While Eggplant, Rusty, Winter Melon, and Benny were tearing it up on Twitch, raking in gifts and hyping the chat, Old Horse's stream was stealing the show!
Unlike Eggplant's wild ups and downs, Old Horse was Mr. Reliable—crashing a flight every ten minutes like clockwork!
"Hey—kiddo, you good? You good?"
Bullets pinged off his jeep, clang-clang-clang.
The hood sparked, fire licking up. Old Horse, perched on a hill, knew one more hit would blow it sky-high. No time to brake—he shoved the door open, flipped out with a slick roll, and yanked a rifle from his back. Knees bent, he unleashed a burst toward the house spitting lead!
Rat-tat-tat! Rat-tat-tat-tat!
Muzzle flashed, shells scattered like confetti.
The brakeless jeep slid downhill, and Old Horse used it as cover, weaving and firing like a one-man army. Chat went wild!
"Freaking genius teamwork!"
Old Horse grinned at the comments. "This? Just improv. Always use the battlefield's cover, folks."
The jeep hit asphalt, picking up speed. Old Horse sprinted to keep up, still yapping: "Like now, we're gliding with the jeep—"
Clang!
The jeep hit a rock, lurching wildly. It swung an arc, rear bumper whipping back—straight at Old Horse!
"What the—!"
He screamed as the jeep smashed him, launching him like a ragdoll.
You ran yourself over with a vehicle.
Chat erupted—
"Holy crap, Old Horse!"
"Best show ever!"
"That jeep just mooned him!"
"Live legend!"
"Jeep said, 'Gotcha!' (lol)."
"Old Horse's cursed!"
"Screw this, I'm dying laughing!"
"Outrageous…"
"Clip it, this is gold!"
Fans howled, and Old Horse chuckled: "Heh—dang, that's a rough one."
Gifts flooded his Twitch—pure chaos.
But Old Horse brushed it off. Over an hour, he'd parachuted a dozen times, dying every way possible. Chat knew he wasn't faking—he was just that bad.
After a quick reset, Old Horse hopped back on the plane. Twitch opened betting odds: could he survive ten minutes this game?
Buzz—hula!
The plane soared over P City. Old Horse seized his moment and jumped.
He plummeted, tweaked his angle, and popped his chute just above the ground. His aim was trash, but skydiving? The guy had died so much, he'd mastered it.
Chat marveled—
"Old Horse's chute game is unreal."
"Dang, he's here while others are still floating!"
"Extreme athlete vibes."
"If he keeps this up, he'll skydive in his sleep."
"Haha, you guys are brutal!"
"Always P City, same house—like muscle memory."
"Precise landing! Way better than Eggplant's clown show."
"Missing Eggplant's chaos tho."
But as chat praised his skydiving, plop!
Another chute folded on the rooftop's far end!
"What—?"
Even Old Horse froze. He thought his skydiving was unmatched, but someone else landed with him. Who's this pro?
He glanced over.
A female player with twin ponytails touched down, rolled, and snatched an S686 double-barreled shotgun!
Before Old Horse could blink—
Bang! Bang!
The shotgun—players called it the "spray gun"—was a close-range beast. The S686 could one-shot through armor.
But Old Horse's HUD showed full health. She missed!
He grinned, grabbing an S12K shotgun. Click. Loaded.
"Oh, kiddo, you done? My turn!"
Boom-boom-boom!
Five shots roared, muzzle jumping, smoke thick. When it cleared, Muffin stood—full health!
Both froze.
Then, they leaped, twisting to reload, and fired again!
Gunshots echoed across the rooftop. They chased each other, circling the lone low wall like a cartoon brawl!
Bang-bang!
Boom-boom-boom!
Click-click!
Bang-bang!
Boom-boom-boom!
Click-click!
Chat was floored—
"What?!"
"PUBG players, explain this!"
"Perfect match! Equal skill!"
"My turn to shine (with a shotgun)."
"Fast landing, zero aim."
"She's got moves, just no bullets."
"Race to miss!"
"Even a talent scout would call this a draw."
"Chef's kiss for chaos."
"Can't take this—my sides hurt!"
"Growing rice in my mouth!"
"Rice cooker's on autopilot!"
"Two chefs cooking a masterpiece!"
"New Year's dance-off!"
"What's this duo nonsense?"
"Starving over here!"
"Hahahaha…"
The absurdity blew up Twitch!
They battled for half a minute, shots ringing out like a warzone. Players below gawked, thinking a squad was clashing upstairs!
Finally, Old Horse fired his last shell—
Boom!
Muffin collapsed into a loot box.
"Phew!" Old Horse eyed his smoking S12K. "Skill wins."
