Fill Me Up
"Did you know one of the reasons revolvers are so reliable is that they don't have a spent-casing ejection cycle?"
They hadn't seemed interested in pistols, so I'd switched topics — and this was what I got. Should I try talking about what I'd been up to instead?
Except my recent "news" amounted to getting drunk and backseating someone else's stream. Most of the viewers already knew that, and nothing is more boring than retelling something everyone already knows. People say a masterpiece is something you revisit even when you know the ending — but my life isn't exactly a masterpiece novel.
As for a topic they might actually care about, the LOT tournament was about the only thing that came to mind. The way it kept coming up in posts was proof plenty of people were interested. But everything has its order. I'd shouted that I'd enter with full confidence; it'd be ridiculous if I couldn't even meet the minimum requirements. I figured I'd at least hit the entry conditions before bringing it up. It wasn't even confirmed I'd be participating yet.
"Then did you know you can fire a gun in outer space?"
...I really didn't have a talent for talking. How could not a single person give me a proper reaction? When I watched other people's streams, they laughed and chatted for hours over nothing at all. I had no idea why I couldn't do the same.
"We'll just play Last of Quantum."
I switched the stream overlay and stood up from the chair. Last of Quantum hadn't launched yet, so a black screen went out while chat scrolled by at speed.
Watching chat light up with a completely different energy from before, I felt a pointless irritation rise. What if I just ended the stream right here and ran? Watching chat explode in rage might actually be fun.
A little dopamine is essential if you're going to live in this world. Like charging a battery that's running dry, you need something to put life back into living. For me, that something was streaming. Resisting the impulse was harder than I expected.
Of course, I didn't actually do it. The community was already on fire as it was. Killing the stream now would be fanning the flames — tossing more wood onto a fire that was already burning. Better to keep my head down for a while. A fire goes out when there's nothing left to burn.
I sat in the Connector chair as it wrapped softly around me and pressed the start button. For an instant my vision went black, and a strange sensation enveloped me. I felt it every time I logged in, but I never got used to it.
"Uh... is the stream coming through okay?"
The moment I connected, I checked whether the stream was transmitting. Chat's reaction said the feed itself was fine. No reason to stall, then. The road to Diamond was going to be long and ugly.
"I'll queue up right away."
Figuring the stream was more or less fine, I was about to dive into the actual game. Then a rank question caught my eye. Wondering if there were still people who didn't know my rank, I opened my mouth.
"I'm Bronze 2 right now."
Even I figured viewers would have a hard time believing my current rank, but I wasn't about to lie about it. I'd simply not had time to queue more games. I'd probably need to play a hundred matches at least before my rank found its proper place.
Just as I'd expected, they were struggling to believe it. Judging by chat, a lot of them had come in from Bernie's stream.
"I haven't been playing long, so I'm still climbing."
I added that to help the viewers understand. As I said it, I changed the stream title too.
Stream Title: A LoQ Newbie's Rank Climb
"I'll be climbing fast today, so you all should have a good time watching."
I didn't want to stomp people, but the situation was what it was. My rank would climb fast, no question — and in the process I'd probably feel like I was stomping, and so would my opponents, and even the viewers watching. But at this point, what did it matter? Stomping was a double-edged sword for streamers, sure, but I didn't have a choice. I had to play games to climb. What else was I supposed to do?
Uncomfortable watching a stomp? Then sit up straighter.
And surprisingly, stomps were pretty popular on places like Newtube. The reason was simple.
Because they're fun to watch.
The sight of someone crushing or killing their opponents with ease and taking the win — that, in itself, gives the viewer a considerable amount of satisfaction. So right now, I intended to make the people watching my stream feel exactly that. The satisfaction of winning easily. Plus the spectacle of sweeping enemies with nothing but a pistol and a single knife. That alone ought to be enough to hold their interest.
A match queued, and the screen shifted. The selected map was urban combat — one I'd gotten used to by now. The brief prep time ended, and I burst out to find the enemy who was, somewhere, hunting my life.
Not far off, one enemy was closing on me fast. I looked at the opponent coming from the other side.
"...?"
The moment I confirmed what they looked like, a dry laugh slipped out of me. The user matched against me was, ridiculously, running the exact same loadout I was. No primary rifle in sight. All they had was a pistol in one hand and a tactical knife in the other. They'd even taken similar traits, apparently — they were coming in fast.
"...Shit."
The opponent seemed to have recognized me too. They looked at me with a complicated expression, and the slight frown said they probably knew who I was. Then, as if they'd already sensed defeat, they set down the weapons they were holding.
I felt a little sorry, even though I hadn't done anything wrong — but I also thought they were a timely opponent. I could leave a good lesson for the users who were copying me without knowing any better.
"Why'd you suddenly start cursing?"
I was live, so I kept my tone as gentle as I could.
"Ah, sorry. Um... you're Unknown, right? I watch your stream. Didn't think I'd run into you like this."
"Yeah. Thanks."
They knew me, just as I'd thought.
"If you notice anything while we fight, could you point it out? I want to climb too."
If they really wanted to climb, copying me in the first place was the wrong call. Still, it wasn't like the last scumbag who'd asked me to throw. A request like this I could treat as cute. Truth was, at this rating, every user looked like a newbie to me anyway.
"Alright then. Come at me with everything you've got."
The instant I finished speaking, they raised the pistol and fired. Their shooting stance itself wasn't bad. Even while moving, the posture stayed stable — the fundamentals looked decent. The problem was they were too focused on attacking. If you can shoot someone, you have to remember they can shoot you too.
Bang!
I slipped the incoming round and put a single shot into them. They reacted to the shot, at least — they were copying me, after all. But their movement was too sluggish to actually dodge it. The round hit their right hand, and the shock made them drop the gun. Credit where it was due: they still didn't give up. They came at me anyway.
The blade of the knife in their other hand flashed sharp. Not quitting until the last second was good. Still too attack-heavy, though. The way they moved, they didn't seem to consider a counterattack at all.
Watching brainless play like this, one person always came to mind. Someone who claimed mechanics were their strong suit, when they had neither the hands nor the brain.
I caught the wrist of the opponent charging in with the knife and, in the same motion, hooked their leg and took their balance. As they kissed the floor in an instant, I looked down with a faint smile.
Along with that reasonably sound advice, the knife punched through their throat.