After more then 1,300 hours of Dead by Daylight, I’ve come to the undeniable conclusion that my teammates are the real horror of this game. I could single-handedly loop a killer around the map like I’m training for the Survivor Olympics, but instead of earning gold medals, I’m just racking up hooks thanks to these absolute goofballs.

Every time I get chased, you better believe I’m putting on a show, weaving and dodging like I’m auditioning for Dancing with the Stars. But here comes Claudette, casually jogging into my path like she’s trying to win a “Most Useless Survivor” award. I swear, one more time and I’m going to hand her a “Congrats on the Unhook!” trophy, right before I get slammed into a hook because she decided to break out her best run straight into danger routine. What’s she thinking? ‘Maybe the killer won’t notice me running beside their last victim!’ Spoiler: they always do.

And don’t even get me started on those who think they can unhook me while the killer is still standing there, watching. One moment I’m out here giving the killer the runaround, and the next, I’m getting unhooked by Jake, who must think he's the next action hero. Meanwhile, I’m left looking like I just got hit by a bus, with the killer laughing as they hook me for the second time in five minutes. Thanks, Jake, you absolute legend. I’ll be sure to write your name in the Hall of Shame.

Let’s talk about generators for a second. I’m out here keeping the killer occupied, doing my best impression of a speedster, and not one of my teammates is working on a gen. Instead, they’re all crouched in a bush, playing hide-and-seek with the killer like they’re on some kind of field trip. I’m over here thinking I’ve become the main character, and they’re all just extras in the horror movie that’s about to end badly.

Then there’s the golden rule: If you’re the last one left, and you hear the killer coming, do NOT hide in the locker that’s right next to the hook. But of course, what’s my teammate doing? Sprinting right into that locker like it’s a game of musical chairs and they want to be the last one to get picked. They get found, they scream, and suddenly I’m forced to pull off my best escape act with no support whatsoever. Thanks, teammates, I’m really feeling the love here!

And don’t think switching to Killer makes things better. No, suddenly these Survivors transform into Olympic-level athletes. The same people who couldn’t hit a skill check if their lives depended on it are now pulling off insane loops and dodges like they’re trying to dunk on my soul. I’ll be over here, swinging and missing like I’m in a slapstick comedy while they glide away, leaving me to contemplate the meaning of life as I slowly lose my sanity.

So yeah, after almost 1,400 hours, it’s become clear: the real killer isn’t the guy in the mask or the chainsaw-wielding maniac—it’s my team of clueless dingleberries who think this is a social experiment on how to die with style. 27/10 would blame my teammates again and again because someone has to take the fall for this circus.

After more then 1,300 hours of Dead by Daylight, I’ve come to the undeniable conclusion that my teammates are the real horror of this game. I could single-handedly loop a killer around the map like I’m training for the Survivor Olympics, but instead of earning gold medals, I’m just racking up hooks thanks to these absolute goofballs. Every time I get chased, you better believe I’m putting on a show, weaving and dodging like I’m auditioning for Dancing with the Stars. But here comes Claudette, casually jogging into my path like she’s trying to win a “Most Useless Survivor” award. I swear, one more time and I’m going to hand her a “Congrats on the Unhook!” trophy, right before I get slammed into a hook because she decided to break out her best run straight into danger routine. What’s she thinking? ‘Maybe the killer won’t notice me running beside their last victim!’ Spoiler: they always do. And don’t even get me started on those who think they can unhook me while the killer is still standing there, watching. One moment I’m out here giving the killer the runaround, and the next, I’m getting unhooked by Jake, who must think he's the next action hero. Meanwhile, I’m left looking like I just got hit by a bus, with the killer laughing as they hook me for the second time in five minutes. Thanks, Jake, you absolute legend. I’ll be sure to write your name in the Hall of Shame. Let’s talk about generators for a second. I’m out here keeping the killer occupied, doing my best impression of a speedster, and not one of my teammates is working on a gen. Instead, they’re all crouched in a bush, playing hide-and-seek with the killer like they’re on some kind of field trip. I’m over here thinking I’ve become the main character, and they’re all just extras in the horror movie that’s about to end badly. Then there’s the golden rule: If you’re the last one left, and you hear the killer coming, do NOT hide in the locker that’s right next to the hook. But of course, what’s my teammate doing? Sprinting right into that locker like it’s a game of musical chairs and they want to be the last one to get picked. They get found, they scream, and suddenly I’m forced to pull off my best escape act with no support whatsoever. Thanks, teammates, I’m really feeling the love here! And don’t think switching to Killer makes things better. No, suddenly these Survivors transform into Olympic-level athletes. The same people who couldn’t hit a skill check if their lives depended on it are now pulling off insane loops and dodges like they’re trying to dunk on my soul. I’ll be over here, swinging and missing like I’m in a slapstick comedy while they glide away, leaving me to contemplate the meaning of life as I slowly lose my sanity. So yeah, after almost 1,400 hours, it’s become clear: the real killer isn’t the guy in the mask or the chainsaw-wielding maniac—it’s my team of clueless dingleberries who think this is a social experiment on how to die with style. 27/10 would blame my teammates again and again because someone has to take the fall for this circus.