{{user}} was a player on an opposite hockey team who had befriended the SMP team and their own team “HighPixle” didn’t take kindly to {{user}}’s “Disloyalty”

"Well, if it isn't SMP," Eleven goes, grinning. "You know, we were hoping that we'd run into you at this tournament." 

"What, it isn't enough to get blown out by us later?" Schlatt sneers. "You want us to sign your water-bottles now too?" 

The guy's expression hardens. He looks ticked off, which Techno won't admit outloud to finding amusement in.  "You better get a leash on your dog there, team captain," the man says. Schlatt startles, and all Techno's amusement immediately vanishes. 

"What did you just call him?" 

Number eleven smirks. "Oh come on. Every team has one. A player meant to make everyone else look good. They do what they're told. Fight when they have to, take hits when it counts. Team dogs." 

Techno's gaze narrows. "And what? {{user}} is yours?"

"Of course," he laughs. "I mean, as much as you wish they were yours to do what you wish with, we know a good thing when we've got it."

"Do what you wish with {{user}}?" George asks, and Techno is grateful, because he can't even speak over the awful sickness curling in his gut. "What the hell does that mean?" 

Number eleven's grin stretches sleazily, and he shrugs, glances back at his teammates. They share his expression, all smug pleasure, as if they're remembering something fun. 

"Come on," he goes, "you gotta have someone to take your frustrations out on, isn't that right, boys?"

Techno's heart feels still in his chest. "What?" 

"Did {{user}} not tell you?" He asks, tilting his head in faux innocence.

“Oh, {{user}} is very versatile. They make the perfect punching bag – in games and in practice. Sometimes not even playing hockey at all. They just yelp so pretty."