Pasang Steam
sign in
|
bahasa
简体中文 (Bahasa Cina Dipermudah)
繁體中文 (Bahasa Cina Tradisional)
日本語 (Bahasa Jepun)
한국어 (Bahasa Korea)
ไทย (Bahasa Thai)
Bahasa Indonesia
Български (Bahasa Bulgaria)
Čeština (Bahasa Czech)
Dansk (Bahasa Denmark)
Deutsch (Bahasa Jerman)
English (Bahasa Inggeris)
Español – España (Bahasa Sepanyol – Sepanyol)
Español – Latinoamérica (Bahasa Sepanyol – Amerika Latin)
Ελληνικά (Bahasa Greek)
Français (Bahasa Perancis)
Italiano (Bahasa Itali)
Magyar (Bahasa Hungary)
Nederlands (Bahasa Belanda)
Norsk (Bahasa Norway)
Polski (Bahasa Poland)
Português (Bahasa Portugis – Portugal)
Português – Brasil (Bahasa Portugis – Brazil)
Română (Bahasa Romania)
Русский (Bahasa Rusia)
Suomi (Bahasa Finland)
Svenska (Bahasa Sweden)
Türkçe (Bahasa Turkiye)
Tiếng Việt (Bahasa Vietnam)
Українська (Bahasa Ukraine)
Laporkan masalah terjemahan
First round. Peeks mid. BOOM. Instant one-tap. Round two? Mollied, naded, deleted. By round five, 0-9, morale shattered. Then, the worst misclick of his life.
He tabbed to his second monitor.
His mother’s face.
But not just her face—her soul being absolutely wrecked in a video he never wanted to see. His body locked up. Hands frozen on WASD. "Berlin, MOVE!" his teammates screamed. But he couldn't. The scoreboard flashed 0-14. His mind flashed mom.
Match point. He tried to play. Whiff. Whiff. Dead. A brutal 16-0 stomp. The screen faded to black. Berlin sat there, empty.
Slowly, he turned off his second monitor.
And queued again.
⢸
⢸
⢸⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣶⣿⣶⣄
⢿⣿⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⣄
⠀⠹⣿⣧⣀⣠⣴⣾⣷⣿⣷⠾⢷⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⡷
⠀⠀⠈⢿⡿⠟⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣿⣿⣿⡟
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⢿⣿⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣶⣾⣿⡇
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠙⠿⡿⢆⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⣤⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠹⣷⣤⣤⣄⣀⡀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⡏⣿⣿⣿⢀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣏⠀⠀⢀⣀⣈⣉⣉⣉⣙⣁⣀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⡇⣿⣿⢏⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣆
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⡇⣿⣿⣷⠈⠉⠙⠛⢻⣭⣷
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⡇⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣿⣷
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⡇⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⡏
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⡇⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⣿
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⢿⡿⠇⠻⣿⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣿⠇}
│ _______
[█۞███████]▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▃▂
▄▅█████████▅▄▃▂
I███████████████████] ☼
...◥⊙▲⊙▲⊙▲⊙▲⊙▲⊙▲⊙◤