“Ok, y’all go up the right side, and Joe and I’ll take the center. The left has no cover, so we’re not going to try it.” Don said under his Dye mask. His teammates, Chris, Austin, and Joe, formed a loose circle around the dirt. Don looked out over the field, his homemade marker in his hand. He’d worked for years on the design and finally gotten it to work. He’d done all the milling and internal parts himself and he proudly carried it now. The other team captain at the far end of the field raised his X7 into the air and pumped it once. Don did the same and the game started. Sprinting up the left with Joe, he fired a few rounds towards the approaching enemy. The opposing team faltered for a moment, allowing Don’s team to effectively cut the field in half. The chatter of the other team’s markers blended with Austin’s and Chris’. From the middle line of bunkers came the “blaaaat” of Austin’s Ego, firing ropes into a upturned car, in which an opposing player was taking cover. Don turned to Joe between bursts, saying, “Ok, I’m going to move up to that concrete barrier. On my mark, give me some covering fire! 3.2.1. Mark!” Don vaulted over the small ditch and sprinted into a face-first bunker dive, narrowly missing the paint flying over his head. The opposing player in the car turned so that his harness was protruding a few inches. Don took aim and fired two shots, his J&J Ceramic sending the paintballs on a deadly straight course into the back of the opposing player. Both paintballs disappeared into mist as they hit the pod pack. The opposing player raised his hands, amid the calling of Chris, “He’s out, he’s out, let him out.” 1 down, 3 to go. On Don’s right, Austin was moving up, sliding into a shallow ditch that ran perpendicular to the sidelines of the field. Austin crawled quickly up until he was lying behind a small stack of tires, out of the other player’s fields of fire. Chris, thinking to try the same thing, jumped up and began running towards the same ditch. He nearly made it before he was hit from the opposing team captain’s X7. Chris raised his hands and walked towards the dead box. Joe was up and moving now, staying low and firing towards an enemy bunker. The opposing player dropped from view as Joe slid into the back of an old semi trailer with windows cut in the side, forming a sort of rectangular building. One of the players lobbed something black and shiny over his ditch and towards the semi. Chris recognized the object too late. It was a grenade. He dove to the side and tried to make himself small under one of the windows, but the grenade sailed through, a little to the right, and burst on the wall. Chris started to do a paint check but found it was a waste of time. His whole side was covered. “Hit! Hit!” He yelled, raising his hands and moving out of the trailer