My mom (82F) told me (12M) to do the dishes (16 plates, 12 cups, 3 forks, 1 knife that hasn’t been washed since Thanksgiving '97). She knows I (12M) don’t do chores during my Fortnite grind (3 kills, 2 assists, 14 players left, storm closing in). It was Chapter 4, Season 5, and I had just picked up a Gold Scar (legendary), two Shield Potions, and a Chug Jug when she (82F) stormed into my room yelling about “responsibility” and “chores” like it was 1943.

I explained (calmly) that she couldn’t pause an online game, but she kept going, saying things like, “Fortnite is rotting your brain,” and, “In my day, we played outside.” I (12M) knew this was cap because she (82F) was born before video games, and outside doesn’t even have good graphics. Anyway, she started reaching for the power cord, and that’s when I (12M) panicked. In a moment of gamer rage (and fear of losing my Gold Scar), I grabbed my controller (DualShock 4, customized with RGB lights and a skin of Ninja’s face) and hurled it at her head. It flew at an incredible speed (138kph, verified by my old baseball coach) and hit her right in the temple (critical hit, 1-shot KO). She ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ died on the spot, which, looking back, was kind of overkill, but she didn’t even have full shields, so who’s really to blame?

The neighbors (72F and 74F, Karens) heard the thud and called the cops (response time: 3 minutes, new PR for our town). The police arrived (4 squad cars, 2 ambulances, 1 chopper), and they immediately arrested me (12M). I tried explaining that it was a gamer moment, but they weren’t gamers (NPC behavior).

At my trial (held in a Chuck E. Cheese for budget reasons), Judge Judy sentenced me to 18 years in maximum-security prison. My lawyer tried to argue “temporary insanity due to lag,” but it didn’t work because the prosecution had evidence I was running 120fps on a PS5 (which they confiscated, absolute monsters).

Prison was rough at first (no Wi-Fi, no consoles, and the guards wouldn’t even let me build a skybase in the yard). But I adapted quickly. I (12M) joined a gang (the Crippling Depression Crips), won their loyalty by speedrunning solitaire, and climbed the ranks to become the leader. I initiated three prison riots (riot stats: 12 kills, 3 assists, 1 betrayal), organized a smuggling ring (cocaine and Sour Patch Kids), and established a thriving economy based on ramen noodles and stolen phone chargers.

My influence grew, and I decided to make a name for myself. Using burner phones, I ordered high-profile assassinations, including Michael Jackson (he ignored my friend request), Elvis Presley (he owed me V-Bucks), and Jeffrey Epstein (because it’s tradition). I didn’t stop there. I also masterminded 9/11 while playing chess (2D, online) with Osama bin Laden (43M). It wasn’t even my idea, really—he rage quit after I took his bishop, and one thing led to another.

Eventually, I got bored of prison (too easy), so I decided to escape. Using a plastic spoon (from Taco Tuesday), I (12M) spent three years digging a 23-meter tunnel to freedom. The guards never noticed because I camouflaged the dirt with Cheeto dust. Once free, I fled the country by hiding in a shipping container labeled “Anime Body Pillows” (I don’t want to talk about what I saw in there). I now live off the grid (Wi-Fi enabled) in a bunker I built using Minecraft blueprints.

Sometimes, I think about my mom (RIP) and wonder if I was in the wrong. Sure, she died, but honestly, it was a skill issue. She shouldn’t have been standing there without cover.

Steam, AITA?