i died long ago 最近的评测

Best suffering simulator ever

The best free 3d modeling software I've ever used; quite nearly equal to professional software. 10/10

I slowly look at the luminescent green dial of my wristwatch, which tells me it is 5:46, am. Damn.
Another night of Insomnia.

I sit up in my bed, and listen to the soft hum of my Radeon™ HD 7870 GHz Edition, as her fans slowly cool the surface of her brilliant silicon plates. The only light in this room comes from the electric blue glow of my keyboard, and the azure LEDs in my Razer Abyssus.

I press a button, and the display of a 23 inch, 1080p IPS monitor lights up, colors shifting and changing in psychedelic pattens, chromatic waves of light bluring and stabilizing to send an image within my mind.

My desktop stares back at me; the only icon the Recycle bin. I move my eyes to the Taskbar, where the icons for Windows Explorer, Star Citizen, Mozilla Firefox, and lastly Steam return my gaze.

I click on Steam, and watch as a loading bar appears. The light from the moniter shines brilliantly on my face, and if I look closely into it, I can see myself reflected in the crystal surface, eyes staring deep into a mad realm of pixels and insomnia.

Steam finally loads. Oh, what's this? There's a sale on? Ah, too bad; I only have one cent in my wallet. I click the library tab in a futile attempt to find meaning.

My list of games appears, showing me hints of open doors into new worlds, strange and wonderful. What path sould I choose? Should I join battle with Dragons, in the strage land of the Nords? Or, perhaps, I should launch the StarCitizen hangar module, and lust after a dream of flight, a game not yet finished.

Ah, but here it is; Counter-Strike: Global Offensive. How many hours have I thus spent within you, oh CS:GO? You have been the reason for many nights without sleep, many days of ragequits, many days of fun and sadness. I pull out a calculator from somewhere on my desk: dividing one thousand, eight hundred and eighty-five hours by twenty-four tells me that I've been within this game for seventy-eight point five days so far. Damn.

The game begins loading, and I hear the soft hum of GPU fans, and the silent sound of the sunrise, far beyond the single window of my room.

_


Ah, where was I? I guess I feel alseep for a second there. Skip the intros, enter main menu, searc- Wait, what? 20 friends online? But, it's like 6 am... Oh, right, timezones. Eh, I might as well invite all these people.

Well, I guess I didn't want to play with them anyway. Green light fills my room, I press accept, and wait for the ninth player. Who, it seems, never can figure out what the big glowing green button actually means. Oh well, it just found another match anyway.

Well, third time's the chram, right? I guess not. Fourth time does it, and we're away. Cue loading screen, begin meaningless text I've seen only a few thousand times before.

I get up, walk towards the kitchen, and only trip twice on miscellaneous paraphernalia in the dark hallways. The bleak windows of the room greet me: pale dawn, gray clouds and black trees visible through their panes. The neon numerals of the microwave tell the time as 6:07. I search the pantry and refr!gerator, but find nothing of value.

I lower my standards and try again, this time coming up with a few tastless cookies of some kind. I begin a pilgrimage to whence I came.

The last stars of night grow cold and die; as color once again spreads over the sky. Monitor glow, winter snow, cybernetic flow.

My quest now complete, with prize in hand, I return to my chair. 0's and 1's stream across a fiberoptic gulf of space, connecting people hundreds of miles apart in a beautiful lattice of data, all for my enjoyment. I begin the first round, and purchase a FN Five-Seven and a Flashbang grenade.

I move over to long A, and hold my sights on the old wooden doors. An insurgent sprints through the open door, firing his Glock-18 as fast as he can, his bullets hitting the wal beside my head.

I pull the trigger, a volcanic plume of hot gas propelling a one gram lead alloy projectile at twice the speed of sound into the side of his head; The FN 5.7×28mm armor piercing round delivering a fatal 540 Joules of energy. The neon Stattrak™ display mounted on the left side of my Case Hardened Five-Seven increases by one, and a bright flare from the muzzle reflects its light in the cold metal of a name tag, the words "NOT ON MY WATCH" silently mocking those fools who fall by my pistol, in an absurd pun about clocks.

Another Terrorist moves into view, I fire three supersonic rounds into his chest, and one in his skull. Again the neon numbers shift and rearrange in a mad dance, as bullets enter my manly chest hair and are absorbed.

A third Terrorist fires, and I die in the gameworld, madly shooting as my bullets hit empty space. Pixels shift and change in an algorithmic song, and my teammates finish what I began, with the severing of a red wire a small number one is added in blue to the top of my screen.

Second round, man. Time to roll. I got long- wait, why are two of you going there? Nevermind, I'll hold Catwalk.

_


Turns out they decided to rush Mid with pistols. Poor choice. I leap out of catwalk into mid as they rush the doors, electric blue pathways of fire traversing the void between my tazer and and the insurgent's back. He screams in death as I drop the now-useless tazer and unholster a Bizon SMG; 9mm rounds begining to sputter at 320 meters per second into the backs of my foes as a Terrorist pulls a 180 and flicks a round into my skull with his CZ-75 Automatic, punching through my helmet into the flesh beneath. I mutter to myself "I ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ hate that gun" while typing out "#TAZED ♥♥♥♥♥" in all chat.

Childish insults fly like eagles, soaring over skies of wire and valleys of silicon to majestically land in the lower right of my vision, proclaiming their wondrous messages for all to see. "get rekt" "u suck" "TIME to die, amirite"

Using the mighty power of a pistol save round, the enemy gains a round.

From far beyond my drywall cube, a sun the color of a Helium discharge tube bleeds the first light of Autumn into a sky the color of Krypton: but here I am safe from its incandescent fingers, here, the persistance of color exists in the 60hz of my monitor. Perhaps tomorrow will be different? Oh, but I don't think it will.

The scoreboard moves with its own hateful volition, seemingly granting rounds with a heart of cinder and magma. Chaos lies within its eyes.

Final round of the first half begins and I press f1 to auto buy, supplanting my XM1014 from the previous round with an M4A4 Bullet Rain, tastefully decorated with a "REKT" holographic sticker and renamed "Clockwork ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥". I once again reflect on what a stupid name that is, and regret selling my Desert Eagle Blaze to buy it.

Surprisingly, my team manages to hold a push at long. In the simultaneous push to cat a rain of lead from a thundering sky finds my face with magnetic precision, and in the downtime I skim through my Ebook library on my phone. I've been considering writing something in the style of Neuromancer or Ready Player One for awhile now, perhaps if I can find the right subject... Oh well, that's a project for another day. Translation: never.

Halftime, and the tally stands at ten for them and five for us. I've seen worse. I've seen better too, but what the hell, this isn't hopeless yet.

Pistol round begins and I buy Dualies, partly just to ♥♥♥♥ with people and partly because for reasons that I can neither explain nor defend I'm ridiculously good with them. Don't dis my Dualie skills, man. Just accept it. Like a wizard and his wand: you do not choose the Dualies, the Dualies choose you.

I pop smoke Mid and rush Catwalk, suddenly realizing I hit the character limit while subsequently breaking the 4th wall.

I slowly look at the luminescent green dial of my wristwatch, which tells me it is 6:34, am. Damn.
Another night of Insomnia.