A Chance To Rise

Chapter 6, The Underdogs Win.

The tension hung thick in the air until Fares clapped his hands together. "Alright, gaming tournament!" He grabbed controllers from an illuminated display case, tossing them to his friends. "Teams: Me, Ayman, Hussam and Karim against..." He gestured vaguely at Zaid and Bassam. "You two."

Ayman smirked as he took his controller. "This should be quick. These scholarship kids probably never held a PlayStation in their lives."

The game loaded with a flashy intro sequence, the surround sound making the explosions vibrate through the floor. Zaid's fingers found familiar buttons almost instinctively, while Bassam adjusted his grip with quiet confidence.

The first round ended in under three minutes. Then the second. By the third annihilation, the rich students' smug grins had melted into stunned silence. Zaid and Bassam moved in perfect sync, anticipating every attack, countering every move, four against two, and yet the victory screen flashed their names again and again.

---

The flashing "GAME OVER" screen reflected in the widened eyes of the rich boys, their controllers hanging limply from their hands. A vein pulsed visibly at Ayman's temple, his expensive sneaker tapping an erratic rhythm against the marble floor. Karim's normally perfect hair was slightly mussed from how often he'd run his hands through it in frustration. Hussam's face burned crimson as he stared at the scoreboard showing Zaid and Bassam's overwhelming victory.

With a sudden violent motion, Hussam launched his controller onto the plush couch. "This is bullshit!" he spat, the words dripping with venom. He stormed across the room, his designer shoes leaving faint scuff marks on the pristine flooring, and slammed the suite door so hard the framed artwork on the walls rattled.

Fares, ever the composed one, merely stretched his arms behind his head. "Good game," he said smoothly, though his smile didn't quite reach his eyes. He gestured toward the door Hussam had just exited. "Don't mind him he always does that because he hates losing."

Zaid could see Bassam smirking from the corner of his eye. The PlayStation controller in his hands was slick with sweat, though from the intense gameplay or the tense atmosphere, he couldn't be sure.

Fares reached for the controller again. "Another round?" he asked, his tone light but with an undercurrent of challenge.

Zaid's mind raced. This was his chance. He set his controller down carefully on the glass coffee table and stood abruptly. "I need to use the bathroom," he announced, his voice slightly higher than usual.

Ayman, still seething from their defeat, jerked his thumb toward a hallway. "Bathroom's right there, peasant."

Zaid's fingers twitched toward his phone in his pocket. "No, I forgot something important in my room. Need to go get it."

Bassam immediately stood, his protective instincts kicking in. "I'll come with you" he said, already stepping toward Zaid, "I'm bored anyway."

But Fares moved faster, his hand shooting out to grasp Bassam's wrist. "Actually," he said with that same polished smile, "I need to talk to you about something important." His grip tightened almost imperceptibly. "It's a private matter."

Zaid's eyes darted between them. Fares gave him an indulgent look. "Go on then," he said, waving his free hand dismissively. "Don't worry we're just going to talk."

Bassam's jaw clenched, but he gave Zaid a barely perceptible nod. "Just go," he muttered.

The elevator doors closed behind Zaid with a soft chime. As it descended to the blue-card floors, he pulled out his phone, making sure the recording function was ready. The plush carpet of the hallway muffled his footsteps as he moved like a shadow past closed doors.

Then he heard it, familiar voices around the corner. Zaid pressed himself against the wall, holding his breath.

"Samir, you got the stuff?" a voice asked.

"Yeah, yeah," came the reply. Zaid recognized Samir now, the tall one, the leader of the group.

Their footsteps receded into a room down the hall. Zaid crept closer, his phone's recording app running silently. Through the cracked door, he caught snippets: "...take Salim to the studio again tomorrow...make sure the cameras are...payment after..."

His blood ran cold at the ominous tone, though he couldn't piece together what it meant. A sudden burst of laughter from down the hallway sent him scrambling for the elevator, his heart pounding against his ribs.

Back in Fares' suite, the atmosphere was palpably different when Zaid re-entered. Karim and Ayman lounged on opposite ends of the sectional couch, their eyes tracking him with open disdain as he walked in.

"Where's Bassam?" Zaid asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

Ayman smirked. "In Fares' room,"

"They're talking privately."

Before Zaid could respond, the bedroom door opened. Bassam emerged, his expression unreadable but his shoulders tense. Fares followed, looking as smug as ever.

"Let's go," Bassam said brusquely to Zaid, not meeting his eyes. "We have homework to do. Enough playing."

Fares leaned against the doorway, arms crossed. "We had a great time," he said, his gaze lingering on Bassam. "Come back anytime to play, okay?"

Neither responded as they lef

t, the heavy suite door closing with finality behind them.