Beta: Cloudy
Ya'll wanted the Tom interlude. Here you go.
You've opened this story's Pandora's Box. No take-backsies.
∞
(Tom's Interlude)
Tom Marvolo Riddle was a clever wizard.
Genius, really.
Most things came easily to him. He rarely needed to be told something twice to remember it, and he was able to make leaps in logic that others would never see.
When it came to hard facts and defined variables, Tom was comfortable and in his element. Even people fell into that category. Tom was an astute observer from a young age and had a natural intuition at reading people.
He had not known it was due to his inherent use of Legilimency, but it did not change the fact. Tom was able to glean truths from anyone and everyone he came into contact with, no matter how much they tried to hide it.
It had saved him many times in the past. He knew how to avoid the child-sellars from a glance in their eyes, and he knew all the dirty little secrets people would do anything to keep hidden. Maneuvering conversations was pleasant as a breeze in the park once Tom had the upper hand.
His time at the orphanage was not pleasant—not by a long shot—but he survived it thanks to his wit and magical advantage.
Hogwarts was much the same. There were a few people who had a natural talent for Occlumency that Tom avoided like the plague, but for the most part everyone was easily played.
"I wish he would look at me."
"I'm struggling in Potions—I'd do anything to pass!"
"I'm so lonely..."
"Why doesn't she notice me?"
"I hope no one finds out what I did."
Everyone had a thought that Tom could use to control them.
Life was a game of chess to Tom, and he had double the pieces.
Tom casually took a sip from his to-go coffee cup, relishing the dark roast as the bitterness seeped into his mouth. He was casually leaning against a brick building in the shadows, watching Muggles scurry by and pass him over. He had cast a very minor disillusionment spell, so none would bother to look his way.
He knew he was handsome enough to stand out. Helpful in certain situations, but certainly not for watching someone.
He could, he supposed, have one of Rosie's people do this instead. As much as she would love to sing praises about her people, there were plenty of sordid folk who had an unsavory reputation and doure personalities to match it. Tom ultimately chose against that approach because he enjoyed the hunt. It was a simple way to pass time and gave him an excuse to leave the house.
Tom was the sort of man who could stay inside for months on end without hesitation or issue. It was not helpful, though, because becoming a recluse was dangerous for someone like him.
Too much time stuck in Tom's own thoughts made for... unsavory results.
Rosie broke up those Dark thoughts, but Tom had to do his own part in preventing them. His first week in his new body he almost finished thinking up of a ritual to use on a school that would sacrifice the lives of all the students inside. It was needlessly cruel, and something completely unnecessary. He didn't want to perform something so ghastly, yet he couldn't stop his thoughts from absently drawing up the designs and completing the equations.
It wasn't that Tom craved death. He was just drawn to the macabre side of magic. He did not see himself ever doing such a deed, but he would be lying if he said he wasn't curious if it would work...
And that was the crux of the issue.
Tom saw first hand what happened if he let those thoughts carry on; if he let those interests take precedence over everything else.
Voldemort happened.
He saw inside that husk's mind. He knew the steps that lead there, and so Tom actively worked on preventing those mistakes.
Step one: readjust his mindset.
Anytime Tom found himself drifting closer to morbid interests, he actively sought something else out. He had been doing that for almost a year by that point, and he was already seeing the results. Instead of ruminating something Dark every night, he found those thoughts only popped in his head once a week or so.
Still frequent enough to be concerning, but a drastic improvement compared to before.
One of the ways he's found to break up that mindset was actively stepping out of the house. Tom found that taking the time and stepping away from his books and dimly lit den, and into sunlight and fresh air did wonders for resetting his mindset.
Going for a stroll, trying out a new restaurant, striking up a conversation with a stranger—
All very healthy, non-Dark, things to refocus his mind and help combat his obsession with the Dark Arts.
One step at a time, he would ensure he did not make the same mistakes as Voldemort.
Tom took another drink from his coffee, watching a young Muggle man enter the apartments across from him.
On time again, thought Tom, taking a mental note.
Of course, not all of Tom's endeavors were for his mental health. He still loved the Dark Arts and did not want to entirely give it up.
He only wanted to have a moderate appreciation for it, and remain completely in control over his desires for it. He wanted to be able to research and use the Dark Arts whenever it fancied him, not go cold turkey.
