I wiped the laughter from my face, still grinning like a madman, and cracked my knuckles before typing out my next reply.
[Successful_Cucumber: Reply...]
"Ohhh, I see it now. This wasn't a game. This was a cry for help."
"You weren't trying to 'tell a story'—you were trying to make people sympathize with your pathetic, loser ass."
"You didn't write a character, you wrote yourself."
"A fat, ugly, self-pitying mess who gets his woman stolen and just kneels in the dirt crying about it. You didn't make a protagonist, you made a self-insert failure."
"You didn't want people to 'understand'—you wanted them to suffer alongside you. To feel just as worthless as you do because instead of doing something with your life, you sat down and wrote out your own personal tragedy and slapped a price tag on it."
"This game wasn't meant to be a 'lesson.' It was just your excuse to wallow in misery and drag everyone else down with you."
"I almost feel bad for you. Almost."
I leaned back, fully expecting another pathetic excuse.
[RighteousOne: Reply...]
"Oh, I get it now. You're just one of those people."
"Just because a game doesn't sit right with your narrow, simplistic worldview, you immediately dismiss it as 'bad writing' or 'self-pity.' You can't handle anything that doesn't cater to your fragile, power-fantasy-driven ego, can you?"
"Not everything needs to be about winning. Not everything needs to be about 'getting the girl' or 'being strong.' Maybe if you stepped outside your little bubble of entitlement, you'd understand that."
"But no, of course not. You're the type who cries the moment something challenges you. You lash out like a child because you can't handle the idea that not every story exists to stroke your ego."
"People like you don't want stories. You want escapism."
"You want a world where everything revolves around you. Where your hard work always pays off. Where you're always rewarded. But that's not reality. That's not how life works. And deep down, you know it."
"But you're too much of a weak-minded little chud to accept that."
Then I fucking laughed.
"Ohhh, I got to him. I fucking got to him."
This wasn't some "artistic vision." This wasn't some "deep, meaningful message about life."
This was just a bitter, miserable loser throwing a tantrum.
Now he had dropped the mask.
I cracked my neck, stretching my fingers before hammering my reply onto the screen.
Alright, motherfucker. Let's really talk.
[Successful_Cucumber: Reply...]
"Wait, wait, wait—I'M the one who can't handle the world not catering to me? You're absolutely fucking delusional, you pathetic loser."
"The main character—your self-insert, Damien—was literally the exact same as you."
"Hard work not paying off? What hard work? Where did the main character work hard? That little bastard just simped for a girl, threw money at her, and sat around waiting to be 'rewarded' like a fucking dog begging for scraps. That's not hard work—that's pathetic."
"You and your little fictional self are the exact kind of weak, spineless bastards that give power to the wrong people. You're the reason these stupid, useless bitches think they can talk down to people like me. Because you enable them. Because you worship them for doing absolutely nothing."
"You want to sit here and act is some great lesson about love? Fine. Let me tell you the truth, then."
"If you wrote this story based on your own experiences—listen the fuck up."
"That bitch never loved you. Nor did you ever deserve to be loved."
"You spent all your money, time, and dignity on a random girl, thinking that somehow, that meant she 'owed' you affection. You never cared to actually understand her, to see her as a real person. No, you were just obsessed with her beautiful face and your own fucking urges."
"And because you couldn't control your own pathetic, desperate ass, you became the loser you are now."
"And instead of fixing yourself, instead of actually becoming a better man, what did you do?"
"You wrote this garbage game, thinking that somehow, making other men feel like shit would justify your own failure."
"Pathetic. Absolutely fucking pathetic."
I sat back, rolling my shoulders, a twisted smirk tugging at my lips.
This guy was cracking.
Now, let's see how much further I could break him.
I leaned back, exhaling through my nose, my smirk stretching wider.
Dogs bastard need to be cut down.
People like him—weak, spineless, pathetic excuses for men—they were the cancer of society. The type that let the world rot, that handed power to the very people who deserved nothing.
I could already picture him.
Fuming. Seething in his room, his smelly, fat ass glued to a chair that's barely holding up under his weight.
A disgusting, messy table covered in greasy takeout wrappers. Stained shirts. Hairy armpits sticking to his skin.
Some shitty anime posters lining the walls, because of course, this failure has never even talked to a real woman.
And the cherry on top?
Living in his mother's basement.
Sitting there, typing away on his cheap keyboard, coated in Dorito dust, breathing through his mouth, reeking of regret.
And I was in his head now.
I could see him sweating, his pudgy fingers shaking with rage as he tried to come up with a reply—some weak, desperate attempt to make himself feel like he wasn't already destroyed.
And I was going to enjoy every. Fucking. Second.
I already knew it was going to be good.
I tapped the notification, eyes scanning the screen as the pathetic bastard's words spilled out.
[RighteousOne: Reply...]
"You don't know anything about me."
"What do you expect me to do? What could I have changed? What different things could I have done?"
"Some people don't have options. Some people don't have the luxury of 'changing' themselves. It's easy to talk shit when you've never been in that position."
"But of course, you wouldn't get that. You're just another incel who's never talked to a woman in his life."
"A 'random girl'? You can't even see women as human, can you? You degrade them, you insult them—just because you can't have them. You're a misogynist, plain and simple."
"And let me guess—you're probably a racist too. I bet you blame every problem in your life on someone else, just like every other sad, pathetic loser who spends all day on the internet crying about things they don't understand."
I just stared at the screen, lying there motionless for a moment.
"PFFFT—AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"
Laughter exploded out of me so hard my chest actually hurt.
"Holy fuck—I got the FULL PACKAGE!"