If this were a normal army, they'd all be cursing their mothers by now. Charging through enemy fire at full sprint, storming trenches in close combat—finally take the position, your ass hasn't even hit the dirt yet and you're ordered to launch a new assault on the next line. You think we're made of iron or what?
But the players really are made of iron.
Literally and physically made of iron.
"Got it."
Wiping the blood off his stock, taking advantage of the fact the stream wasn't on him, the bro finally couldn't hold back the rant.
"This gun feels like total shit, man. Fire rate's stupidly fast, two trigger pulls and the mag's empty, the barrel's hot as hell."
The Propaganda Department guy in charge of switching camera angles at the rear was just there to stir the pot.
"If we don't let you mag-dump, how are we supposed to sell you ammo and make money? My big streamer, do your product promo properly, the more they buy, the more commission we get."
