An American killed a friend because of a conflict in the game Diablo 2 (Diablo 2)

Obsessed
I am not a psychologist and I cannot say what is going on in the head of these shooters. ; (
But something tells you to work in this direction.

Klassewer, no, this is a completely different question and hardly solvable)) just society is all of us. and then the question is whether it is realistic to fight our murder without killing us on behalf of the state. but this is also a far from simple question))) and you shouldn't even touch it with a 10-meter stick.
[edit] though, Bitard can ask; D

Klassewer
As an option - I wanted to play a trick on a friend in honor of his birthday and released 2 clips at him! Or argued with a neighbor that a bullet from a Makarov would not penetrate 2 folded pillows!
But I'm making this up - reality is much, much funnier; D

With weapons, everything is simple:
1. Greyhound dudes on the ground want to safely shove intelligent citizens, and the potential presence of a barrel + 10k hours of training in such a victim somehow cools.
2. Losers and weaklings want to protect themselves from their inner oppression of social frustration by the presence of a trunk, for them the trunk - as a second member - is a symbol of their personal usefulness, even if in a real skirmish it will not help them in any way, even with 10k + hours it shot: where is it, with trembling hands with fear and hatred.

Sweety_Mustard, as my ex used to say "you will laugh")) especially considering that we also have

bd_sm [TDPG] Columbines, there is also a varick with Nathan Gale and Dimebag Darrell: "- You ruined the Panther!". the chelik liked the music of the Panther, but their vocalist began to lose heart and had to disassociate. and the fan (chelik) decided that the guitarist (the favorite of the audience), as the alleged initiator, should be killed. there is a third option, when the trunk is in the hands of a dude on the ground.

Klassewer wrote:
I am not a psychologist and I cannot say what is going on in the head of these shooters.
They have a kukuhi congress when looking at the surrounding reality. Well shown here is mulberry (there are Russian subtitles):
Spoiler

Bitard
Eat the rich !!

bd_sm [TDPG]
Come on, is it really not interesting if a bullet from Makarov will pierce 2 pillows? ; D Of course, someone has to hold them in their hands! It is a pity, the barrel is not at hand - check it out.

By the way, I wonder who the people in the top warned with their first shot? The old woman who was sitting on the pot on the floor above?

Bitard,
00:43: panum paeeu, panum paaau!
Sweety_Mustard, guys in the top, this is MyatCo, a former madarator, but he didn't shoot anyone! : D

Sweety_Mustard Of
course, someone must hold them in their hands!

Ballistic gay.

