After a brief exchange, everyone gathered in the practice room to refine their aim before the game began.
Dohee checked the community’s reactions and smiled.
“Is this… an employee?”
“To Momo, who is currently streaming”
“Calm down, she’s just a regular person.”
“I cried every day because there was no broadcast from Staff-D.”
“Momo, it’s not too late—just admit she’s a second-generation member.”
“The average skills of corporate employees are insanely high…”
“HahahaHAHAHA!”
Although it might have been a bit early to address the topic, the atmosphere balanced between restraint, enthusiasm, and playfulness.
In a way, the broadcast’s purpose had already been achieved.
Despite warnings of “biochemical terror” scattered throughout, Dohee’s long experience in broadcasting categorized this level of chaos as relatively mild.
Now, she had to negotiate with viewers while highlighting Majia’s rarity.
Until the day Jiya might suddenly decide to debut, Dohee believed it was only right to protect her as a staff member.
“Before we start the game, let me just say something. Our Staff-D has a lot of work at the company. So, it would be great if you didn’t demand too much, like asking her to join streams, reveal her voice, or collaborate unnecessarily during other members’ broadcasts. She’ll get exhausted, and it’ll make everyone uncomfortable. But don’t worry, if opportunities like today arise, I’ll bring her out again. Let’s settle with that, okay?”
—Makes sense.
‘Hehe, that makes her even more desirable.’
—Why? Why are you even working as a company employee?
“What do you mean ‘just a company employee’? It’s the best job I’ve ever had.”
The amusing part was that during all this, Majia had begun to adjust to the broadcast, filling it with her unique presence.
She wasn’t particularly interested in streaming, yet she displayed an innate knack for balancing when to speak up and when to stay silent—a quality prized in professional broadcasters.
If Majia had originally been the one to conclude discussions with a spike, now she was learning to toss the ball herself, strategically delaying the spike.
“Really? It’s the best job? Should we start working 16 hours a day starting tomorrow?”
“I’ll quit.”
—LOL LOL LOL
—She’s awakened.
Come to the dark side.
“Joking! I’m kidding! Don’t quit! There’s nowhere better to go, anyway.”
—Why not, though?????
—We’ll take care of you.
—See? There are people outside your monitor!
‘Come here already.’
—Hehe.
‘Relax, take it easy.’
‘We’re not bad people, really.’
In the midst of this, Majia effortlessly rejected “offers” from viewers like a child kicking away unwanted candy.
This trait drove viewers crazy.
‘She feels like she’s about to be persuaded into streaming but then suddenly yells “NOPE!” like a stubborn kid, making everyone crave her attention even more.’
On top of that, Jiya’s loyalty to Dohee only fueled the viewers’ jealousy.
Naturally, that jealousy turned into exaggerated slander against Dohee.
“Anonymous sponsor has donated 1,000 Clouds!”
“Honestly, knowing Momo’s personality, she would’ve slapped Dohee during their first meeting. Are we just going to ignore this signal? LOL”
—You must’ve threatened her on the way home at night and locked her up in the company.
—Finally, the shocking truth behind her employment comes to light.
—Her claim that this is “the best job” was clearly made under duress and brainwashing.
LOL
“Ah, here we go again.”
But Majia was undoubtedly one of Dohee’s biggest fans.
It’s like how you get annoyed when family insults you, but only you are allowed to talk badly about them.
“To be honest, I was super scared to meet her at first. But she turned out to be such a nice person. I plan to work with her until this company goes under.”
Still, despite Majia’s rare defense, Dohee only laughed dryly.
Such support only seemed to fuel more misunderstandings.
—She’s definitely brainwashed.
—Breaking news: Momo found tied to an electric chair in the basement.
—No matter how evil she is, this level of brainwashing is unprecedented. LOL
Was Majia trying to show genuine loyalty or just to make Dohee’s life harder? No one could tell.
Bang! Bang!
The sound of double-barrel shots echoed loudly around Dohee’s character.
It was a clear reminder: Majia was, after all, a “signal flare”—a mischievous troublemaker who loved teasing Momo more than anything in the world.
“Still using the double barrel today?”
“Why ask something so obvious?”
Dohee, half-resigned, asked the next question.
“You said it’s heavy. Are you really not going to use any other weapon?”
“Why ask something so obvious?”
“Tangled in trouble, haha.”
“What are you two doing, haha.”
“So cute, haha.”
I started playing Battle Colosseum because of Momo.
She was putting her all into it—screaming, crying, laughing.
It made me wonder, What kind of game could make her so emotional?
Eventually, I discovered an FPS talent I didn’t know I had.
After playing seriously for a while, I climbed to the Diamond tier.
This was the turning point in my life as a “mob feed” (moyuksu).
Diamond tier.
The peak of casual players, but also a chaotic battlefield.
Sure, I sometimes encountered kindhearted professionals who had fallen from the top, but most of the locals were bitter demons—players who desperately wanted to climb higher but couldn’t.
