"We're done! Let's roll!"
8 PM! PUBG went live!
After wiping his mouth with a curtain—a classic Eggplant move—Liu Peijia tossed his bowl, ditching chopsticks to dive into his somatosensory cabin.
In the Twitch voice channel, Rusty, Winter Melon, and Benny were locked and loaded.
"Here we go…" Eggplant muttered, frantic, buying and downloading PUBG. "Gimme a sec to finish eating."
With killer bandwidth, the somatosensory cabin's dedicated line smoked any PC download speed.
"Quit yapping and log in!" Rusty barked. "We're waiting!"
Soon enough, Eggplant's download finished, and he jumped into the game.
"I'm good! Pull me in, pull me in!"
The game hadn't even started, but Eggplant and his crew were already hyped to the moon.
They'd waited five dang months, drooling over promo images like every other player.
The Twitch chat exploded—
"It's freaking Christmas!"
"Holy crap, it's here! I'm done waiting!"
"That 16+ rating is perfect, nailed it."
"Dang, everyone with a cabin's playing, leaving us broke folks to watch Twitch."
"Male college student, crying in the corner."
"Checked yesterday—Wuhu's somatosensory bar gets PUBG tomorrow!"
"Just wanna see the skydiving."
"Eggplant's squad is the fastest on Twitch. No other streamers have started."
"Hurry! Other anchors'll steal the views!"
"Speed, speed!"
Under chat's pressure, Eggplant, Rusty, Winter Melon, and Benny formed a squad.
"Ready, ready, ready—"
"Let's do this!"
Eggplant's shout kicked it off!
The Twitch chat went wild, gifts flooding—coins, planes, rockets. Even FPS fans, usually stingy, were tossing cash like confetti.
And this was just the lobby!
The screen flashed.
The four landed in an abandoned square.
Eggplant looked up.
A wrecked plane sat in a massive square, twice a football field's size, hills to the east, sea to the west—a perfect prep zone.
Nearly a hundred players swarmed!
Some sprinted and jumped, others practiced crawling or sliding. A few traded friendly punches, while others hopped around the plane.
The public mic was a circus.
"Screw this, there's like a hundred people!"
"We parachuting soon or getting random spawns?"
"Eat my fist, loser! Haha!"
"Yo, everyone, check me out—I'm an idiot!"
"Got no one you care about?"
"You're brutal, bro."
"The internet ain't lawless…"
"16+ game, all about freedom."
"Hot dang—" Rusty gasped. "This is insane! Are they all real?"
"Of course!" Benny said. "See the HUD? Full at 100 players. Servers must be screaming."
"Goose, goose, goose!" Eggplant honked, itching to fight.
Real people! A hundred-player brawl! One team standing!
His heart raced. An idea hit. He sprinted to the plane's wing, climbed up, and bellowed, "Listen up!"
His voice boomed, turning heads.
From the wing, Eggplant raised his arms. "I'm the king! From now on, I kill everyone I see! Step up and get smoked!"
A cannon blast thundered.
A countdown flashed on everyone's HUD.
Eggplant roared, "I never change my name—I'm Winter! Freaking! Melon!"
Buzz!
The square erupted!
Players raised fists, chanting "Winter Melon!" and rushed Eggplant, ready to brawl.
But the countdown hit zero.
Screens went black, mics cut.
Winter Melon's voice echoed in team chat: "Eggplant, you idiot! What the hell?!"
Chat lost it—
"Liu Peijia's such a clown!"
"That 'Winter Melon' line killed me."
"He's the showoff, but his boys take the hits."
"Too cheap!"
"Eggplant knows how to hype."
"This ain't human!"
"This Quality Square's wild!"
"Haha, no wife in wife cake, no quality in Quality Square. Checks out."
Winter Melon cursed in team chat for half a minute.
Then, a plane engine roared.
Hiss!
The squad shut up, gasping in sync.
A gust hit, and their eyes snapped open.
They stood at the cabin door, just like the trailer—ten thousand meters up!
"Whoa!" the cabin roared.
Players knew skydiving was coming, but seeing it? Mind-blowing.