The summer sun was affectionately shining from the azure skies, the grass was lusciously green on the lawns and big bright flowers were full of bright colors, colorful butterflies fluttered in the air and the cheerful trills of birds sang. John Black scanned the landscape, checking to see if anyone was sneaking, checked his equipment and ammunition one last time, and moved decisively deeper into the bandit quarter. On the sides stretched blank ragged walls, painted graffiti of street gangs, rusty fire escapes, wire mesh of some fences, burnt carcasses and overturned garbage cans. John pulled out a red chalk and corrected several spelling errors in the wall writing. Three suspicious-looking black guys in jackets with hoods came across to him. They looked at John attentively, but said nothing and moved on. As seen, the reputation he earned in the previous stages was doing its job. But Black did not relax. With his hand in his pocket, he peered into the gloom of the doorway to the right. A long, cloaked figure stepped out of the darkness and stepped forward.
“Hey, boy,” the figure called out hoarsely, “don’t you want to get high?”
- And what kind of product? - depicted interest John.
- The product is excellent! the pusher whispered hotly, showing rotten teeth.
- First grade, no bullshit! The purest powder, I'm not one of those who add salt or soda there! Here, try it yourself! Such a thrill! - he pulled back the floor of his cloak and pulled out a tight bag filled with white powder from a bottomless inner pocket.
- Uh-huh ... - Black took the bag in his hand, estimated the weight. - Tell me, do you push this to teenagers too?
- And what am I? - the pusher got tired, lost from his strict tone. - Everyone does that ... You have to live on something ...
“Of course,” John nodded sarcastically. - You have to live, and you have not thought of anything better than selling powdered sugar to minors. And how will they live, did you think? Have you thought about children who, by your mercy, will have tooth decay ?!
Pusher squeaked something and backed away into the driveway, but Black was already firmly holding his cloak.
“So, so,” John announced, looking into shifting eyes. - In an amicable way, of course, we need to hand you over to the cops, but now I have better things to do. So I can let you go if you tell me who you work for.
- On Jack Bormashina ... - the pusher squeezed out of himself.
“To the dentist,” John nodded, satisfied. - I thought so.
Okay, get out. But if you fall into this business again ...
- Never again, mister! Honest word! - exclaimed the pusher, hiding in the darkness.
John walked on. The street ended in a dead end, resting against a blank concrete fence. Black uncovered his gear. The crossbow silently threw the steel "cat" onto the crest of the wall, and John, pulling the rope, climbed up. In a few seconds, he had already landed on the other side of the fence. And then he saw two hefty dogs in spiked collars, rushing straight to him.
But for this he was ready. Reaching into the ammunition pouch, he threw a bone at each dog. The dogs stopped, wagging their tails, and began to eat. John climbed over some crates and dived into a narrow alley where no window looked out. He had almost reached the exit when his intuition made him turn around. So it is - the third dog was chasing him, the most hefty of all.
Black put his hand into the pouch and with horror realized that the bones were out. He started to run, but the dog overtook him in two leaps. John held his breath as he realized what was about to happen. Of course - the dog put its front paws on his shoulders and began to lick in the face!
- Phew, bad dog, phew! - John fought back, realizing that with each polysis he was losing points. At the exit of the alley, he noticed a baseball bat lying on the ground. Very handy, just to get there ... Literally dragging the dog on him, he took a few more steps and grabbed the bat. Waving it in front of the dog's nose, John threw it across the alley. The dog happily ran after the "stick", and Black got the opportunity to escape.
Turning the corner, he found himself in front of a building that looked much more respectable than the other houses in the quarter. The entrance was obscured by an imposing shaven-headed fellow in a tuxedo and bow tie.
“Good afternoon, sir,” said the fellow. - My name is Bob. Can I help you?
“Please tell me,” John inquired, “is this the residence of the Big Boss of the Mafia?
“Quite right, sir.
- Thanks sir. In that case, may I ask you to let me inside?
“You can, sir,” Bob said, not moving.
“Please let me inside, sir,” John said.
“I can't, sir,” the Thug sighed. “I'm sorry, but I am, in some way, the guard of the Big Boss of the Mafia and should not let strangers to him. Nothing personal, sir - that's my job, you know.
“But the thing is, I really need to get in,” John said.
“I don’t even know what to tell you, sir,” he scratched the back of the Thug's head with an embarrassed hand. - Maybe you will come another time?
- And next time you will miss me? John asked hopefully. Actually, though, he hoped to complete the mission today.
“No, sir,” the Thug sighed even more sadly.
- In that case, sir, with all due respect, I am forced to enter into single combat with you.
“As you please, sir,” the Thug spread his hands.
- With your permission, I will strike first, - John did not lose the initiative. - Washington.
- New York.
- Kansas City.
- Indianapolis.
- San Francisco.
- Oregon.
“I'm sorry sir, but Oregon is a state, not a city.
- Uh ... - Thug wondered. - Well then, Ontario.
“Unfortunately, sir, Ontario is a lake.
- Mmm ... - Thrasher blushed deeply. - Now, now ... Oklahoma!
“I'm truly sorry to disappoint you, sir, but Oklahoma is a state too.
- Uh ... mmm ... - The thug fixed his gaze somewhere inside himself. - I know, I know ... now I will remember ...
While he was muttering this, John sideways bypassed him and slipped through the door.
Behind the door was a winding corridor, which, at the very first turn, branched out into three. John chose the left and soon ran into another fork. He realized that he was in a labyrinth, and it would not be easy to find his way without a map. For some time he wandered through the half-dark corridors, looking around, until heavy footsteps were heard ahead. Black barely had time to run back and hide around the corner.
The footsteps, however, drew nearer. John realized that the meeting was inevitable, and prepared himself. They did not have to wait long: from around the corner appeared a hefty carcass, dressed in armor weighing the size of a small armored personnel carrier. John's hopes of sneaking past while the carcass would fit into the U-turn was not justified: the battleship braked surprisingly sharply - apparently, the physical model was still not as good as advertised - and his disproportionately small head stared at the intruder with pig's eyes.