And... you know... he needed the Dark Arts to create his perfect homunculus body.
Speaking of which—
The man was of similar stature and height to Tom, even had the same hair and eyes. Nowhere near as attractive, naturally, but that aspect did not matter to Tom.
He would need another cadaver for his next body, and the ideal one was a fresh specimen as close to his body type as possible.
The Muggle Tom had found had a strict routine. Tom had been watching him for a couple weeks by that point—popping in for a few hours in the day while Rosie was at school—and monitored the man. It'd make Tom's life much easier if the man remained on a strict schedule. When the time came, Tom could properly extract the Muggle from his life without leaving a single trace.
Tom's eyes twitched when he saw another Muggle call out to his target.
A new friend?
They embraced.
Oh.
A new lover would make things a touch more complicated. They would have to be Oblivated or dealt with in another manner.
Or I could Imperius them to never see my target again.
Tom took another sip from his coffee as he considered his options.
Or use them both?
Rosie would need some cadavers for her own experimental work. She'd never care to question where Tom got them, so long as he didn't leave a trail behind.
An option to consider but for now—
Right on time there was a quiet ding in his pocket. He pulled out an engraved pocket watch, opening it up to affirm the time.
Time to head back, thought Tom. His dark gaze lifted to watch the Muggle man for another moment, then he disappeared with a sharp pop.
∞
Tom returned home and headed straight to his office where he was brewing a potion. He had set his timer to remind him to stir it again.
Rosie had provided him with another Horcrux, and Tom was developing a potion to act as a type of pensieve—only instead of memories specifically withdrawn it would hold soul fragments that Tom could then peruse through the memories of.
The Horcrux soul fragment from the Hufflepuff cup was significantly smaller than the Slytherin ring Tom obtained previously. He planned to test the fragment in Hufflepuff's first. If it worked, he'd try it with Slytherin's ring, and if that worked Tom felt he could move on to Voldemort.
Tom stirred his potion with methodical precision, pleased with himself at how well it was progressing. It changed colors from a cool blue to a steel gray as his notes predicted.
He went about to start adding a few more ingredients. He worked for another hour until he heard the grandfather clock chime from the hallway.
A glance at the clock in his office told Tom that Rosie would be arriving in a couple of hours. Plenty of time to practice one of his new spells while he waited for the potion to cool again.
With a soft hum he headed down to the basement that had been set up as his workroom. Rosie did not need the basement very often—the last time she needed it was for her worgen ritual—and had graciously handed it over to Tom for his own experiments.
He preferred to work on the drafting and theoretical side upstairs, but when it came to practically trying things out he headed to the basement.
Tom practiced a few of his spells against the dummies, testing their limits and efficiency. As he was starting to get into the swing of things, Sil appeared beside him.
"Sir?" inquired Sil.
Tom cocked his head to acknowledge her.
"Someone's at the door, sir," said Sil. "Askin for you."
Tom restrained from showing his displeasure at being interrupted. Keeping a pristine fake smile, he thanked Sil and headed back up.
Opening the front door, he was greeted by one of his workers, along with a new face. All of Tom's workers preferred their feral form to their human form, taking pleasure in their new strength and agility. Many of the residents at the village relished their worgen selves, embracing the gift Rosie had bestowed upon them with zealot fervor.
"Goodday sir," greeted the russet-furred worgen, Fredrickson. "Got whatchoo wanted."
Tom glanced at the package Fredrickson held out to him. Had Tom not had excellent control over his expression, he would have grimaced at having to accept a package with his bare hands. Thankfully, he at least had a spare handkerchief that he deftly pulled out and placed over the steel box before accepting it.
Tom smiled angelically. "Thank you for your work. If you would wait a moment I'll be back with your payment."
Fredrickson's tail wagged. "That'd be nice, thank yeh sir. 'Fore I 'get, wanted teh introduce yeh teh someone. Johnny wants teh work fer yeh 'swell."
Tom's dark gaze swung over to the smaller tabby-striped worgen. Johnny eagerly held out his clawed hand for Tom to shake.
"Nice to meet you, sir. Heard a lot of good things about you," he said earnestly.
Tom very nearly curled his lip back in disdain.
He did not need more workers, nor did he desire to touch the hand of some nobody that hadn't even proven their worth.
Everstill, he was known to the village as their savior's other half and he had a reputation to uphold.
