Ah, so you’ve scrolled this far. A rare feat. Perhaps you are worthy of knowing more. Perhaps you are one of the few who understand that Doctor Strange does not merely play games—he commands them.

You may be wondering: "Who does the Sorcerer Supreme play as? What are his choices, his preferences, his methods?" A fair question, though the answer should already be obvious. I do not align myself with weaklings, nor do I lower myself to trivial, mindless playstyles. My selections are deliberate, precise—an extension of my will.



Dead by Daylight
A game of survival, deception, and calculated decisions. A game where lesser minds scramble in panic while I—Doctor Strange, Master of the Mystic Arts—operate on a level beyond their comprehension.

Let’s be clear: I do not play Killer. Why would I? I do not chase. I do not beg for scraps of power like some rabid beast. No, my role is far greater. I play Survivor, yet it is I who control the game. The others may think we are equals, but they are mistaken.

I observe. I manipulate. I decide who lives and who does not. If a teammate falls behind, they were never meant to survive. I will not jeopardize myself for the weak. The hatch is my reward, and I claim it with the same certainty with which I rewrote the very fate of time itself.

Naturally, I only align myself with those of worthy caliber—characters befitting my intelligence and poise:

Ace: Luck follows him like I wield the power of the Sling Ring. Whether by skill or sheer fortune, he survives. That is a trait I can respect.

Bill: A veteran, hardened by war and experience. He knows how to handle a crisis, much like I did when I alone saw through Dormammu’s endless cycle of destruction.

Alan Wake: A writer whose words shape reality itself, much as I bend time and fate to my will. A fitting ally, though none truly match my mastery.

One thing I refuse to tolerate, however, is Naughty Bear. A grotesque abomination, an insult to the game itself. Should I glimpse such an affront standing before me as Killer, I will immediately leave. I faced the horrors of the Dark Dimension and I still find him unbearable.



Marvel Rivals
There is only one acceptable choice here: Doctor Strange.

Who else wields the knowledge of the universe, the power of time, the ability to twist fate itself to their will? The answer is obvious. While others brawl and struggle, I weave the threads of victory before they even realize the game has begun.

I do not fight for sport. I fight because I must. Because the very fabric of existence depends on me. And once again, as always, I will not be proven wrong.



Fortnite
A battlefield dominated by brainless children and aimless gunfire. And yet, even here, I find a way to assert my superiority. My chosen skins are not random—they are statements, embodiments of my wisdom and power.

Rick Grimes: A survivor, someone who understands what it means to endure. He adapts, he overcomes—he possesses the kind of strategic mind I can tolerate.

Peter Griffin: Pure irony. A being of no consequence in the grand scheme of things, yet somehow, strangely amusing. Much like Wong, if he were even more ridiculous.



Baldur’s Gate 3
A world of magic, where power and intellect reign supreme. Naturally, I find myself drawn to Gale—a fellow master of the arcane, one who understands the burden of true knowledge.

And, of course, I am romancing him. Two wizards of unmatched intelligence, bound by the very forces that shape reality. Tell me, does it get more poetic than that?

I doubt it.



Mortal Kombat 1
An arena where power is absolute, where skill is the only currency. I do not simply fight in Mortal Kombat—I command it.

Homelander: A god amongst mortals, wielding his power with the same arrogance and certainty that I do. If you had my abilities, wouldn’t you?

Johnny Cage: A master of theatrics and charm. A man who understands the power of presentation—a lesson I’ve demonstrated time and time again.

Sub-Zero: Cold. Calculated. Deadly. My power over time, his power over ice—both wielded with precise control and devastating results.

And, of course, every match ends with a Fatality. I do not simply win—I make a statement. I make sure that those who dare to challenge me regret it long after the fight is over. Each finishing move is a signature of my dominance, etched into the minds of those foolish enough to step into the arena with me.



Left 4 Dead
My presence is as commanding as ever. I do not simply play—I dictate the flow of survival itself.

In L4D1, I am Bill. A hardened veteran, a man of wisdom, one who has seen it all and survived where others have fallen. It is only fitting that I embody the one who holds the team together, the one who leads even when all hope seems lost. Much like myself, he is the backbone of survival.

In L4D2, I am Nick. A cynic, a gambler, a man who understands that only skill and wit can be trusted in a world overrun by mediocrity and the undead alike. He does not tolerate fools, and neither do I. He is refined, elite—Doctor Strange in a white suit.

For a long time, I relied on assault rifles, valuing their precision, calculated eliminations, and the illusion of tactical superiority. But over time, I have transcended the need for such mundane efficiency. Now, I wield shotguns—brutal, absolute, undeniable. Why waste time with restraint when I can simply erase obstacles with raw, unrelenting force? Just as reality bends to my will, so too does the battlefield.

As for my secondary? A singular pistol. Not dual-wielding, not a melee weapon—just one pistol. Why? Because I do not need excess. One bullet, well-placed, is worth more than a fool’s endless spray of panic fire. A lone pistol in my hands is not a sidearm—it is an extension of my will, a manifestation of my control over chaos itself.

And yet, despite playing as Bill, there is one thing I never do: I do not sacrifice myself on The Sacrifice, and I never will. Why? Because Doctor Strange does not die for others—others die for Doctor Strange. My existence is too valuable, my survival too essential. Let some other expendable fool throw their life away for the sake of a switch. I am above such meaningless martyrdom.

Survival is not a matter of chance. It is not dictated by random hordes or infected monstrosities. It is dictated by me. If you are lucky enough to stand alongside me in the apocalypse, then consider yourself blessed. Just do not slow me down.

The horde does not wait for the weak—and neither do I.





Everything I do, I do with mastery. The games I play are but battlegrounds for me to assert my dominance. If you are fortunate enough to witness my greatness, do not waste the opportunity. I do not tolerate failure.