They would troll in every imaginable way, embodying the philosophy: “If I can’t climb, neither can you.”
From running around the map in nothing but speed-enhancing hero abilities to stealing items by killing teammates and reviving them, to shooting me in the back during critical fights just to steal a kill, the trolling was unparalleled in creativity.
I couldn’t just stand by and take it anymore.
That’s when I chose my weapon: dual double-barrels.
When I noticed a teammate showing signs of trolling, I would immediately run up and knock them out with precise shots to the head.
Other guns gave teammates time to dodge or shoot back, but the double-barrel’s two-point-blank blasts left no room for counterplay.
Taking out one troll would often make the game cleaner, allowing me to climb as high as Master tier.
Of course, some of them would report me in retaliation.
But was I someone who would just sit and take it?
With over 20 accounts at my disposal (I only mentioned a fraction to the boss), no one could stop me.
If one account got banned, I’d climb back to Diamond on another and continue my campaign against trolls, obliterating them with headshots.
In short, my identity as a “dual double-barrel” user started as a righteous decision to deal with trolls.
My nickname as the “human signal flare,” perfected after eight failed attempts, was born in the chaotic flames of Diamond tier.
I may have become part of the abyss by staring into it too long, but it led me to meet my boss and work here, so I have no regrets.
That’s why I still believe in my philosophy:
If victory truly matters, preemptively eliminating one or even two unhelpful teammates in a three-man queue isn’t a problem.
A useless ally is more dangerous than a skilled enemy.
But what about today, when popular YouTubers are your teammates?
And if they’re your favorites, making team-killing impossible?
Then the only choice is to abandon them—strategically.
“Where should we drop?”
The boss asked for suggestions, so I marked a point.
“How about the factory?”
“Factory? Not bad. Fewer people drop there these days.”
Pretending to aim for the designated point, I jumped from the airship first.
The two of them followed, heading straight for the factory.
As they deployed their parachutes, I slowed down and stayed higher, then subtly changed my direction.
“See you in 20 minutes at Sabondi Archipelago.”
I ignored their confused responses.
“…? What’s going on? Staff-D? Where are you going?”
“Staff-D? That’s not the factory. Where are you headed?”
I landed in a small village a bit away from the factory, listening to their baffled voices like background radio while I started looting items.
“Why did she go there?”
“Maybe she doesn’t want to loot with us. Just leave her.”
A few moments later, the two “radio DJs” realized something was off, but I calmly gathered items scattered on the ground.
“Wait, boss, I hear parachute sounds.”
“… Oh. Crap. There’s more than one.”
The priority items: dual double-barrels, lots of grenades, and smoke bombs.
Preferably sticky grenades over frag grenades.
I found one shotgun, then two packs of 20 shotgun shells.
That’s enough to take out ten enemies, and if I run out, I’ll just loot the bodies.
Ooh, another double-barrel!
I still needed smoke bombs, but I’d just loot those later.
It was about time for the action to start.
As expected, the radio broadcasted their screams.
“AHHH! Boss, what are these guys?!”
“Rain! Up here! Get to the roof! Ugh, they’re dropping in here too! What is this madness?!”
“AHHH! These guys are crazy! Oh no, I’m hit! Boss, punch them! Argh!”
The factory was about 200–300 meters away from my location.
Despite the distance, the gunfire was deafening.
Tat-tat-tat-tat-tat, tat-tat-tat-tat-tat!
When our squad landed, the factory seemed peaceful, but now it resembled a zombie apocalypse—a swarm of stream snipers descending like the undead.
Rain, who played terribly, often survived because people pitied him.
The boss, on the other hand, drew snipers because his reactions were priceless when shot.
With today’s viewer count hitting 15,000—twice the usual for his streams—the factory had become an apocalypse of its own.
Even without me attracting attention, enemies swarmed toward them like a scene from a zombie movie.
“Staff-D! Get over here! Bring a car!”
I repeated the same line as before.
They weren’t ready for the zombie horde.
Signaling them to wait as usual, I replied firmly.
“See you in 15 minutes at Sabondi Archipelago.”
“What does that even mean?! Staff-D, come on!”
Rain, an anime enthusiast, would’ve explained if he weren’t panicking over the situation.
I continued looting.
Finally, I found what I needed—a Level 3 shield chip, just one step below max level.
It felt like a blessing from the gaming gods, urging me to win this match.
Hearing the chaotic radio chatter, I muttered to myself, “Alright, time to hunt.”
With a mix of sprinting and sliding techniques, I headed toward the factory.
I spotted snipers firing relentlessly, their bullets streaking through the air like a fireworks show.
Bang!
Curious about their reaction, I fired into the sky, but they were too focused on the factory to notice me.
Perfect.
Sliding down a hill, I aimed at an enemy perched on a low cliff.
Boom!
{{HumanSignalFlareKimFirecracker >> (Head) illiillilililt1}}