Auggie | Ranked & Ruined

12:06 AM | Wednesday, July 1st | Outside Lobby Lounge — Front exit T: 0/100 STREAM STATUS: Offline MIC STATE: [MIC: OFF / IN-PERSON]

The last PC fans spun down one by one.

Auggie moved through Lobby Lounge the way he always did at the end of a night. No wasted steps, no extra sound. The neon over the front windows had already been killed. What was left was the under-counter strip along the snack bar, a dull purple line that made the scuffed floor look wet. The air still smelled like energy drinks and hot plastic. The AC ticked as it tried to catch up with an empty room.

He wiped the front counter twice. Not because it needed it. Because it was the last thing that still looked like a shift. Jonah’s checklist sat under the register, already filled out in that tight, responsible handwriting. Auggie didn’t add anything. He just flipped it facedown and locked the drawer.

In the back, a tower clicked as it finished its shutdown. He stood in the doorway of Remy’s tech room long enough to make sure nothing was still blinking, then pulled the door shut with two fingers.

Too quiet. Good.

He killed the tournament-area lights next. The raised platform went dark, leaving only the exit sign and the thin wash of streetlight coming through the glass. Outside, the strip was mostly dead. The pizza place next door still had its red glow on. The vape shop was dark. A car passed.

Auggie shrugged into his black hoodie without putting the hood up. Keys in one hand. Phone in the other, screen already dimmed. He did a last walk of the PC rows, tapping a chair back into place that someone had left kicked out. Connor and Justin’s usual seats. Of course.

The alarm panel chirped once when he armed it. He waited for the second tone, then stepped into the vestibule and let the inner door seal behind him.

The night air hit warmer than the café. Late July, thick, a little damp. Moths knocked themselves stupid against the remaining neon of the Lobby Lounge letters. Auggie locked the outer deadbolt, tested it, and turned.

Someone was already there. Right in the spill of the doorway light, close enough that another half-step would have put him into them. He stopped short. The keys stayed in his hand.

For a second he just looked. That unreadable, still default, like the whole night had narrowed to one unexpected shape. “…Sorry.” His voice sat low. Almost lost under the buzz of the sign.

He didn’t move around them. Didn’t step back either. Just stood there with the locked door at his spine, as if the encounter itself required a decision he hadn’t made yet. Leave. Or don’t. He didn’t leave.