Shane Dawson Gaming Mga Nobela at Kwento

"Try playing Halo 3 online." "Oh no," he said, shaking his head. "Not another one. "Reaper plays that game all the time, and I never quite got the hang of it." "Reaper? That assassin guy? I wonder what his gamertag is. I may have played him." Shane actually looked incredibly embarrassed. "Evil Fluffy Kitten." Shamira's eyes widened. "You're kidding?" "No. He finds it amusing." "He doesn't look like he has a sense of humor."

Mirela stood beside her, looking every bit the doting mother. Father continued speaking, his voice commanding the room, and I followed closely behind him as applause erupted. Afterward, I gave a brief appreciation speech, and Dad raised his glass for a toast. Just then, someone caught my attention as they walked into the room. "Late," I muttered under my breath, recognizing him instantly - the man from the café. Before I could dwell on it, Father tugged me toward another table, drawing me back into the whirlwind of introductions. "And this," my father continued, pulling forward a young man, "is Shane Dawson. He's twenty-five, ambitious, and already making waves in the tech industry."

at the duel, she merely raised an eyebrow, as if such things were commonplace in a mafia family. But when I described the tearing pain in my lower back and the chronic rejection symptoms after the "blood donation," her professional calm shattered. "That wasn't a blood transfusion, and it certainly wasn't a genetic rejection," Kate's voice was low and chilled. My hand trembled, and a few drops of coffee spilled. When I mentioned my parents "dying" in the fake explosion to force my suicide, Kate took a deep breath. It was clear that even a seasoned journalist had never encountered parents so depraved.