A/N: just so you guys know, a PM is a personal message and calling someone is noob implies that they SUX

MMR is an acronym for Match Making Rank. If you win a match, your MMR goes up. If you lose, it goes down. This system determines who you play against, so you play against people who are your level. In the story, the MMR is in this order: bronze, silver, gold, platinum, diamond, then challenger.

Reaver observed the Arbiter from the crest of a high rise building beside the highway. The torrential downfall muddled his sight, yet his mind was clear with a stark clarity; it was no longer a team death-match but a duel to decide the game.

The street his team once stood in was a battlefield riddled by bullets. His sole opponent stood in the center, as though waiting for him, and their armor was dark and hardly visible save for a few glimmers of pink.

Foolish.

His bullet couldn't reach from his range, but he lowered his reticle onto his opponent anyways and the missing username appeared in red.

Orchid? I'm coming for you.

*****

Orchid turned at the sound of footsteps splashing in the rain. It was a confident stride, one of purpose.

Reaver approached from the other side of a lot, scrutinizing her just as heavily as she did him. Her armor model was like his, though lithe and feminine.

Her gun... After all his time in Arclight, Wyck hadn't seen anything quite like it. It was some kind of light rifle with a large blade below its nozzle far thicker than a bayonet.

They stood for a moment in scrutiny before they began to close the distance with their sleek weapons drawn.

They met in a flurry of bullets. Reaver began to circle around her, both guns level to her head. She did the same, and their bullets met in a shower of sparks.

Reaver left his fingers tight on each trigger as Orchid tried to further close the distance.

She was fast.

The bullets cut through the air, yet only a single one grazed Orchid's shoulder. It was no small victory however; with a speed build similar to his, numbing her shoulder sensitivity could very well decide the victor.

Orchid leveled her gun and released a small burst before diving towards him. He backed away, trying to maintain a safe distance while struggling to keep good footing in the slippery environment.

He had to reload. Soon.

He shook one clip out of his gun and she saw her chance. She broke into a sprint directly towards him.

He was breathless with awe and confusion; was she that confident she could best him up close? She had a rifle, and aside from the bayonet-esque part it would be awkward in close combat.

He fired away before Orchid leapt into a roll. A few shots clipped her side yet she continued without hesitation, as though she couldn't feel the game's numbing sensitivity nor the searing sensation followed being shot.

Orchid came at him like a storm with a strong knee that knocked him off balance. He grunted, and in the corner of his vision she brought her gunblade around towards his head.

Mistake.

He deflected the swing with one of his pistols and leveled his other towards her face. One good shot would end it all, yet with incredible speed she knocked his gun to her side.

He'd learned early on to never drop his weapon, and as he pulled the trigger a chunk of her waist exploded.

It whiffed... he thought with breathless awe. Whoever Orchid was, she had to be some experienced fighter in real life to have so much fluidity, even despite her injuries.

Mid-thought, he recognized his mistake; his arm that fired into her side was outstretched. She violently swung the gunblade in an arc that severed his arm.

The pain receptors were unreal.

In truth it didn't hurt all that bad, but it was the emotional pain in losing his arm again and falling back to the crude functionality that he endured outside of the game. It wounded him deeply, tarnishing the grace of a world where the functionality of both his hands was never in question and none could replicate their mercilessness.

No one should take that away from him.

He staggered backwards, gasping for breath, shocked at her ferocity. He shot wildly and angrily, without precision.

He no longer saw Orchid standing there, but a physical manifestation of all his frustrations.

His clip neared empty as a searing captivated his stump of an arm, and shielding herself with her weapon, her gunblade skittered out of her hands.

She didn't give him another chance to shoot.

He was tackled to the ground and without an arm there was no chance he could survive a grapple. She straddled him and immediately his remaining gun arm was pinned. They were close enough that he could see her digital eyes glowing faintly under her visor and the decal of a pink flower upon her right temple.

She roughly placed a small cylinder on his chest, and like a spider it sprouted sharp limbs that dug deep into his armor and latched on.

What the f--

Orchid leapt off of him and broke into a run. The strange object began to beep.

Its a...

He struggled furiously with it, knowing it was some kind of explosive. He made a split second decision and brought himself up.

He dove into the rainwater and picked up Orchid's rifle, setting up into a kneeling position. He brought the iron sight to his eyes, and the ammo reticle glowed a red "1."

It'd been too long since he'd last used a rifle--particularly with his left hand--if this even qualified as a rifle. He couldn't afford to miss; not in this MMR.

His heart leapt as he pulled the trigger.