Get the beacons they say, don't tank they say.
Jun 24, 2017 3:06:37 GMT -5
kaakaahead, Cdr. Crimmins, and 6 more like this
Post by zer00eyz on Jun 24, 2017 3:06:37 GMT -5
Picture it, it is a cool snowy evening on yama, the hills are perfectly iced for sledding down. Rather than having fun in a winter wonderland, I choose to blow up other robots.
As my team drops I take stock of what is on the field. Treb buch, RDB, the natasha I can't make out, lance, a plasma gary and myself in a gary.
As the timer hits zero the other gary and I are off to the races getting the two home beacons before be-lining for the center platform.
This does not end well, as a hail of missiles, trdents and sniper fire melt us within seconds of clearing the top.
Respawn, and we haven't even hit the 8 minute mark: I pull my fujin for some mid range detail and the other Gary pilot pulls a plasma grif. The Griff jumps ahead of me, landing right in my path and comes to a dead stop. As I futily attempt to climb over him (in my head yelling "I'm walkin here") he proceeds to go POOF. Feeling the worst I walk backwards from the spawn to see if he returns in another bot. I slowly realize that this game has turned into a 5v6.
All is not lost. The fujin manages to hold the line on the ramp to witthering missile fire and a rhino pilot slips on top using this cover to re-take the center beacon.
The next 6 minutes are BORING. The reds are long range heavy and my team mates and I collect on the ramp as they trickle bots up one at a time, only popping our heads up to shoot while the beacon stays blue. It is probably one of the few moments in the middle of a War Robots game where NO ONE shot at each other for what seemed like a full minute.
As the timer ticked away the reds made one last push but it was too little to late, the beacon bar depleted, as team (camp) red racks up one more loss.
I was mostly fine with this till I get to the victory screen. It is at this moment that feelings of rage and betrayal wash over me. By now I am well adjusted to the kind of ?firetruck?ing that "random" likes to give me. Sum total is "oh a beacon tie, thats not yours zer00eyz, no no no, you can't have that, too good for you".
But what I found was a whole new level of indignity, an injustice that could only be delivered by the likes of Pixonic. This is a plot hatched by the Joker, born of Lex Luthor, nurtured by Hitler and marched to my doorstep by the great Mongol Horde lead by none other than Genghis Khan him self come to salt my lawn and sleep with my women.
The final insult, it went to a person who picked the name "Ironhide", the transformer so ?poo-poo?ty that it should have been a Gobot.
As my team drops I take stock of what is on the field. Treb buch, RDB, the natasha I can't make out, lance, a plasma gary and myself in a gary.
As the timer hits zero the other gary and I are off to the races getting the two home beacons before be-lining for the center platform.
This does not end well, as a hail of missiles, trdents and sniper fire melt us within seconds of clearing the top.
Respawn, and we haven't even hit the 8 minute mark: I pull my fujin for some mid range detail and the other Gary pilot pulls a plasma grif. The Griff jumps ahead of me, landing right in my path and comes to a dead stop. As I futily attempt to climb over him (in my head yelling "I'm walkin here") he proceeds to go POOF. Feeling the worst I walk backwards from the spawn to see if he returns in another bot. I slowly realize that this game has turned into a 5v6.
All is not lost. The fujin manages to hold the line on the ramp to witthering missile fire and a rhino pilot slips on top using this cover to re-take the center beacon.
The next 6 minutes are BORING. The reds are long range heavy and my team mates and I collect on the ramp as they trickle bots up one at a time, only popping our heads up to shoot while the beacon stays blue. It is probably one of the few moments in the middle of a War Robots game where NO ONE shot at each other for what seemed like a full minute.
As the timer ticked away the reds made one last push but it was too little to late, the beacon bar depleted, as team (camp) red racks up one more loss.
I was mostly fine with this till I get to the victory screen. It is at this moment that feelings of rage and betrayal wash over me. By now I am well adjusted to the kind of ?firetruck?ing that "random" likes to give me. Sum total is "oh a beacon tie, thats not yours zer00eyz, no no no, you can't have that, too good for you".
But what I found was a whole new level of indignity, an injustice that could only be delivered by the likes of Pixonic. This is a plot hatched by the Joker, born of Lex Luthor, nurtured by Hitler and marched to my doorstep by the great Mongol Horde lead by none other than Genghis Khan him self come to salt my lawn and sleep with my women.
The final insult, it went to a person who picked the name "Ironhide", the transformer so ?poo-poo?ty that it should have been a Gobot.