He morphed his face into that of kind amusement, accepting the offered hand. "Pleasure to meet you as well. I take it Fredrickson has filled you in on what I usually want?"
"Yes, sir. I actually have a contact in Germany," said Johnny. "Ich kann die schatten finden."
Tom did not have any expectations or delusions of Johnny's success in that. Anyone could talk, and while a cursory examination of the worgen's mind confirmed he believed he could find dark artifacts that did not equate to actually accomplishing such things.
"Wonderful to hear," smoothly lied Tom. "I have high hopes for you, Johnny."
Johnny perked up. "Won't disappoint, sir!"
The three made small talk for a bit longer before Johnny left after promising to wait for Tom's owl. Tom excused himself to put away the item and retrieve payment for Fredrickson as soon as Johnny left.
Tom shut the door behind him, opening the box and peering into the contents.
Destroyed, he thought, closing his eyes as a rush of hot anger shot through him.
It was the second time Fredrickson had clumsily mishandled one of the items Tom hired him to obtain.
Tom could fix it, of course, but he would have preferred it not broken at all.
Once he could overlook, but twice?
Twice meant Fredrickson would not be so useful to Tom. Tom had already used Fredrickson often enough that the worgen could prove potentially detrimental to Tom's lifestyle if ever blabbed. Fredrickson had also been seen visiting Tom so if Tom wiped his memories and others asked, they would immediately know Tom Obliviated him.
Had it been anyone other than one of Rosie's people, Tom would have invited the man inside for some poisoned tea, but of course Sil would report such to Rosie.
Which meant Tom had to be a little more creative than the easiest route.
With a dark glower, he put away the item and grabbed the sack of galleons for payment. His glower immediately vanished as he returned to the front door, smoothing out into the perfect fake smile.
"Always so helpful," murmured Tom as he placed the sack of galleons in Fredrickson's eager paws. "Truly, I don't know what I'd do without you."
Fredrickson's tail wagged fiercely. "Always happy to help, sir, always, always."
"Yes. Thank you." Tom put on a falsely pained face, a subtle crease in the brow and small frown. Obvious enough that even Fredrickson could pick up on it, but subtle enough to trick the worgen into thinking Tom had not meant to slip up.
"Sir? Somethin' wrong?"
"Oh, I couldn't bother you—"
"No, no, I wan' teh 'elp," insisted Fredrickson. "How can I 'elp?"
Tom sighed heavily, dropping his shoulders to perfectly replicate that of a heavily disappointed and distressed wizard. "One of my contacts in America went missing."
"Oh no."
"Yes. I'm terribly worried for them," Tom fretted. "I can't leave here to investigate myself, though. Rosie would be so worried."
Fredrickson nodded firmly. "Can't worry 'er!"
"I'm not sure what I can do," stressed Tom.
Fredrickson shifted his weight anxiously. "I—I coul' loo' innit."
"Could you?" Tom asked, adding in a brush of nervousness to his tone. "Could you really?"
Fredrickson nodded firmly. "Yeah—yeah. Leave it teh me."
Tom feigned relief. "That would be wonderful. Thank you, Fredrickson. I knew I could count on you."
Fredrickson wagged his tail. "Course yeh can! Always can coun' on me."
"Thank you..." Tom rattled off an address in America for Fredrickson to follow his head. Fredrickson assured Tom he would be back with only good news.
Tom watched the worgen leave, content his problem would be resolved.
It was not an outright lie. Tom had sent a previous broker there to obtain something valuable.
What he failed to tell the first broker—and Fredrickson—was that it was the home of a powerful and psychotic lich. Tom had little doubts that the first broker had already perished, and he suspected Fredrickson would also die.
A perfectly excusable reason—everyone knew Fredrickson procured dangerous artifacts and no one could fault Tom if the foolish worgen died for his job.
Some might say it was extreme of Tom to go that far to get rid of an ex employee, but Tom was not of the mindset to leave loose ends.
Perhaps Johnny will be more useful, thought Tom as he returned inside.
Tom thought briefly about Fredrickson.
I wish I could see the look on his face when he realizes what he's up against, thought Tom. He could picture it with such exquisite clarity—that moment of pure despair—and it made him smile.
