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Every game starts the same—he loads into CS2, only to hear his Russian teammates screaming, blasting hardbass, or teamkilling over an AWP. By round three, he’s top fragging while they full-send B every round, yelling "Rush B, cyka!"
At halftime, it’s 12-3, and hope is gone. He sighs, buys an AWP, and starts carrying. Clutch after clutch, flick after flick, while his team either baits him or dies trying to knife someone. The enemy team types, "bro, kick the Russians and you win." He wishes he could.
Match point. His last teammate dies mid-air attempting a knife jump, leaving him in a 1v5. One flick, two flicks, a perfect wallbang—clutch secured, game won. His team cheers, calling him "normal player, not blyat idiot." He disconnects before they can invite him again.