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Every night, five-stack in CS2. Dumb jokes, louder callouts, even louder whiffs. He wasn’t the best shot, but he was the soul of the squad. Full-send entry, no fear, all vibes.
Then one night he said,
“I think I’m done, boys. I’m going to Streetmeet.”
We laughed. Thought he was joking.
But he never queued again.
Now he’s out there somewhere—under streetlights and spoilers, surrounded by revving engines and new friends who don’t know how bad he was with the AWP.
We didn’t stop him. We let him go.
But damn… we miss him.
The lobby’s quieter now.
Rounds feel longer.
Wins feel emptier.
We hope he’s happy.
But we still leave a slot open.
Just in case he ever wants to come home.