I'd been playing for three hours now, and my face bore clear witness to my many failures. I felt as if each attempt was taking me further into the abyss. Frustration overwhelmed me, and despite my best efforts to remain calm, I felt as if my neurons were melting under the pressure.
- What the hell kind of difficulty is this?" I exclaimed, rising abruptly from my chair.
At first, the game resembled the original, a familiar experience, but very quickly I realized that there was something... different. Every detail seemed more complex, every monster more resistant. As soon as I passed a small milestone, a new difficulty fell on me like a downpour. More numerous enemies, more devious traps, and above all, a progression system that had become totally hostile to me.
The real slap in the face was the death mechanic: as soon as my character died, I had to start all over again from the very beginning. But that wasn't all: all the resources I'd accumulated, my items and experience, all disappeared. Like a rogue-like game, but more ruthless, with no respect for time spent. No landmarks, no help whatsoever.
Frankly, how could a noob like me hope to finish this game? I could barely get through the tutorial, for God's sake. It was supposed to be an easy passage, an introduction to the game system. But every time I tried, I ended up dying over and over again. And each time, I lost everything. No chance to save, no respite.
I let myself fall backwards, my hands buried in my hair. This is a joke, isn't it? I could hardly believe what I was going through. It was pure relentlessness. The kind of game I could see in the wildest dreams of masochistic developers. It was as if they'd decided to test the mental toughness of their players, myself included.
I hadn't even reached the first real level, and I was already beginning to doubt my ability to go any further. Worst of all, the game gave me no chance to rest. Everything had to be perfect, everything had to be mastered. But at this rate, I'd end up throwing my PC out the window.
Facing reality, I closed the game, a heavy sigh escaping me as I realized the obvious: it would be impossible for me to finish this game. I wasn't up to it, and it wasn't just a question of skill. It went deeper than that. The game seemed designed to push even the most seasoned players to the limit. All I could do was fall into an endless cycle of defeat, with no way out.
I slipped under the covers, deciding to escape for a while by browsing the messages on the game's forum, as if that might offer me some respite. But as I scrolled on, I came across a wave of comments I hadn't anticipated.
Insults, mockery... I'd anticipated them a little, but never to this extent.
"Il stream pas aujourd'hui Bareass?"
"That's weird, he's usually here every night."
"I just failed at path 49, I need to see him to realize I'm not that bad mdrr"
I'd become something of a target, a clown, a sub-player whose mere name was enough to provoke jeers.
"Maybe he's finally realized that he's making a fool of himself with every stream!"
I smiled bitterly, an unease washing over me. This world, this microcosm that played out on the UBW field, was no longer simply a virtual universe. No, it had intruded into reality. Everything was governed by this game. Whoever excelled in UBW seemed to become a star, a role model. Their success in the game translated into recognition, admiration, as if their digital skills were worth social prestige in the real world.
And I, in this system, was an outcast, a "noob", a weakling. My rank, my abilities, everything was measured by this. It was as if, in this community, nobody cared about who you really were, what your true worth was. The only criterion for judgment was what you accomplished in UBW. And if you didn't measure up, you became invisible. Or worse, you became a laughing stock.
It was more than just a game. It had become a distorted reflection of society itself, a society where hierarchy was no longer defined by merit or actual skill, but by mastery of a video game. The level you reached in this digital world dictated your status in the real world, your membership of a social class, your power.
I was trapped in this system. Like a rat in a virtual cage. Everything around me seemed to revolve around UBW. Whether in the forums, on social networks, or even at work, the question of "do you play UBW?" came up again and again. And if you weren't good, you just became... nothing.
There, lying in bed, reading those messages, I felt tiny. Not just in the game, but in life.
Then, in the litany of acid comments, a question caught my eye. One comment stood out among the rest, more intriguing, less mocking.
- "Do you know ONE SHOT?"
A simple question, but with a heavy implication. The name of this player, ONE SHOT, floated in the air like a legend. Apparently, this player had succeeded where many had failed: he had found the game's famous sacred treasure. An artifact, an ultimate prize, a mythical goal that no one else seemed to have been able to reach. Some said it offered immense power in the game, an unassailable advantage. Others, less convinced, spoke of a mere rumor. But one thing was clear: ONE SHOT had achieved what no one had dared to imagine.