∞
Tom enjoyed the rest of his Saturday afternoon in peace as he waited for Rosie to come home. Rosie had dedicated her Saturday evenings and entire Sundays to spending time with Tom. She needed Saturday mornings to complete her schoolwork with her peers, but if she had no work by Friday nights she'd come over early and spend the weekend with him.
As soon as the grandfather clock chimed for six'o'clock Tom headed back upstairs to wait for Rosie. He did not have to wait long.
The auburn haired witch climbed out of her vanishing chest in the dining room. Tom offered her his hand, and she accepted it with a gracious smile as he assisted her out of the chest.
"Honey, I'm home," she sang cheerfully, bright eyes sparkling with mischief and adoration.
Tom met her gaze and—
Ah.
There.
That instant rush of soothing warmth that shot into his chest upon meeting her eyes. It was an addicting sensation, intoxicatingly sweet and powerful. A bullet of pure, unadulterated, pleasingly warm adoration. For the time spent staring into her eyes, Tom was at the edge of her solacing mind. If he focused hard enough he could hear the gentle waves of starlight crashing against the soft sandy beaches.
He knew she had not intended for such an effect, but he knew her well enough to know she would not care one way or the other. Rosie was not a private person for the sake of privacy, rather for convenience. If someone found out anything she kept secret, she would not bat an eye and move on. She was an open book for those who learned how to read her, something she did not care to change.
Tom, admittedly, had a significantly easier time than most reading Rosie. The consequences of his prolonged possession of her had left a permanent hole in her Occlumency walls just for him. He need only to look into her eyes and he would immediately catch an echo of her emotions.
Nowhere near as powerful as the time had spent inside her. In her, he was swaddled in her affection and warm magic. In his own body, he could only catch glimpses of her emotions.
Time spent in her head was a luxuriously full course meal, while meeting her gaze gave him tantalizingly delicious appetizers.
He savored them.
"Welcome home," Tom politely returned, carefully fixing her hair. "You look... messy."
She did. There was some mud caked onto her cheek and her clothes were in disarray.
Her eyes shined as she beamed. "Yeah! So I was playing tennis with Madame Willow—"
"Today?" asked Tom in surprise. "Isn't that a weekday morning thing?"
"It was so lovely outside," explained Rosie with a wave of her hand. "I felt like going for a walk and wanted to pop by for a visit. She tossed me a ball and I couldn't say no, now could I? We started up a game, but then Hermione called out to me to ask a question. I turned away right as Willow swung and—well—I'm sure you could imagine."
He could.
Tom smiled. "Please finish though."
"Hit me square in the cheek hard enough to send me flying," she laughed. "I tumbled all the way down the hill. Nearly ended up in the lake!"
Tom pictured Rosie rolling down the hill. He could practically hear her delighted squeal of weeee as she went down. It was difficult not to laugh at the image. "Oh my."
"Right? Hermione was in such a fit of distress—felt awful about the whole thing—'course I didn't mind 'cause it was so dang funny. Pompfrey fixed up my jaw in a jiffy, but I didn't wanna be late so I came straight here afterward," Rosie finished explaining with great cheer. "Head's a little topsy-turvy to be honest."
"Care to lay down?" Tom politely offered.
"Not yet, but I think I should go to bed early tonight," she ruefully admitted, running her fingers through her curls.
"I'll not keep you up then," he assured her.
"You can keep me however you want," she purred, and Tom caught a whisper of heat behind her gaze.
Oh, Rosie. Right on time.
Tom had never experienced physical attraction to someone else before—and he confirmed it after comparing how Rosie felt towards him—but he still had desires. He still had a libido. During his time, however, discussing such a thing let alone acting upon it was heavily frowned upon. It was taboo amongst taboos. A witch or wizard caught in throws in a broom cupboard would be marked for shame for the rest of their life.
Tom was not about to ruin the careful reputation he had built up at Hogwarts because of an impulse, so he heavily repressed and ignored those desires. It was easy most days—Occlumency tremendously helped—and aggravating on other days.
But now he did not need to fight those urges. He had Rosie, and he felt comfortable enough in their relationship to explore those oddly exciting sensations.
That being said, Tom was not about to let an impulse have control over him. He would explore it with Rosie, but it had to be on his terms. He did not want those silly little desires popping up at inconvenient times for either himself or Rosie. He would be... extremely irritated if the timing was so poor that Rosie would take care of herself. He detested the idea of her not relying on him.
