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.
Jax looked down at the bright stain, then back at the mud-covered Leo. He dropped his marker and started laughing. "Man, you look like a wet golden retriever. But nice shot." PAINTBALL
Jax returned fire instantly. A stream of blue paint whipped past Leo’s ear, one ball clipping a pine branch and showering him in a fine mist of blue liquid. Leo rolled behind a fallen oak, his heart hammering against his ribs. He checked his hopper—maybe twenty shots left. Jax spun around, eyes wide behind his lens,
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. Jax looked down at the bright stain, then
He needed a flank, but the open ground between them was a death trap. Then he saw it: a low, muddy trench overgrown with ferns leading toward the back of Jax’s position. It was a messy, miserable crawl, but it was his only shot.
"Victory is messy," Leo grinned, wiping a streak of mud from his mask.