Oath. They're the most fun, though, IMO -- not that I did much better with hit-scan (it was actually the first time I had used hit-scan since before they added the imperial fighter). The last time I was playing regularly, it wasn't impossible to take a barrel roll with rapid cannons, but, yeah, I wasn't ever going to get you with plasmas. I'm not sure how many matches it was going to take to get you with hit-scan. You're -- really good at CQC. That was excellent, mixed with humbling, mixed with frustrating. GG.
AI wrote this for me in the style of Hemingway.
In the blistering vastness of the cosmos, where the stars winked like distant beacons of hope and the void swallowed all sense of time, there existed a world within a world—a place known as the CQC, where pilots of all stripes dueled among the constellations. Among them, there was one they called Glamis.
Glamis, an average pilot, could be found on the fringes of this otherworldly arena, forever entangled in the ethereal dance of starships. He flew, not with the finesse of a virtuoso, but with the gritty determination of a man trying to outwit the cruel hand of fate. His every move, a testament to his average skill, was steeped in the notion of survival.
Yet, in this celestial arena, where glory was measured in shipwrecks and skill, Glamis bore a bitter feud with another pilot known as Musketeer. Musketeer, a master of the art of starship combat, was revered and feared in equal measure. He danced through the black expanse like a wraith, his ship an extension of his very being. He was the embodiment of the elite.
Glamis, on the other hand, harbored a dislike for Musketeer that ran as deep as the cosmic abyss. It was not that he begrudged the man his skill, but rather the ruthless manner in which Musketeer wielded it. He was merciless, a reaper of starships, showing no quarter to those who dared challenge him.
One day, amid the pulsating hum of their ship engines and the kaleidoscope of laser fire, Glamis made a plea. He sent out a message to the stars, a desperate plea for compassion and understanding. "Let the better pilots go easy on the newcomers," he implored, "so that we might nurture a new generation of spacefarers."
But Musketeer, with a heart as cold and unyielding as the blackest void, paid no heed to Glamis' request. Instead, he continued to slaughter the new players with merciless precision, their ships disintegrating into cosmic dust.
Glamis watched, his heart heavy with despair, as the fledgling pilots were torn apart, their dreams of mastering the stars crushed in an instant. He knew that the dream of building a community, of fostering a camaraderie among pilots, was slipping through his fingers like stardust.
In the end, Glamis was but a solitary starship adrift in a vast, unforgiving galaxy. He had sought to mend the rift between skill and inexperience, to bridge the gap between the masters and the novices. But in the unyielding darkness of space, his words were but echoes, lost to the cosmic winds.
And so, the feud between Glamis and Musketeer raged on, a testament to the stark realities of the CQC, where the strong thrived and the weak perished, and where the dreams of building a brighter future were eclipsed by the relentless pursuit of victory in the endless expanse of the cosmos.
In the blistering vastness of the cosmos, where the stars winked like distant beacons of hope and the void swallowed all sense of time, there existed a world within a world—a place known as the CQC, where pilots of all stripes dueled among the constellations. Among them, there was one they called Glamis.
Glamis, an average pilot, could be found on the fringes of this otherworldly arena, forever entangled in the ethereal dance of starships. He flew, not with the finesse of a virtuoso, but with the gritty determination of a man trying to outwit the cruel hand of fate. His every move, a testament to his average skill, was steeped in the notion of survival.
Yet, in this celestial arena, where glory was measured in shipwrecks and skill, Glamis bore a bitter feud with another pilot known as Musketeer. Musketeer, a master of the art of starship combat, was revered and feared in equal measure. He danced through the black expanse like a wraith, his ship an extension of his very being. He was the embodiment of the elite.
Glamis, on the other hand, harbored a dislike for Musketeer that ran as deep as the cosmic abyss. It was not that he begrudged the man his skill, but rather the ruthless manner in which Musketeer wielded it. He was merciless, a reaper of starships, showing no quarter to those who dared challenge him.
One day, amid the pulsating hum of their ship engines and the kaleidoscope of laser fire, Glamis made a plea. He sent out a message to the stars, a desperate plea for compassion and understanding. "Let the better pilots go easy on the newcomers," he implored, "so that we might nurture a new generation of spacefarers."
But Musketeer, with a heart as cold and unyielding as the blackest void, paid no heed to Glamis' request. Instead, he continued to slaughter the new players with merciless precision, their ships disintegrating into cosmic dust.
Glamis watched, his heart heavy with despair, as the fledgling pilots were torn apart, their dreams of mastering the stars crushed in an instant. He knew that the dream of building a community, of fostering a camaraderie among pilots, was slipping through his fingers like stardust.
In the end, Glamis was but a solitary starship adrift in a vast, unforgiving galaxy. He had sought to mend the rift between skill and inexperience, to bridge the gap between the masters and the novices. But in the unyielding darkness of space, his words were but echoes, lost to the cosmic winds.
And so, the feud between Glamis and Musketeer raged on, a testament to the stark realities of the CQC, where the strong thrived and the weak perished, and where the dreams of building a brighter future were eclipsed by the relentless pursuit of victory in the endless expanse of the cosmos.
neat little story! Pretty relatable as well hehe, I understand he sentiment. Was that ChatGPT or some of those other ones? Ive been thinking which would be best for some simple writing like this.
On the topic of Musk, yes it sucks but let's also be real, he's more of a symptom than a cause. In any somewhat balanced environment, 1 or even just a few players wouldnt be able to totally bring it down from really enjoyable to borderline unplayable for most people. The cause is sadly kind of an ignore from FDEv's side, the mechanics in CQC, mainly some PUs are simply way too easy to take advantage of. Still, it's awesomely fun gamemode, I wish FDEV would revisit it and give it some love. Sadly they rarely do that; even in main game.
Oh, Musky, is there any question
It was ChatGPT - I was just playing around to see how well it worked. It really was done in jest - Musky took it personally - guess I hit a raw nerve.
I play a lot of online chess these days - where there are tons of players - and when I play in online tournaments I join groups "at my level" - which is "not that good." That's a long winded way of saying the issue with CQC isn't Musky (or any of the really good players) it's the small user base that results in players of all levels stuck in the same pool. If there were a hundred CQC pilots online at the same time, and if the servers could handle itOh, Musky, is there any question
It was ChatGPT - I was just playing around to see how well it worked. It really was done in jest - Musky took it personally - guess I hit a raw nerve.
, then the lower players would be sorted together and feel competitive, and the top players would get to show their stuff against strong competition.
I like the picture