“There he is,” says Hall, as I’m finally able to speak with my soon-to-be bodyguards. Next, I need to follow them as we parachute onto the battlefield from a giant, blue school bus tethered to a hot air balloon (yes, that’s right) — except I miss the cue. Hall and Jones have already descended and I’m still airborne in the bus.

“Where is he?” Jones asks. “He didn’t jump,” responds Hall.

I sense they may already regret this mission, but they’re good sports about it. With the patience of a kindergarten teacher, Jones instructs me on how to exit the bus and descend to a blue marker on the battlefield where they’re waiting for me. I follow her advice and jump.

It was in 2013 at Medgar Evers College Preparatory School in the Crown Heights neighborhood of Brooklyn, New York, where Hall and Jones, both sixth graders, took their own leap of faith.

“I was walking through the lunchroom … and, mind you, everyone already has little friends,” said Hall, recalling the first time she saw Jones. “I was just awkwardly walking around and I see this girl sitting by herself and I’m like ‘OK, let me try.’ And here we are!

“We just kinda clicked,” added Jones who explained that, after Hall moved to Florida, they kept their friendship strong through videogaming and, eventually, ended up together at UAlbany. Hall, a criminal justice major, was attracted to the school’s highly ranked program and Jones, who majors in psychology, says she knew UAlbany as “a good school.” For both, the announcement of the new esports team was an additional enticement.

“That whole summer prior to joining the esports team, we were getting better and better, so we’d always play ‘duos,’” said Jones, describing the mode of play where a player and a partner are pitted against another set of players. “We’d go against other teams and were surprised we were winning.”

Their wins are the result of intensive, almost daily practice. When asked how many hours a day they play, Hall said: “Oh my god! I hope my mother doesn’t read this!” They average about three hours of practice a day, but have been known to go as long as six hours. Their expertise shows.

On the digital battlefield, the duo moves with balletic brutality; a study in grace with guns. Their patter is surprisingly sparse and efficient. They share their heading, the location of targets and any “loot” they’ve found such as additional weapons, med kits and even something called “Chug Splash” — a six-pack of health — which, apparently, I urgently need. My injured character, ‘Military Mahomes,’ is suddenly engulfed by an explosion of liquid that surprises me. Fearing that I’m being attacked, I randomly fire my rifle in various directions.

“It’s just me. I’m healing you,” says Hall. I apologize for my frantic outburst of gunfire. She says it’s fine because this version of the game doesn’t allow friendly fire and, also, I’m a terrible shot.

By the time I figure out how to run, jump, aim and — let’s be honest — mostly hide, Hall and Jones have already neutralized dozens of adversaries. At one point, I get injured (again) and Hall is carrying me on her back when a giant robotic bird swoops down from the sky, lifts me into the air and drops me to the ground. It’s something that neither of the veteran players has ever seen before. I’m a little bit proud to provide them with this unique experience, even though it results in my demise. Unfortunately, trying to rescue me is just enough distraction that it takes Hall and Jones out of their rhythm and we lose the first match. They’re not happy with the loss, but they don’t cast blame. Instead, we get ready to drop in a final time.

Their complementary gaming styles (Jones as the tactician and Hall as the trigger) have translated into esports success for the pair. In 2022, they competed for the Eastern College Athletic Conference “Fortnite” championship and going into the finals, they were in command of first place. Then, it was discovered that unauthorized players had infiltrated the competition. In response, tournament officials voided a series of matches, which ultimately cost Jones and Hall their top spot. They were awarded third place.

“It was so upsetting,” Hall remembers with humor. “All the hard work was just thrown in the blender and then in the trash … and then thrown back in your face and then put in the trash again!”

Dealing with adversity in the male-dominated world of esports is nothing new to these young women, who say they’re often harassed during gaming when they reveal their gender by speaking.

“The next line that most likely follows [from male opponents] is like, ‘Make me a sandwich’,” Jones says with more than a tinge of annoyance. “They always try to undermine our skill because of our gender.”

They’re quick to point out that the UAlbany eSports team is completely different: It has a zero-tolerance policy on toxicity, discrimination or harassment of any kind.

“There is no gamer-girl or gamer-boy here,” says Hall. “We’re all gamers enjoying the game. That’s the kind of environment that’s there for us.”

Still, outside the positive confines of UAlbany, they say that some male players, after having been beaten by women, simply can’t accept the loss.

“They start insulting you after they hear that we’re not just grown men playing in their basement,” says Hall.

As a grown man playing from my basement, I’m determined to not slow down Jones and Hall in our second battle royale, but I also understand that I’m not exactly going to be an asset either. Like a good soldier, I’ll do exactly what they say, when they say to do it.

This time, I make the jump from the flying bus on time and rendezvous with them at the checkpoint. They’re fast and know what they’re doing. I’m just hoping to keep up. We run, swim and hide — well, mostly, I hide.

Through the headset, I hear Hall and Jones strategizing about opponents who have suddenly appeared. I hear a volley of automatic gunfire. Instantly, a brick wall is being built around me. (In this game mode, players have the ability to quickly construct and destroy structures. It requires expertise.) Hall has decided, for my safety, to box me in. It’s also probably meant to prevent me from screwing things up.

I peer through the gaps in the bricks, eager to catch a glimpse of the action. I level my rifle at a distant bush, daring an imaginary enemy to surface. Over the headset, I hear Hall and Jones fighting actual opponents. Suddenly, the bricks around me flash red and disappear. Someone is destroying my safehouse and shooting at me. My squad mates hear the commotion and try to react, but it’s too late. Before I fire a shot, I’m dead (again).

Hall’s cheery voice reaches out to me: “Well, at least now you can watch.”

For the next two minutes, I “spectate” — which is gamer-speaker for “You’re terrible at video games and that’s why you’re dead.” Actually, it just means you’re observing, but it feels like the former.

I watch as Hall and Jones fly through the air, “Matrix”-style, building structures and firing their weapons. They jokingly plead with opponents who can’t hear them: “Cut it out, sir, and just die!” More action, more gunfire. The world briefly moves in slow motion. Their avatars break into spectacular dance moves. A graphic appears onscreen: “#1 Victory Royale.” They have won. I can hear them clap for each other as they sing, “We did it! We did it! Promotion! Promotion!”

I can also hear something else in their voices. It’s neither boastful nor prideful. Rather, it’s a sense of satisfaction and maybe a tiny hint of joy in knowing that, as teammates, as women and as best friends, they achieved this small victory (and so many others) together. Mission accomplished.

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