Both players came out of the gate doing what you do in deathmatch: hoarding items like depression-era grandparents. tastymelon made a beeline for the railgun and body armor while BigOlFODDER scooped up the plasma gun, a rocket launcher, and — critically — the Quad Damage power-up before either player had drawn blood. The map was apparently generous, because between the two of them they vacuumed up enough armor shards, mega-healths, and weapons to outfit a small militia. For nearly two full minutes, nobody died. It was almost peaceful. Almost wholesome. Like watching two crocodiles circle each other in a swimming pool.

Then BigOlFODDER ended the pleasantries with a clean railgun shot straight through tastymelon's good intentions. Cold. Precise. The kind of kill that makes you put the controller down and reevaluate your life choices.

To tastymelon's credit, he did not simply lie down and accept his fate as the evening's designated punching bag. He fired back — twice — with the rocket launcher, painting BigOlFODDER across the walls in two satisfying frags that leveled the playing field. Rockets at range, no less, which requires either skill or BigOlFODDER running directly into tastymelon's crosshairs like a golden retriever chasing a tennis ball into traffic.

BigOlFODDER answered with two more railgun kills in fairly quick succession, including one that appeared to be a particularly spiteful follow-up frag — the gaming equivalent of making eye contact while eating the last slice of pizza. Those two quick rail strikes pushed BigOlFODDER to a 3-2 lead and established a clear narrative: BigOlFODDER was playing the railgun like a concert pianist, and tastymelon was starting to feel like a practice dummy with a health bar.

A particularly chaotic exchange resulted in a near-simultaneous double kill: BigOlFODDER dropped tastymelon with a lightning gun, and tastymelon's rocket splash caught BigOlFODDER on the way out, producing two kill notifications so close together they might as well have been holding hands. Then BigOlFODDER pivoted immediately to the machinegun — the machinegun, the weapon of people who've given up on having a personality — and rattled tastymelon down for another kill. By the time the dust settled on this stretch, BigOlFODDER had clawed out to a 6-5 lead with tastymelon hanging on by his fingernails and apparently his dignity, which was getting increasingly threadbare.