AAA: Hartmut's story
Disclaimer: If you've read my other DDR story "Brad Plays DDR" please know that I tried to make this one less offensive. Please, please don't freak out this time. I tried my hardest.
You can describe Hartmut's skills in DDR in seven words: Really, really, really, really, really fucking good. He played 12 hours a day at home on his own private DDR machine that only cost a quarter for like, a billion songs. He honed his skills so much that he could AAA any song you could name. He had even gotten an AAA on Max 300. Nearly everybody who witnessed his awesome talents either killed themselves or went into hysterics and had to be placed in a mental hospital. One person even had his head explode. His status as the best DDR player in the world was obvious.
One day, some of his acquaintances persuaded Hartmut to come to a DDR tournament with them.(on walkie talkies of course, since even just looking directly at Hartmut could cause severe emotional or physical damage.) So, for the first time in 9 weeks, Hartmut left his room and went outside. While walking to the arcade, Hartmut single-handedly caused 12 single-car accidents and a multi-car pile up because of how awesome he was. Upon walking into the arcade, everybody stopped but nobody turned to look at him, fearing for their mental safety.
The tournament was a single-elimination event; once you lose a match once, you're done. Of course, Hartmut didn't lose any matches. How could the DDR god lose to a bunch of pussies who can't even pass a single Heavy? It's just not possible.
The time for the final match came. It was him versus some Chinese or Korean or something kid. The one song they were slated to play was Paranoia Survivor MAX. Hartmut knew there was some heavy betting on him to get an AAA. A CEO of a Fortune 500 company from San Jose had laid 2.5 million dollars on him. All present at the tournament had at least a $50 bet on him, even the Asian kid he was playing against.
The song started. While the Asian kid struggled to hit all the notes, Hartmut was confidently stomping on the arrows, getting all 'Perfects' and not showing any strain at all. Things looked pretty good for that asshole CEO and everybody else who had bet on Hartmut. That is, until the last four seconds of the song. The last 10 notes went something like this: 'Perfect! Great! Great! Great! Great! Perfect! Great! Great! Great! Good!' Hartmut was in shock. He hadn't gotten an AA in over 8 months.
Then chaos erupted. Everybody lunged forward towards Harmut at once, crushing the DDR machine and killing the worthless Asian kid who got a B. The homicidal mob tore Hartmut limb from limb. The CEO got to personally rip off his wanker and cut it into little pieces. All of Harmut's "friends" who had bet anywhere from 100 to 1500 dollars on him also took part in the killing.
Now Hartmut lives on only in memory. And in the blood stains on the carpet in the arcade. And if you think this story has no moral, you would be absolutely right. The end.