Once upon a time, there was an epic climax to a video game including a particulary angry middle aged man and his minorly angry middle aged friends.

No one cares about that though, because now there's a beggining.

A beggining to something so horrendously dank that all previous authors died proofreading.

It all starts in the state of Kansas, where one man had recently returned to his shit shack of an apartment room and was getting ready to rub one out to his favorite

game of all time,

Team Fortress 2.

He was a nondescript person, except for his insane lack of muscles and his beyond pale physique. Anyways, he started his ancient monolith of a computer up and logged in

with his password, "MyDongSoLong". His desktop backround was a mess of icons, comic sans, and shitty photoshop but he didn't care. He only cared about opening steam, a

program used as a puppet to open his not so guilty pleasure. He quickly moved his mouse to the button that read "Play". Without hesitation, like a jaguar devouring it's

succulant, meaty quarry, he clicked the play button faster than the speed of light. The game launched up, rendering his nether regions instantly hard and frothy. He thought

it would be good to play on a Valve Server for a change, notorious for being home to the worst players in the history of scum. Naturally, he selected the game mode that

got him off the fastest, Capture The Flag. It was a simple concept, capturing a flag. The mere idea of capturing a flag aroused this man greatly. He joined Red team, since

the other team was full, and began unzipping his tight trousers in an attempt to air out his expansive snake, which had sprouted since joining. It was a classic map, called Turbine,

in which he quickly opened the scoreboard so he might read the names of his teammates. None out of the ordinary, but a select few of his comrade's qualities made them stand

out. Among the few he would count as spectaculary ordinary yet somehow special, a player by the name of ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) , who had a score many, many digits higher than this man had come

to mind. But this player did not matter in the few vital moments that would follow. Having captured the flag for his team two times, this man was approaching his event horizon

at a rapid pace. All he needed to do was secure the win to relinquish this session. He had just walked down the stairs from his team's spawn room, when he noticed something out

of the corner of his eye. Something not there before. He vaguely recalled another player joining mere seconds before, but thought nothing of them, because he had assumed that

that player had a lack of skill akin to the rest of Blue team. His assumption was wrong. All of a sudden, mere seconds before the door to the flag opened, the man's in game

avatar had been shot through the head with an arrow. And arrow fired from a very special bow called the huntsman, from a very special person called-actually, their name isn't

important to our story, as you will see later. The man was taken aback by the recent turn of events but didn't doubt his ability to carry his team to victory on his back.

He tried again.

Shot through the head.

By the same person.

And again.

With the same results. After much deliberation, the man finally had the flag on his back, almost to his own team's base to capture it. Waiting for him, however, on the point, in the darkest corner

of the room, was a player. With a bow. Called the huntsman. The man saw the events that followed in a flash, a flash before his character was struck down with the familiar sound of a twanging

of an arrow. Gruesome murders, defiling bodies, grand acts of arsony. His snake had retracted into it's hole long before the final act of this huntsman user, but had seemed to retract even more

following his most recent death. To make it worse, when he had accused this player of cheating, and, rightly so, he earned nothing but the scorn of his fellow enemy and comrade alike. This was the

final straw. This man, who, after losing the one thing he cherished in his pitiful life, decided to go on a chain of killing to end the lives of everyone on that server.

Months passed. He had made a list, which, after much time reverse searching phone numbers and pictures on the internet and searching the public record archives, had finally been filled. One by one,

he went about executing the members of the match. Most were killed in the same way, an arrow, thrusted into the pelvis to symbolize this man's lost libido.

A few did stand out in particular.

He had drugged and kidnapped a man who went by the screen name of eton102, the player with the highest score on the enemy team, and taken him to a remote abandoned cabin in the woods, where he

knew they wouldn't be bothered. He then proceeded to rip out all of eton102's eyelashes, one by one, followed by the fingernails and toenails. All with an arrow haft. Near the end, he had doused

the arrow haft with gasoline and alchohol, and inserted it, very roughly I might add, into eton102's rectum. After kicking eton102 on the ground for a while, he pulled a match out of his shirt

pocket, and used the remaining liquid to make a trail outside the cabin, where he dropped the match and watched the cabin, and eton102, slowly ignite. That night, he furiously flogged his dolphin

to a recording of eton102's dying screams.

With all players from the server dead, and their cases gone cold, this man was ready to strike vengeance on the one he hated the most.

He had spent three long years, three long years waiting for this chance. He had been fired, his girlfriend left him, and he had been evicted. The year was almost 2008, the new year being only four days away.

This man had spent the last month chasing his latest, and last, victim. This one had heard of the murders, and pieced together he was being hunted. However, all the moving in the world and all the attempts, all

quite in vain I might add, couldn't save this person from the man. At nightfall, after waiting outside of the two story residence, the man climbed up the window leading to the room the last player was located in,

and broke in, rolling through the now shattered pane. He quickly gazed at the bed, only to find no signs of human life. Sharpened steel knife in one hand, erect Washington Monument in the other, he was suprised.

His sudden lapse in thought would be his downfall however. Quickly, from behind him, he saw smoke travel from his back to his front. There was something resembling the outline of a human, but no one phyically present.

Before the man could vault backwards, landing safely below in a net he had erected in the bushes beforehand, the smoke drew a weapon. A very special weapon. Called the huntsman. Before the man could react once more,

the arrow found it's mark, straight through the pelvis, followed by a suplex, and ending with a kick in the forehead, knocking the man out. Remember kids, smoking kills. A call had been made to the police,

saying that a man with connections to the 22 recent killings in the city of this man's residence was going to be at this house tonight. Sure enough, when policeman Norton Anuvurus arrived on scene, he had found a man.

Particulary nondescript, save for his odd lack of muscle and albino-esque physiqe. The man was face down, with an arrow going straight through his pelvic region. He was completely naked. On his back, carved into his skin,

possibly bone deep, was one word.

One word, which was the last thing most of the players of that particular match of Team Fortress 2 heard before the man snuffed out their flames with his kamikaze army of ovum invaders,

the last word many heard uttered by a man walking on the streets, begging for money which he would then use to fuel his diabolical intentions,

the one word the few people who knew this man's real name called him online,

Conterlol23.