What a day. I toss my towel to the side and throw on some loungewear. Steam spills out of my bathroom and into my room. Hopefully the fire alarm doesn’t go off. My mom walks down the hall, slowing as she feels the heat from the bathroom. Shaking her head, she says “My wonderful, brilliant son, do you want to boil your skin off?”

​

I scrunch my face at her and reply, “Obviously.”

​

She laughs and leaves. She knows that I know what she’s hinting towards. I flop onto my chair after stuffing all my completed homework from my desk into my bag. I then turn my computer on. I earned this time I’m about to spend. The excitement wells in my stomach as I set everything. 

​

I hastily pull out my headphones and place them to the side of the computer. I kick the football under my desk to the side to make some leg room. I then boot up my game and stare at the loading screen. It always takes so long to open. So. Incredibly. Long. Unwilling to deal with my impatience, I pull out my phone. Scrolling the news, I happen to see an article on the new game I’ve been waiting for. Giddily, I open the article up. Did they release more content? A second trailer? 

​

…Oh.

​

My reading turns lazy as the information washes over me, “Paradox Gaming receives backlash on release trailer from gaming community…angry at auto-locked male lead…main character now to have a selectable gender.” 

Setting my phone face down on my desk, I push myself into my chair and pull all my limbs together. That game was going to feature a male protagonist after so long. What did they mean, the ‘Gaming community’ was upset? My foot, they meant women. If they paid attention to the rest of us gamers, they’d see we had absolutely no problem with a male lead. And anyways, why did all those women care? Didn’t they have oceans worth of games with female leads? If they were forced to play the opposite gender for once in a popular game franchise, did it offend them so much? I hear the menu music of my game as it loads in and I’m reeled back to reality. Whatever, there's not much that can be done, especially nothing by me. If I were to make a single move against what women were saying about that character–that men don’t belong in that field, it’s historically incorrect, that they’ve ‘forced me into being a man’-- I’d be drowned by their retaliation and stomped over by their bullshit defense. Have they ever done any research, opened up a tab on google and simply typed their fallacies into the search bar? A single click away and they could find that men have always been a part of the field, that we have had impact, and that we play video games. 

​

Rubbing my eyes, I see I’ve joined a match. Most of the other players on my team have already picked the character they wish to play. My mouse hovers over a usual choice of mine, a defender, but a sudden impulse takes hold and I select an initiator instead. God, I hope I do well, I don’t usually play this role. Protecting the team from attacks usually feels so much more natural–not that it started that way. I just felt this expectation to pick a defender, though no one ever commanded it exclusively.

So why don’t I play this different role?

​

My eyes roam over the team. A single person has yet to make their choice. A feminine voice rings in my ear, “You could go defender, we don’t have any defenders,” she urges.

 

ChocolateCake has joined the voice comms.

SlapMeUwU has joined the voice comms.

Youbad has joined the voice comms.

 

Like a spark, the others follow in suit and begin a friendly banter. All it takes is one brave soul to speak first, I guess.

Soon, I am the only one not talking, save for one other player. I don’t mind, I rather keep it this way. For a moment, I wonder if the other silent player might be a guy. One quick glance at their nametag, daddymilkers, gives me my answer. But one boisterous player, Sinnamontoast, seems adamant I join them.

​

“Hey, you got a mic? Come on, join!” she says.

​

  A familiar knot in my stomach makes its presence known. If someone were to ask me why I feel this way on such a menial task, I don’t think I could answer them. I don’t make a move by either joining the voice comms or responding with the in-game text. No one pushes me again. Sinnamontoast instead asks, “How’s everyone doing today?”

“Pretty good, pretty good. Although I’ve been rolled like six times already, so I appreciate everyone picking a character this time,” someone else replies.

​

They continue chatting, and soon they are planning a method of attack. I want to join. I want to be a part of the plan. I don’t want to just follow others. I bite the inside of my cheek. Maybe things will go a little differently than usual. Ignoring my earlier hesitation, I grab hold of my headphones and insert them into my computer.