To solve that, Tom took a page from Pavlov's dog. He would instigate and sedate their desires at set days during the month, never missing a single day. Eventually both of their libidos would line up on those days and Tom could control when and how frequently they were together.
He was still experimenting with setting the frequency. It had to be often enough that Rosie would not take care of herself, but not too frequent that it interfered with his other plans.
As it stood it was working out rather well. Rosie's body had already begun adjusting and would warm up on days Tom had previously initiated.
Such as today. Therefore—
"Have you eaten?" he asked.
"Not yet," she admitted.
He gently cupped the back of her neck, tilting her head back so he could kiss her. "How about dinner, bath, and bed?"
"Mm? Mm-hmm," she murmured absently.
∞
A very satisfied Rosie climbed into bed with Tom after they had cleaned up. Tom abhorred the idea of falling asleep messy. Even if they were exhausted from the effort, he felt it important to at least cast some cleanliness charms if not for the sake of hygiene but to get rid of the smell. Rosie did not mind the smell—no smell bothered her as far as he knew—but Tom did. He could tolerate it during the act, but having it linger in the air just made him think of the filthy brothels and chippies who prowled the worn-down streets near the orphanage.
Tom laid back in the bed, raising his arm as he knew Rosie would want to cuddle.
He was quite proud of himself for being able to do that much with her. He had been the sort of wizard who wiped his hands after shaking hands with any of the other students or even professors. He was not a germaphobe, he simply held an inherent disdain for any type of physical contact.
Everyone else was beneath him. They were creatures or tools to be used as stepping stones or instruments for his greater plans. Being forced to touch such things was... unpleasant.
Not that he let on to that fact while he attended Hogwarts.
Tom Riddle was a very clever wizard, after all. He knew exactly how to present himself to woo others.
Rosie smiled in delight at his open invitation, eagerly cuddling into him. He met her gaze and—
Ah.
That shot of love made him smile. An exquisite high.
She rested her head on his chest. "Thank you."
"You are welcome," he said.
"I mean it. I know—"
"Rosie," he said firmly, "I'm okay."
She smiled tiredly in response, then rested her cheek on his chest. It did not take the witch long to fall asleep.
Tom had to admit he adored having her feel so comfortable around him. Feeling her reach out to him, crave him, need him...
Rosie sleepily nuzzled into his chest. "I love you."
It was a soft murmur, barely heard in the quiet of the night. It was one of the favorite things Tom liked to hear her say, and it was something she'd give freely whenever asked.
Tom ran his fingers through her hair, absently petting her as she cuddled into him.
Rosie loved him.
But Tom did not love her the same way.
It was not for lack of trying. He didn't think he could love her the same way she loved him. Indeed, had Tom never been inside her head and soul and felt exactly what she felt he would have deluded himself into thinking what he had for her was equivalent.
He had not realized exactly how differently he saw the world from others until he saw it through Rosie's eyes. Everything was vibrant to her. Colors were brighter, sounds sweeter, and living was exhilarating. In comparison Tom's world was barren.
He had lived to survive—never surviving to live.
Through her, Tom had a taste of something he could not have previously comprehended.
Truly, what a mute life he had lived before.
Even in his own body there were moments where he wished he could go back in her head and see those vibrant colors, feel those overwhelming echoes wash over him, have her magic wrap tightly around him...
Obtaining his own body with memories of how she saw the world had drastically changed his mindset.
He found himself enjoying the simple things in life, taking pleasure from tasting good food, reading a good book, finding a new hobby...
He felt so many new and wonderful things because of her. His life was undeniably better for the time he spent inside her head.
Ever still, with that new mindset it did not change a fundamental fact.
Love.
Once he had directly felt what Rosie defined as love, Tom doubted he could ever feel the same way.
Tom preferred her over anyone else, and he would choose her over a lot of things because of how happy she made him feel.
But Tom did not delude himself into thinking what he felt was love.
Tom genuinely did not know if he was capable of love.
He had always suspected as much. When people described love it was a foreign, abstract concept that Tom could not understand. He could enjoy things. Things could make him happy, but not in a selfless manner.
Love was giving, accepting, and selfless.
Rosie's love for him was all of that and more.
Tom was not giving, and far from selfless.
