You are playing 2fort, in a scarcely empty server. Stuck at a 4v5, a peculiar fellow joins the server designated “Pixie the Fempyro Dragon”, and you decide to play Soldier. You run into the BLU base, and purloin their intel. “I’m doing it! I’m gonna cap the intel!” you cerebrate, blasting your way to victory, when all of the sudden an enemy pyro turns the corner. His degreaser is aimed at you, and he’s got an unorthodox pink Brigade Helm with orbiting hearts. You fire a rocket, and you optically discern the crimson lightning fly out of your launcher. It’s an arbitrary crit! The pyro is done for! But all of the sudden, the pyro DEFLECTS the rocket, dealing a lethal blow to you. You optically discern them do the Gas Blast taunt introduced in the Pyro Update, and a message appears in chat. Pixie the Fempyro Dragon: Oowpsie!!!! :3 I made an immensely colossal stinky OwO You do not understand. You endeavor to respond but your hands are paralyzed. A singular droplet of algid sweat streams down your nasal discerner. Your perplexity turns into terror as you glance at their profile picture, which is a anthro fox. Your face turns red. White spittle is emerging from the corners of your mouth. You endeavor to spam your lenny face bind but you simply cannot. The terror evanesces, and what remains is a sense of existential dread. Nothingness. You give up on even endeavoring to move out of spawn. Hours pass, days pass, and weeks pass. Engineers passing by peregrinating to the Astuteness would tell stories of you. “Verbalize, Dell, you visually perceive that stone-faced fella at resupply?” “Why I have, Buck. What’s up with him?” “Why I reckon he one of them AFK types.” The Engineers endeavor to unravel the mystery, but never come close. The secret remains buried inside of you, burning at your very core. As the Engineers, Snipers, and Demomen of Teufort leave, you are all that remains of the server. Your legacy is merely a whisper in the wind.