However, what made this revelation even more fascinating was that ONE SHOT had refused to share what it had found. He had never explained what this sacred treasure represented, or how he had obtained it. Some said he kept it for himself, that he didn't want another player to gain access to this power. Others claimed he hadn't even had time to show it off before mysteriously disappearing from the radar. He had become a living legend, but he remained an enigma.
I shuddered. These kinds of mysteries, these unsolved enigmas, always had an irresistible appeal. But in my case, it didn't matter. I knew I'd never reach that level. ONE SHOT had a skill that I didn't have the resources, talent or patience to achieve. I was a mere noob in this universe. Perhaps even more insignificant than I had imagined.
I sighed, snapping my phone shut. There was no point in torturing myself any further. I didn't stand a chance in this game. And besides, in this little bubble where everything seemed to revolve around UBW, what did I really have to do?
I left my phone on the bedside table, switched off, and stretched out on the bed. It was time to put this day behind me. I closed my eyes, hoping that sleep would bring me some respite from the absurdity of this world, the one that, for some unknown reason, seemed to be ruled by this game.
The next morning, as I awoke, my eyes still misty with sleep, my gaze fell on my phone's softly flashing screen. An e-mail notification. Without much motivation, I reached for the device, expecting yet another spam message or advertisement. But when I saw the sender, my heart skipped a beat.
Sender: Studio Arche
Subject: Thank you for downloading the exclusive version of UBW
I immediately sat up in bed, my drowsiness evaporating in a fraction of a second. I unlocked the screen, opening the e-mail with curiosity mixed with distrust.
[Hello Bareass,
Thank you for downloading the new version of Ultimate Bounty Hunter. You are now part of the only chosen few to be able to preview this exclusive version, which won't be officially available for another 3 years.
We hope you'll rise to the challenges that await you. This version has been designed to push back the limits of endurance and perseverance. We wish you all the best for this adventure.
Best wishes,
The Studio Arche team]
Three years. The time frame surprised me. Usually, developers send out beta versions a few months before the official release, to fix major bugs or test new features. But here, three years... It defied all logic. It was as if they were giving me time to... to do what, exactly? Training?
I rubbed my eyes, rereading the e-mail several times to make sure I hadn't misunderstood. Yes, that's what it said: three years before the official release. Why give me such a gigantic advantage? Why me? After all, I wasn't an exceptional player. Barely an average streamer, a "noob" in the eyes of the community.
It was then that questions began to flood in, one by one, invading my mind.
Had they deliberately sent me the game in advance so that I could practice?
I had neither the talent nor the popularity of the big names in streaming. So why choose such an insignificant player to test such exclusive content?
Unless... unless they were planning something much bigger, much more twisted.
For the rest of my working day, this idea ran through my head. Why did they send me this game? Why send me this game, three years before anyone else? It didn't make sense... unless Studio Arche had a very specific plan in mind.
I leaned back against the back of my chair, my eyes fixed on my computer screen, though my mind was miles away from my tasks. Perhaps they were trying to rid me of this noob label?
It made sense, after all. If, when the DLC came out, I managed to become one of the top players, it would create a colossal buzz. People would talk about this unlikely rise. The noob turned prodigy. An urban legend in the making. And what better way for a video game studio to get the word out about its product?
I could already imagine the catchy titles:
"Bareass, the noob turned master: the story of the greatest comeback on UBW"
"How Zwitch's worst player became UBW's undisputed champion".
A story like this would be a sensation. Not just for me, but especially for them. It would boost the game's popularity beyond belief. They had everything to gain. And so did I.
I smiled. That was fine. It didn't bother me in the least. If Studio Arche wanted to make me a pawn in their marketing strategy, fine. I'd play along. But this time, it would be on my own terms.
I took a deep breath, feeling a new determination seize me. I had made up my mind.
I was no longer going to just survive in this universe where everyone saw me as weak and incapable. I was simply going to change things.
Starting today, I was going to put an end to streams. I would cut off all communication, all exposure. No more mocking, no more humiliating comments. Radio silence. I would disappear from the radar.
And for those three years, I'd concentrate solely on this DLC. I'd train relentlessly, again and again, until this game held no secrets for me. Until every boss, every trap, every mechanic was etched in my mind.