He stepped to loot, but a childlike voice piped up on the public mic, full of awe: "Dang, your dodging's insane! Teach me? I'm a news anchor! I'll get you on TV!"
Her slight Southern accent was cute, almost comical.
Old Horse blinked, glancing at his 50 million Twitch views. He smirked: "Really? What's your name? Got a stream I can check?"
"Search 'Muffin' on Twitch!"
She chirped: "I'm new, but I'll blow up soon! Be my coach now, and you'll ride my coattails later!"
Muffin's pitch cracked Old Horse up. He opened his mouth to introduce himself—honest guy move.
But chat exploded—
"Don't spill, Old Horse!"
"Keep it secret! This is gold!"
"Love the 'pig eats tiger' vibe!"
"Rockets for silence, please!"
"Crab gift! Big spender!"
"Hush money, dang!"
"Buddy Sparrow's the MVP!"
The barrage snapped Old Horse back. He nodded: "Thanks—Buddy Sparrow for the rocket swarm, you're the boss."
He flicked on the public mic: "Checked your stream—looks promising. Alright, let's team up. I, Grassland Viper, won't let you down, kid."
"Yay!" Muffin cheered in her stream.
She'd streamed Alliance on Twitch for a year, barely hitting 100 viewers. PUBG's launch drew her to its hype, so she joined Twitch's new anchor program, diving into the FPS battle royale.
But her skills were rough. Skydiving, dying, repeat—everyone outgunned her.
Still, Muffin kept at it, hunting for a coach in-game. Most ignored her small stream; some even trashed her.
Until now.
She found a kind player. Sure, his aim sucked, but he beat her—proof he was better!
"Heh, got a coach! We're rolling!" Muffin beamed.
She missed her stream's views spiking from 500 to 100,000—and climbing fast.
Soon, they teamed up!
Chat buzzed with hype—
"Match of the century!"
"Brace for chaos!"
"Strongest duo on Twitch!"
"Old Horse's at 50 million views! Nuts!"
"Dang, Muffin's nearing 500K—she's about to pop off!"
"Start already! I'm starving for this!"
"Electronic mustard vibes!"
"Recording for the hall of fame…"
Two shotgun-wielding chefs, missing 50 shots at ten meters, now teaming up? The stream effect was unreal.
They boarded the plane.
Buzz!
The engine roared. Muffin eyed her Grassland Viper coach, feeling pumped: "Coach! Where we jumping?"
The plane's path veered southwest, missing their usual P City route.
Old Horse marked a cluster of small houses south of P City: "Here first. Loot up, then storm P City for the big win!"
"Sweet!" Muffin nodded. "Coach calls the shots!"
They locked eyes and leaped.
Their skydiving was pure art—graceful, precise. Among Twitch anchors, their chutes were unmatched.
Rustle!
They zoomed toward the houses.
But nearby, another duo glided to the same spot. A voice crackled on the public mic: "This area's ours. Scram, or catch the next flight."
Claiming houses to block P City was a classic move.
But these guys didn't clock Old Horse and Muffin's skydiving skills.
"Pfft!" Muffin scoffed, her kid-like voice cutting through: "Right back at ya! Run now—my coach and I are beasts!"
"Haha, kid stuff!" the duo laughed. "We're the Erangel Enforcers—unbeatable in the wild. Give us a gun, and we'll shred any house area! What's your trick?"
Old Horse fist-bumped the air: "Oh, Rex and Hank? Respect! Heard you mow down wild zones with one gun, but—can you even grab one?"
He cackled, diving faster.
Muffin matched him, smooth as silk.
"What the—?!"
Rex and Hank froze. Were these two nuts? Nearing the ground, no chutes, just speeding down.
To grab a gun, you need to live, right?
The Erangel Enforcers panicked: "Joke's on you! That speed? You won't even pull your chute!"
They chickened out, popping their chutes to slow down, thinking Old Horse and Muffin were toast.
But then—
Whoosh! Whoosh!
Two chutes snapped open, hanging for a split second before folding on a house's rooftop!
The timing was surgical. Old Horse and Muffin owned the drop.
Rustle!
They landed—Old Horse with a submachine gun, Muffin with a shotgun.
Muzzles aimed at Rex and Hank, still floating.
"Hey? Hey, hey, hey!" the Erangel Enforcers yelped, realizing they'd picked a fight with skydiving gods.
They were sharp shooters, sure, but like Old Horse said—ya need a gun first.
Old Horse smirked: "Yo, kiddos, feeling rough?"
Rat-tat-tat!
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Gunfire lit up the houses as Rex and Hank screamed—
"Shameless! Dirty! Let us grab a gun!"
"You'll pay for sniping paratroopers!"
"No morals—screw this!"