If he had to put a word to how he felt, it would be closer to possession. She belonged to him—became a part of his life in a very permanent way. She was an extension of himself, and consequently, belonged to him as sure as his left hand did. He cared for her as much as he cared about his wand hand. An affront to her—injury, insult, whatever—was an affront to him. Her happiness could make him happy, and in turn her despair could perturb him.
To be clear—it was not empathy or sympathy.
Tom did not feel either of those things. A child could be bleeding out and begging for help in front of him, and he would not bat an eye to assist if he did not want to. He would not lose sleep, nor would he be bothered by his lack of action.
He did not care.
He did not see others as equal to him.
Rosie was an exception, and he knew that exception only existed because of how utterly addicting her love for him was.
Her love was a cigarette for chain-smoker that had gone without for weeks.
It never, ever, failed to give him that rush of warmth. So long as Rosie loved Tom and kept her mind open to him, Tom would not stray from her side.
And if the day were to come that she stopped loving Tom...
He knew she would be willing to let him go if she thought it was for his best interest no matter how she felt. She would respect his feelings and his choice above all else.
He, on the other hand, would not return that courtesy to her.
Regardless of her desires.
He understood, quite plainly, he was not a good person. He was not a kind man, nor someone who did nice things for others.
Tom Riddle never did something out of the goodness of his heart. There was always—and there always would be—a catch. An angle for him to work at. Everything had a price to pay, and Tom Riddle was such a keen negotiator.
Fortunately for the both of them that day would never come because Tom knew exactly what to do and what to say to keep her. He did not see his actions any different from self care. She was as essential to his life as his wand hand.
He was "kind" when she needed him to be sweet. He knew when and how to smile to please her, and he knew what words to say to keep her around. It was satisfying that he did not need to put much effort into it. She was clever enough to pick up on his moods and she loved him enough to not push for more than what he could give.
He knew what stories to tell her to make her emotional. He knew when to exaggerate, and when to go silent to leave it to her imagination. He knew when to make snide remarks to elicit giggles, and when to remain quiet.
He knew when to initiate affection, and when to pull back.
Tom knew exactly what to do to keep Rosie at his side.
And if she still insisted on leaving him...
He knew how, and most importantly, would break her.
A fact that prevented him from ever claiming his "love" was selfless.
He did not love her the way she loved him.
She loved him selflessly, endlessly, and so kindly.
He could not yet return that level of affection. He did not know if he would ever be capable of such self-sacrifice, not even for her. Because he would never let her go.
That was why he did not say he loved her yet. He understood quite plainly there was a stark difference in how the two cared for one another.
Tom was a clever wizard, after all. There was a huge difference between loving someone and owning them.
Which was why he did not say it in return to her.
He owed her that much honesty.
He wanted to—he very, very much wanted to. He wanted to immediately say it back and watch her face light up with pure glee. He wanted to bring her that happiness that he knew would only come from him saying those three little words.
Tom promised himself, though, he would not tell her that until he meant it.
Until he was able to reciprocate an iota of that selfless warm love that she gave him... he would remain honest with her and refrain.
His love was not the same kind of love she had, and Tom respected her love enough to not tarnish it by lopping it into the same category as "his."
Rosie Lily Potter had fallen so magnificently in love with Tom Marvolo Riddle.
And while he could not love her in the same way yet, he continued to try and carry on "loving" her the only way he knew how.
She stirred in his arms, and he sweetly kissed the top of her head.
"I love you, too," he whispered into her hair as she slept and dreamed of pleasant things.
And one day, I'll tell that to you, he promised.
∞
I've based a lot of Tom's traits off Psychiatric Times (a lot of it written by Willehm H.J. Martens, MD, PhD), coupled with a few AMAs of ASPDs, psychopaths & sociopaths who have kindly explained their relationships to their family. Most of the knowledge I found was dated 2017, so new things could have come out that I didn't find. I would encourage anyone curious to do their own research and check sources.
Hope ya'll like my interpretation of him this late into the story.
Answer: I feel for Dumbledore & Skulduggery the best reward would be the opportunity to do their lives over again. Gandalf I dunno tbh. Myself? The right to be reborn in the Pokemon world as a trainer oh god please please please. I wanna be the very best. That no one ever was.
Question: Plot twist! The nemesis for each of your team members + the scariest monster you've ever read/seen/heard of has formed an enemy team to fight you and your team! Who are you now facing in a death match?
See ya'll again June 20th, 2021.
Reviews are love!