You see, I almost pity him. Almost. Because watching someone unravel in real time — it’s… revealing. It’s like a psychological car crash you can’t look away from. Every insult, every slammed desk, every tear that threatens to fall but doesn’t… it’s a glimpse into a mind that’s not handling life very well.

And yet, he logs on again. Every night. Same lobby. Same spiral. The definition of insanity — doing the same thing, expecting a different result. But maybe he likes the pain. Maybe “Adrenaline” isn’t just a name. Maybe it’s the drug that keeps him alive — the only thing that makes him feel anything at all.

Adrenaline thinks he’s built different. Talks like he’s the main character in some first-person shooter epic — a legend in his own mind. But the truth? He’s one respawn away from a full-blown existential crisis. You can hear it in the mic. The crack in his voice when he dies. The way his breathing quickens, the way his words start to tumble out like a tantrum dressed in profanity.

He dies, and suddenly the world is against him. It’s lag. It’s teammates. It’s the game. It’s everyone but him. Never him. Because if it were him — if he admitted that maybe he’s just… not that good — then the entire fragile illusion shatters. And he can’t afford that. His self-worth is built on kill-death ratios and imaginary dominance.

Cries after one round

yummers

𝙰𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚟𝚒𝚜𝚒𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚏𝚒𝚕𝚎:
𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚒𝚜 𝚂𝙴𝚅𝙴𝚁𝙴𝙻𝚈 𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚌.
𝙳𝚘 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚕𝚘𝚞𝚍 𝚗𝚘𝚒𝚜𝚎𝚜 𝚗𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝚑𝚒𝚖.
𝙳𝚘 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚎 𝚋𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚜 𝚗𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝚑𝚒𝚖.
𝙳𝚘 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚍𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚎𝚢𝚎.
𝙳𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚢 𝚜𝚎𝚝 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚘𝚏𝚏 𝚘𝚗 𝚊𝚗 𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚌 𝚛𝚊𝚖𝚙𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚢.

imagine sitting behind a screen cyber bullying me. -rep