Recent reviews by any% speedrun

Dead by Daylight is a game designed to test the limits of your sanity with equal parts heart-pounding tension, BS moments, and pure chaotic fun.

But let’s get to the highlight:
BILL. MOTHERF*ING. OVERBECK.
The OG of OGs

Bill isn’t just some grizzled war vet they literally dragged him out of Left 4 Dead, threw him into The Entity’s playground, and said, “Good luck, soldier.” And what does he do? He lights up a smoke and goes to work.

While other survivors scream, panic, and mess up skill checks, Bill is cool as ice, crawling through the fog like it's just another Tuesday in zombie hell.

If you're solo queuing, may God help you. From teammates who peak spawn every round to the ones who barricade you in a room with no rotate… it’s like a tactical clown show.

“Oh, you picked a soft breacher? Guess I’ll go Montagne and walk into site alone.”

EDIT : I Love you guys! thank you so much for all the love. </3

Back when the world felt a little simpler, my sister and I lived for one thing after school: Team Fortress 2.

She was the Scout fast-talking, faster-running, always bonking her way into trouble. I was the Medic, chasing after her with my Medigun, shouting “Hold still!” while she rocket-jumped off walls with stolen weapons and wild confidence.

We didn’t play to win. Not always. Sometimes, it was just about chaos—spamming voice lines, taunting after lucky crits, or disguising as Spies just to high-five each other behind enemy lines. Our strategy? Vibes.

But when it mattered—when we were on the final stretch of a payload map with seconds ticking down—we became unstoppable. She’d dart ahead, clearing the path with scattergun blasts, while I ÜberCharged our Heavy and kept the push alive. Victory or loss, we always ended the round the same way: dancing on the cart while shouting “Thanks, doc!”

Those TF2 nights were loud, ridiculous, and perfect. In between hats and headshots, we were just two siblings sharing laughs, yelling across the house, and teaming up like it was us against the world.

We haven’t played in a while, but every time I hear that unmistakable "Mission Begins in 60 Seconds," I remember: we were the dream team! one Scout, one Medic, and a whole lot of memories.

Back when school felt endless and weekends were gold, my sister and I had a ritual: Insurgency nights.

It started one summer when she peeked over my shoulder, curious about the tense firefights and sharp comms of a game I’d just downloaded. She asked for a turn. An hour later, she was hooked. A week later, she was better than me.

We'd sit side by side in our room, our monitors glowing in the dark like battlefield maps. Headsets on, we coordinated like a real squad—covering corners, calling out threats, laughing when one of us botched a grenade throw. We weren’t just playing a game; we were a team.

Sometimes we took it seriously—clearing objectives like pros, barely breathing until the zone was secure. Other times, we'd goof off—running with shotguns, blasting music through open mics, and causing hilarious chaos.

Those matches weren’t just about points or wins. They were about that connection—those late-night high-fives after clutch rounds, the trash talk, the teamwork. In the world of Insurgency, we weren’t just siblings—we were squadmates. And no matter how many years pass, I’ll always remember Room 2 as our base of operations.