When the DLC was officially released, I'd be back in the spotlight. Stronger than ever.
I'd silence all the scoffing voices.
I'd show them all what I could do.
They'd never see Bareass as a noob again.
They'd see an unbeatable player, a name forever etched in Ultimate Bounty Hunter history.
And so began my rise.
As soon as I could, I immersed myself in this hardcore version of Ultimate Bounty Hunter. Every spare moment was devoted to this merciless game that forgave no mistakes. My beginnings were truly ridiculous. I died every time, sometimes even before overcoming the first obstacle.
The difficulty was on another level. The enemies were faster, more aggressive. Traps were more vicious. Resources were extremely scarce. And above all, the ruthless mechanics: each time you died, you had to start all over again, without any of the items you'd accumulated before. A true rogue-like game.
On several occasions, I almost gave up. Frustration mounted, and I often felt like I was fighting against an insurmountable wall. But with perseverance, I began to understand the mechanics of the game. I observed enemy attack patterns, memorized trap locations and learned to use my resources sparingly. Little by little, I was making progress.
A year had passed since then.
I had reached path 49. In the original game, I had never reached such an advanced level. Even in my wildest dreams, I never thought I'd get this far. Zwitch's most renowned players often spoke of these paths as almost insurmountable trials. Yet here I was.
I felt stronger than before, much stronger. While the others continued to play the classic version of Ultimate Bounty Hunter, I was confronting this punishing, unforgiving version. This ascent, though solitary, had allowed me to surpass myself.
Yet, despite this personal satisfaction, a feeling of loneliness suddenly overcame me. It had been a year since I'd left the public scene, a year without streaming, without interacting with my community. Sometimes I wondered what had become of them. Had they finally forgotten me?
To take my mind off things, I decided to see what was happening on Zwitch. It had been so long... A little distraction couldn't hurt.
I launched the application on my secondary screen and scrolled through the list of popular streamers. One in particular caught my eye. An Ultimate Bounty Hunter player.
Curious to see what the community was up to, I clicked on his live stream and made myself comfortable.
It was time to see how much the world had changed since I'd left.
In the comment area, messages scrolled by at dizzying speed:
"Am I dreaming or is Bareass watching the live show?"
"Seriously? He hasn't streamed in a year!"
"Is he depressed or something?"
Shit. I'd completely forgotten to log out of my stream account.
My username was flashing on the chat, visible to all. Bareass, the name that had once made the whole community laugh at his repeated failures and clumsy attempts at Ultimate Bounty Hunter.
I gritted my teeth, already bracing myself for mockery. But, to my surprise, the streamer stopped playing for a moment, his gaze scanning the comments. I was briefly hopeful. Maybe he'd have some empathy? After all, he knew what it was like to struggle with this game. Maybe he'd understand why I'd disappeared?
"Oh, Bareass is watching my live?" he said with a smile.
I felt a pang of warmth in my chest. Maybe he was about to say something nice...
"Frankly, guys, forget it. Don't dwell on a ridiculous player like him."
His tone was dry, mocking. The heat evaporated instantly, replaced by an icy shiver.
"That guy's always been a joke around here. It's clear that he's sneaking peeks to try and learn from me. He won't get far with his level."
Laughter erupted in the chat, with insults following close behind.
"Pathetic."
"Even as a spectator he sucks."
"Bareass... more than ever the king of noobs."
I'd been stupid to believe for a second that he'd have empathy. Nothing had changed. Not for them, anyway. In the eyes of the community, I was still the same loser, the one who failed live in front of hundreds of spectators.
I sighed, closing the tab. Those words might have hurt me before. But today, they no longer affected me. Because I knew something they didn't know.
I was much stronger than before.
I'd faced Path 49 in the hardcore version of Ultimate Bounty Hunter. The most ruthless version there is. I'd failed, again and again, until I'd lost count. But I'd persevered, learned and progressed.
These players, on the other hand, only knew the classic version. They were enjoying themselves on a playground where mistakes were forgiven, where difficulty was child's play compared to what I'd been through.
When I come back, it will all seem so easy.
I smile to myself, closing the live window for good. Let them laugh all they want. They had no idea what they were in for.