Back when Halo 3 was a game that marked the end of a great trilogy that somehow unexpectedly expanded into Call of Duty: Neverending Forerunner Edition, I was playing 16v16 on Sandtrap. We were down by about 50 points, and the other team only needed one more kill to win the game. My entire team decided to drop out all at once, leaving only me to face the vastly-superior horde.
I never quit. Maybe it's how I was raised, maybe it's just an inborn need push through any challenge despite the odds, but I NEVER back down (I never once, in hundreds upon hundreds of matches, EVER surrendered in LoL)!
Armed with only my wits and my guns, I subsequently engaged the secret Rambo mode programmed into every multiplayer server in existence - the code for it can be found in your blood, and etched on your soul. Bunkering down in anyplace defensible yet anti-siege, I collected the shotgun and sniper rifle and picked off any enemy combatants in my scope. Anytime they tried to surround me, there was one escape they overlooked... Anytime they infiltrated my current, disposable base, my shotgun would greet them at the funnel point I shepherded them through.
Rockets, tanks, warthogs... none of them could stop me! They rode the elephant: I sniped the driver. They brought out the Banshee: I hijacked it. I annihilated all in my path; outwitted any plans designing my doom! They hurled slurs at me, screaming for me to just quit! They used psychological warfare. "You can't beat us all! Your team abandoned you! You should just quit and save yourself the trouble!" I didn't mute their mics, just to hear the taunts and the demands for my surrender... and make them eat their words, one by one, over and over again.
The score was rising, and so was my adrenaline. My armor, cracked and scarred, twisted and burnt, scored by plasma and dented by bullets, was glowing like the sun! Its overuse only made it look that much more glorious! For when they saw the red of a disbanded team with one member still kicking, they knew a bullet to the head would soon follow. It was the time of my life! The kind of fulfillment, achievement, and satisfaction most people spend their whole lives trying to create. I alone brought Red Team's score from 50 to 95!
And then... a red dot. It traced me, flashing just past my vision as I picked off another of their team. My focus was waning. I had been in one particular bunker too long, and the adrenaline was wearing thin, pushed to the limit! I was careless!
"No!" I screamed in futility. It was too late... vengeance would serve Blue Team that day. I made one desperate mad dash for the exit, but it was not to be. My fate was sealed. I heard the familiar sound of the Spartan Laser blast and my ragdolling body hit the floor. The match was over. I failed... but I had the honor of being the one man who conquered an army, and refused to back down.
Oh? Did you think this was a story about MY gaming comeback? No, this was BLUE TEAM'S comeback story from almost CERTAIN, humiliating defeat!
By the way, this story is entirely true. That was a great day!
Captcha: duvet day. Er... not quite.