parallel (YouTuber) Gallery
“Is this a green light?”
“Didn’t notice during the stream, but it keeps replaying in my head.”
“Hehe, I wish I could always play with the boss like this. .clip”
“If you interpret ‘like this’ as collaborating, doesn’t that mean she’s saying she’ll keep appearing on Momo’s streams?”
Hmm… con
Aha, con
“Is Momo blocking her from streaming?”
Bad move, con
“Momo needs to take responsibility and debut Employee D.”
(Comments)
“Such deep interpretation gets a thumbs up.”
“I’m moved.”
“How do we have such a wise one in our gallery?”
“Should we make a pilgrimage here?”
“Make me ace my exams, please.”
“Make my crypto moon, please.”
“Make me a cute girl, please.”