 

Don’tCry has joined the voice comms. 

 

Player 2 shouts out, “Hey, there’s the straggler!”

I tense for a second, voice catching, then respond, “Ha, yeah, sorry about that. Could’t find my mic.” I didn’t have a moment’s notice to brace for the usual remarks.

One voice, “Gamer boy?”

A second, “Gamer boy?!?

A third, even, “Hey, look at that. Gamer boy!”

​

Oh look, even daddymilkers has joined voice-comms to help with the chant. Could she be any more obvious?

I cringe in my seat, yet laugh into my mic. Did they think they were funny? That they’re being unique by saying this? Because I hear it every single time I join voice-comms, and it got old a long time ago. Gritting my teeth, I play along to keep things calm and say, “Yeah, sure.” 

​

We all load into the game. A timer at the top of the screen counts down how much time we have until the first match begins. This was a typical 5v5 FPS game. I started thinking of ways we could initiate the fight with our team comp. Since I’m playing Mia, an initiator, I tell the team my plan, “Hey so, I’m going to send out a recon dart into that hallway so we can—“ I’m immediately cut-off by daddymilkers. She practically moans into her mic, “Oh, your voice is so hot. How old are you?”

I stay quiet. 

She persists, “Aw, don’t be shy! How old are you?”

Silence.

The match begins. There is little coordination, but we pull it off and get the point. The second match begins in the same manner. I stay silent until SlapMeUwU shouts, “Behind you!” and drag my mouse across my desk to headshot a sneaky flanker.

“Thanks, do you know where the last person is?” I ask her.

“I think they should still be at site A,” she replies.

daddymilkers’ voice interjects us, “Oh shit, your voice is actually really hot. I’m going to record this, just so I can listen to your voice later while I touch myself.”

​

…what the fuck?

​

My wrist stiffens just as the enemy peaks a corner. Unable to move my hand, I’m killed. I hear the other players laughing into the comms. Was it because of how I died, or because of what daddymilkers had said? daddymilkers groans into the mic, “Heey, Don’tCry, why are you so silent? I’m recording now. What’s your snap, huh?”

I grit my teeth.

“Or maybe a insta?”

​

I control myself. If I snap, say something, even a grain as insulting as what this player is spewing, this gaming session will get a lot worse, and honestly, right now? It’s not even that bad. I can bear this. I worked hard to free up my evening to do something I enjoy. Instead, I try to joke around, recycling lines I’ve used in the past, “You want my insta? If we win this game, maybe I’ll give it.”

daddymilkers replies giddily, “Honey, did you think you’d lose with me on your team?” 

The rest of the team seems pretty excited now that I’ve ‘loosened up’.

—----------------------------—---------------

The game continues. I had started out strong, but I guess today was just one of my off-days. My aim starts to slow, my game-sense weens. I peek a corner in this current match. I thought I was ready, but my crosshair placement was off. I’m headshotted and instantly killed. Damn. I was the last one alive for that point.

​

I rub the back of my neck and sheepishly say, “Sorry guys, that was on me.”

“You don’t have anything to worry about. SlapMeUwU will buy you next round. She’s been simping hard this whole time,” Sinnamontoast says. 

​

Well, SlapMeUwU had been sticking to me during the matches and spending skills to help me. But did they have to say she was simping? And what the hell is her username?

​

Maybe I was offended, maybe I was uncomfortable, but it looks like SlapMeUwU was enjoying the special attention. She laughs into the comms and moves her mouse in a way that makes her character nod her head. The other players start chanting, “Simp, simp, simp!”

Soon their voices are a hurricane, and I cannot tell them apart as they swirl in my ear. ‘“Drop your insta in the chat, there’s no way we’re losing this.”

“Can you say something again? I want to show my friend your voice.”

