It was a 1v5. My entire team had already rage quit or died doing TikTok strats. Bomb was down in the middle of Banana. CTs were stacking A, probably sipping tea and mocking my 3-17 K/D.

I crouch-walked toward the bomb like a budget action hero, whispering "this... is my moment" into my headset. I picked up an MP9 off a fallen comrade — not because it was good, but because it looked cool with my $2 skin.

One CT peeked mid. I panic-sprayed. He died from confusion more than bullets.

Four left.

I ninja-walked through smoke like a broke ninja. Another CT ran at me with a knife — probably thinking I was free content for his montage. I turned and accidentally noscoped him with the SSG I picked up out of pure panic. I typed “?” in chat. He left the game.

Three left.

I grab the bomb and yell “FOR MOTHER RUSSIA” even though I’m from Ohio. I plant B with 5 seconds left, heart racing, palms sweaty, mom yelling about dinner.

They start defusing.

I flash myself. Twice.

Then, in a blinding moment of fate, I peek… they line up… and my mouse accidentally double-clicks from the sweat. Triple kill.

I win.

They called hacks. I called it “destiny.”