“Good afternoon, sir,” John said hastily.
- Who it? - the battleship barked in response.
“John Black,” John smiled broadly.
- What do you want here? - the carcass advanced menacingly.
“Map of the maze,” Black answered honestly.
- I won't, - stated the battleship after a short thought.
- Why? John asked curiously.
- Firstly, because you are an outsider, and I am supposed to protect the Big Boss from outsiders, - the battleship explained judiciously, - and secondly, if I give you the map, then how will I find my way from here?
“It makes sense,” Black admitted, “but I know the code word.
- Which?
- You are welcome.
The pig-eyed face broke into a smile.
- What didn't you say right away? Keep the card.
- Thank you, - John thanked and, unfolding the map, ran into the depths of the maze. The battleship, after a little thought, rushed after him, but without a map he quickly fell behind.
Things went better with the map. John made it safely through the maze,
avoiding dangerous traps (in one place he was almost doused with ink and in two more he could fall, caught on a wire stretched over the floor), and went out into the corridor leading straight to the elevator. The elevator doors, however, were guarded by an ominous Japanese man with a Yakuza, Inc. badge pinned to his kimono. His narrow eyes darted toward John with the speed of a samurai sword. Now everything was decided by speed and accuracy. In a split second, Black grabbed and, with a graceful throw, sent his throwing weapon flying. Brochure Violence Is Not the Way to Solve Problems! with a whistle, she sliced ​​the air and stabbed the Japanese exactly between the fingers of her right hand. He immediately began reading and, three seconds later, unimpeded, allowed John to enter the elevator.
Black took the elevator, but knew it was too early to relax. And for sure: as soon as the doors opened, he found himself nose to nose with a pumped-up girl, covered in black leather with spikes and balanced on five-inch stilettos. The girl was spinning a battle broom over her head, splattered with something red (presumably, ketchup). Terrible Lizzie-Dizzy, personal cleaning lady and bodyguard of the Big Boss of the Mafia! But John was not at a loss here either. With a lightning movement, he handed her a bouquet of flowers, and then, before she had time to recover, he finished the job with two boxes of chocolates.
“Boss at home,” Lizzie purred, jumping to the side.
Now there was nothing left to do - to overcome the personal secretary of Big Boss at the entrance to the office. The secretary was bald and thin and looked the most civilized, but John knew he was a certified maniac.
- Excuse me, sir, are you assigned? - inquired the secretary, ominously toying with nail scissors.
“Yes, of course,” John replied calmly.
- May I know your name?
- Allow me: John Black.
The secretary opened a leather folder and consulted a piece of paper pinned into it.
“I’m sorry sir, but you’re not on the list.
- How is it not? - John was surprised. - Let me see.
The secretary readily handed him the folder. Black took a picture of the Big Boss's guest list, and then pointed his finger at one of the lines:
- Well, here I am!
“Yes, but it says Pete White here, sir,” the secretary remarked, as if by the way snapping a pair of scissors.
"Typo," John explained.
- Aaa, - the secretary got bored and removed the scissors. - I beg your pardon, sir. Come on in.
Which John did immediately. Big Boss sat in a bulletproof vest at his bulletproof table and puffed on a bulletproof cigarette case.
- Big Boss of the Mafia! - John exclaimed solemnly, locking the door behind him. - I have come to put an end to your crimes!
- Indeed? Big Boss inquired, shifting the cigar to the opposite corner of his mouth.
- Yes! I came to tell you that you are doing wrong! And you should be ashamed!
“Hmm ...” Big Boss's face was filled with confusion.
- Breaking the law is not fair! - John developed the offensive, feeling that with every phrase he was gaining points. - All respectable citizens of America look at you with condemnation!
“I think you're exaggerating,” Big Boss muttered, but it was clear that his defenses had already been broken.
And at that moment a stamp was heard behind, and someone large began to burst into the office.
“But even for you, all is not lost! - Hastily moved on to the final part, John, apprehensively looking back at the door shuddering under the blows. - You can still apologize and start an honest life!
- Truth? Big Boss asked hopefully, and at that moment the door flew off its hinges with a crunch.
In the doorway, panting, was Tough Bob.
- Oklahoma City! he announced triumphantly.
- Johnny, son! - came a voice from another world in the ensuing silence. - Stop playing, you'll be late for school!
- Right now, ma! - answered with annoyance John, frantically trying
remember some city with "I". In this place, they will not be allowed to enroll, if you quit the game now, you will have to start again from the entrance to the office ...
- John, your mother! Did you hear what your mom told you ?! Now grab your black ass and drag it to this fucking school while you can still walk down this fucking street!
- Okay, damn it, I'm coming! - John pounded "Esc" in annoyance and pulled off his virtual helmet. When the mother starts to get angry, it is better not to argue with her - you will be more whole. Moreover, she is right. So far, only rare single shots have clicked outside the window - most of the members of the street gangs have slept off after a night of squabbles - but soon it will really be impossible to get to the school without a tank. And the family had no money for a tank.
John put on a bulletproof vest, a helmet, thought it would be better to take a Magnum or a Colt to school, and decided that both would do the trick. Having stuffed the clips into his pockets, he put on a satchel (no, but additional back protection) and went down to the first floor. Mrs. Black was already waiting for him at the exit, attaching the grenade to the M16.
“Come on, kid, I'll cover it,” she said, peering cautiously through the crack in the door. - Short dashes to the corner, then behind the truck. And look, don't try to buy some weed in the driveway! They have bullshit, not goods.
- Don't teach a scientist! - snapped John, taking out the Magnum.
- How do you talk to your mother? - Mrs. Black was indignant. - Look, I'll tell my father everything!
- Well, tell me, so what? All the same, he has a life sentence! - Dodging a slap in the face, John jumped out into the street and, bending down, zigzagged to the corner. Shots rang out from somewhere to the right; Mrs. Black gave a queue there.
"Completely out of hand," she thought disapprovingly, quickly inserting a new store. "And what kind of young people are they? I suppose it's all because of these stupid computer games!"