“How old are you?”

The round begins and I’m instantly headshotted.

—----------------------------—---------------

We’re starting to lose it. My eyes stare at the scoreboard. It’s 7-9. What should I do? I can’t go sniper, my aim’s trash right now. Maybe I can get away with a shotgun for now. I opened the shop. I see the price for the shotgun and look back at my funds. I don’t have enough money to buy it. My mouse hovers over the ‘ask to buy’ button. I know SlapMeUwU will buy it for me, but I don’t want to deal with what the other players will say. It’ll just feed into the ‘simp’ situation. I snort to myself. Like little children, they latch onto something and don’t let go. Instead, I decided to go with a pistol to save money. The round begins and I push with SlapMeUwU and Youbad on site b and confirm there are no enemies. With a reminder, Youbad plants the bomb near a crate. A quick check of the mini-map shows daddymilkers going on a flank to catch the enemy off-guard. She’s too slow. The enemy hits us hard and my team and I die, save for daddymilkers. 

​

“Weren’t you watching that corner they pushed, Don’tCry? If you can’t give a simple warning, then go back to the office or war or some shit,” someone whines.

​

Ignore her. I invest my entire self into watching our last player’s play. Once you’ve been eliminated, you can view the screen of other players. My screen reflects daddymilkers’ gameplay. I see everything she does. 

“There’s two on the right, just behind those boxes,” ChocolateCake points out. The only thing the rest of us can do is offer information gained from our deaths.

​

“Don’t worry, I got this,” daddymilkers nonchalantly says. We practically hear her cracking her knuckles. She’s killed as soon as she peeks the site. I laugh with the team at the irony. daddymilkers whines and says, “Shit, shit, shit, listen OK? The only reason I lost that was because I was listening to that recording earlier! It gets me so wet…”

​

…?

What the fuck? What the fuck? My grip tightens on my mouse. My chair squeaks as I push into it. Does she think it’s OK for her to keep saying shit like that? Fine, then a little jab from me shouldn’t hurt. With a little swagger, I say “Oh really? I just thought your aim was bad.”

​

It was a joke, really. I thought it was. Was it really so mean? Was it worse than what she said? Did I deserve what was coming at me?

daddymilkers doesn’t waste a second. With a voice that threatens to destroy me, she starts defending herself.

“What the fuck did you just say? You fucking faggot. You slut. You better be glad I don’t know your address otherwise I’d be there tonight to castrate your fucking balls off, you–”

“Hey,” I interjected.

“--unt. You have no right too–”

“HEY,” I scream. She quiets for a second, stunned by my outburst.

Regardless of my shivering, I command my voice to remain steady as I say “That is not OK. That is not something you can say and way uncalled for.” 

“Who the fuck are you to tell me that, huh?” she spits.

Does everyone else think this is fine? The others are silent, their earlier boisterousness gone. 

I carry on, ‘You’re taking things too far.”

​

She ignores me. daddymilkers’ insults smear into a single typhoon in my ear. My knuckles turn white as my grip tightens and tightens. My chest shakes. My heart races. My voice is lost. 

​

Finally, I hear another voice, a wavering breeze challenging a hurricane of hatred. Sinnamontoast says, “That’s not cool man, stop it.”

Both daddymilkers and I wait for her to say more. I tip forward in my seat, excited at finally having an ally. 

She says nothing else.

​

I sit back. That’s it? What daddymilkers is saying about castrating me, about killing me? It’s ‘not cool’? Fuck this shit. I came here for fun. This was my reward for finishing my homework early, for going on a run, for working a four hour shift on a Monday. This was a hobby. A place I went to to enjoy myself. A place where I thought I could be accepted. Wasn’t the only requirement to be a part of the gaming community be that you enjoy video games? I rise to my feet. 

Fuck this.

I slam my computer screen down.

Fuck her.

I walk out of my room.

Fuck games.

I turn my lights off.