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A hapless soul—a player dim.
He runs in circles, trips on rocks,
Blows every gen with failed skill checks.
The killer sees him, grins with glee,
For this one’s caught too easily.
Vaults too soon, then vaults once more,
Right into traps laid just before.
He teabags cocky at the gate,
But trips and falls—his final fate.
No borrowed time, no flashlight save,
His team just sighs: *"We can’t be saved."*
Oh, how he screams, "This game's not fair!"
Yet he’s the reason they despair.
Hooked once, then twice, then thrice—goodbye!
His team escapes and leaves him high.
A lesson learned? No, not at all—
Next match, again, he'll take the fall.