Sanchez Ramirez,
SpoilerStation Dry Kanava dozed in the snowdrifts. Steam locomotives whistled listlessly in the depot. A cloudy and calm winter day flowed in the railway village.

Everything that is available to the eye (as they say),

Sleeps, appreciating peace ...

At that time, a shabby cart, mysteriously wrapped in a tarpaulin, crawled to the railway shop, like a thief. A person in a sheepskin coat was sitting on the tarpaulin, and the aforementioned person, having driven up to the shop, winked mysteriously. Two boring people sticking out at the door suddenly had a seizure. The first dived into his pocket, and the clink of silver announced the surroundings. The second danced on the spot and wheezed:

- Vanka, don't be a bastard, give sixty-two rubles! ..

- Jump off me instantly! - answered Vanka, unlocked the door of the shop with a bang and disappeared into it.

The person who brought the cart laughed voluptuously and said:

- Did you miss, kids?

A man in a dirty apron jumped out of the shop and howled:

“What the hell are you doing on the main street? Couldn't go around the gardens?

- Agarods ... There are snowdrifts, - the person began to snap back and did not finish. A citizen rushed past her without a hat and with empty bottles in his hand.

With a victorious cry: "Number one - hurray !!!!" he got stuck in the doorway with a second citizen in an apron, which citizen weighed to him:

- You are dead! Well, where is it taking you? You will get up to number two! You will be in time! Thaddeus is the first, he was on duty for two days.

Number three was flying at that time on the way to the shop and, thumping with his fists at all the windows, shouted:

- Brothers, they brought cleaned it! ..

The gates slammed.