Chat went nuts—
"Holy crap, we're jumping!"
"WindyPeak's killing it!"
"Nobody gets players like Gus Harper."
"Jump already, show the goods!"
"This jump's worth the price."
"Skydiving's enough, and they threw in a shooter? I'm crying."
"Jealous as hell, I can't play…"
Urged on, the four eyed each other, pumped.
Players were already leaping, and the sooner they jumped, the better the loot.
"Where to?" Benny asked, pulling up the map.
The plane flew west to east, cutting central.
"Uh…" Rusty said. "P City. Tons of houses, probably stacked with gear."
P City, mid-map, had a big residential zone under their route. Perfect for a first run.
They nodded and locked in.
"Let's roll!" Rusty shouted, diving out.
The others followed, wind screaming in their ears as buildings grew below.
The weightlessness hit like adrenaline, making them yell.
"Wuhu!"
"Holy crap, this is dope!"
"Like real skydiving!"
Their hands hovered over parachute pulls.
But nobody budged.
"Rusty, open your chute!" Winter Melon yelled.
"We're playing extreme. You scared?" Rusty shot back.
"Scared of nothing! Let's see who opens last!"
"Bring it! Last to pull wins!"
"I ain't pulling today!"
Chat cracked up—
"Peak bravado."
"Nobody resists 'you're the man.'"
"Extreme sports? More like a steal at $98."
"What's this insane game?"
"You four ain't pulling?!"
"They're gonna hit the ground!"
The squad's faces paled.
The full-sensory system made skydiving feel real. The rushing ground and wind screams spooked them, game or not.
Benny cracked first. "Screw you, Rusty, pull!"
"I pull, you pull!" Rusty snapped.
"You first!"
"No, you!"
"I ain't pulling till you do!"
"Same!"
"You freaking repeater!"
The standoff heated up.
Eggplant broke, screaming, "Screw this, I'm pulling!"
Whoosh!
His chute opened. Winter Melon followed.
Rusty and Benny grinned, relieved. "Haha, they chickened out, we win—"
Bang! Bang! Snap!
Two thuds hit the roof, bodies bouncing off railings, sprawling below as corpses.
Hula!
Eggplant and Winter Melon landed, eyeing the two boxes on the roof and bodies below.
Eggplant shook his head. "…You idiots. I'm done."
Chat roared—
"Strong till they splat."
"Extreme sports, not suicide."
"That's ridiculous!"
"Over before it began."
"Here to skydive, huh?"
"Skydiving needs a chute, right?"
"Boxed up on landing."
"Dead on arrival, haha…"
Fans laughed their heads off.
Eggplant and Winter Melon folded their chutes. Then Winter Melon yelled, "Holy crap, Eggplant, look!"
Figures darted through P City's streets. Gunshots echoed, a killing frenzy unfolding.
From the rooftop, they saw it all—fights, blood, roars.
It lit their nerves on fire.
No doubt, Gus Harper delivered.
His Tokyo promises—100 players, chaos, survival—came alive.
One mission: kill and become the island's king.
Crackling!
Footsteps below.
A crew-cut player in a white vest slipped into the building.
Winter Melon yelped, "Eggplant, someone's coming!"
Eggplant's blood surged. "Screw it, get him! Go, go, go!"
Their teammates were gone, but two-on-one? Easy.
They kicked open the rooftop door, charging downstairs.
Eggplant led, rounding a corner to face the crew-cut guy.
Both froze, then swung fists—no guns yet.
"Pound him! He's alone!" Eggplant roared, swinging.
Winter Melon followed, no morals, yelling as he joined.
Bang! Pop! Boom!
Fists flew in the stairwell.
"Oh crap, stop, I'm a streamer…" the crew-cut guy pleaded.
Twenty seconds later, the noise stopped.
The crew-cut guy stood, glaring at Winter Melon cowering in the corner, twisting his neck.
At his feet, Eggplant's corpse and box lay still.
Winter Melon eyed the boxer's massive fists, forcing a smile. "Haha, bro… you got him, so we're cool, right?"
The boxer stepped forward. "Winter Melon, huh? Been sick of you since the square. Let's go!"
Bang!