Number four popped out of the gate and splashed to the bench, fastening the suspenders as it went. The fifth number pressed into the shop, master Lukyan, ahead of the local deacon by half of the corps (number six). The seventh came in a beautiful finish, Sidorov's wife, the eighth - Sidorov himself, the ninth - Pelagein's nephew, who threw five fathoms of the tenth - the assistant chief of the Kolochuk station, who showed 32 versts per hour, the eleventh - an unknown person in an old Red Army hat, and the twelfth person in an apron dropped off the door, barking:

- Organize on the street!

* * *

The settlement turned out to be both busy and lively. It was black and black around the shop. A confused old woman with a bottle of vegetable oil rushed from the flank into an organized line with repeated attacks.

- Anathemas! I don’t need your vodka, let me get some meat for dinner! she shouted like a cavalry trumpet.

- What kind of meat is there! - answered the queue. - There is the old woman with the meat!

- Spit, Pakhomovna, - said a woman's voice from the ravine, - now you can't do anything! Teperich until the vodka

is taken apart ... - Eye, eye blow out, where are you going!

- In queue!

- Throw this in a hat, he climbed on the side!

- You yourself are a bastard!

- Comrades, be conscious!

- Oh, not enough ...

- I ask you not to push, I am the head of the station!

- As for vodka - I'm the boss myself!

- You are an alcoholic, not a boss!

* * *

The door opened every second, a certain man with a happy face and with two bottles squeezed out of it, and the other was pressed outside with empty bottles. Three men in aprons, wiping sweat, dragged bottles with wax heads from boxes with nests, accepted money.

- Two bottles.

- Three twenty four! the apron yelled. - What else?

- Four herrings ...

- No herrings!

- Sausages one and a half pounds ...

- Vasya, is there any sausage left?

- Out!

- The sausage is gone, it's out!

- So what is there?

- Russian-Swiss cheese, Dutch cheese ...

- Give Russian-Dutch half a pound ...

- Thirty-two kopecks? Three fifty six! Change forty-four kopecks! Next!

- Two bottles ...

- What kind of snack?

- Whatever you want. My darling

is exhausted ... - There is nothing but tooth powder.

- Give two boxes of tooth powder!

- I do not want your calico!

- We don't give out without a snack.

- What are you, crazy, what kind of chintz snack?

- As you wish ...

- So that you eat chintz in the next world!

- I ask you not to swear!

- I do not swear, I only mean that you are pigs! You can't, you can't really feed the people with calico!

- Comrade, do not delay!

Number two hundred and fifteen received two bottles and a pound of blue, two hundred and sixteenth - two bottles and a bottle of cologne, two hundred and seventeenth - two bottles and five pounds of black bread, two hundred and eighteenth - two bottles and two pieces of the fragrance of the Virgin toilet soap, two hundred and nineteenth - two and a pound of stearin candles, two hundred and twentieth - two and socks, and two hundred and twenty-first - got a shish.

The aprons suddenly gasped with joy and shouted:

- All!

After that, an inscription "No clarified wine" jumped out on the window, and the crowd on the street answered with a soft groan ...

* * *

In the evening, drifts lay quietly, and a lantern blinked at the station. The windows of the houses were shining, and a figure walked along the beaten street and sang softly, swaying:

Everything that is accessible to the eye here,

Sleeps, appreciating peace ...

1925

Obsessed
Gygy, "Chernyava Friday", oil painting! A hundred years have passed, but progress - well, no!

Sanchez Ramirez, but we don’t wet our homies for the runes !!! Russian girl - POWER !!! 1

Obsessed was the
topic that the secret services are worried about terrorists in online games, so everything is not so simple. Perhaps our runes are used to recruit militants!

Nurp
No, first of all the Americans are to blame - after all, they are the ones who develop psychotronic weapons (that is, ichors) in their bowels of zone 51.

the topic of
Sweety_Mustard flashed, hmm .. if this crap blooms, the folk will clean up more sharply than any firm here ..)

Black Future, convey, plzz, this idea to the "Colonel's throne", let them ban their games, we will arrange pvp in Cossacks and Truckers; - )

An American killed a friend due to a conflict in the game Diablo 2
Andrew Dickson's ear, 34 lvl

Sweety_Mustard Shaw
now only for kt to play?

bd_sm [TDPG]
put on balaclava and everything will be ok
Spoiler