Unlabelled PUBG Watching the sky to see if anyone's dropping near me...

11/04/2017 12:27:00 am
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PUBG Watching the sky to see if anyone's dropping near me...

Watching the sky to see if anyone's dropping near me...

Posted: 03 Nov 2017 04:43 AM PDT

Taiwan Cafe close to my apartment

Posted: 03 Nov 2017 05:25 AM PDT

When you finally land that flip jump!

Posted: 03 Nov 2017 06:42 AM PDT

When you have wanted chicken dinner all week, but your mom makes meatloaf once again.

Posted: 03 Nov 2017 08:47 AM PDT

When you see an airdrop over you but the game hates you

Posted: 03 Nov 2017 04:52 AM PDT

What dose those asian words mean? (PUBG lobby) they are not in the Test server lobby..

Posted: 03 Nov 2017 08:02 AM PDT

Can't even play this game anymore. 2 out of 3 squad game have cheaters. In some there are multiple cheaters in ine team

Posted: 03 Nov 2017 05:34 AM PDT

Optimization in PUBG

Posted: 03 Nov 2017 02:45 AM PDT

Ok, so I've got a gaming laptop (acer vx15) with an i7 7th gen 4.2, 8gb of ram, 1tb HD, gtx1050ti and the game, which I've set too all very low settings, runs like a snail. Can someone please for the love of God somehow explain to me why it is like that and how I can improve the loading times and overall settings

submitted by /u/BronzoidTheGreat
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Shroud insane 30 kills SOLO WIN

Posted: 03 Nov 2017 07:11 AM PDT

When Your Squad Is Wiped And You Just Want It To End

Posted: 03 Nov 2017 06:50 AM PDT

Grenades..

Posted: 03 Nov 2017 06:36 AM PDT

Kind of wish there was a 2-4 grenade carrying limit. I feel like being able to carry 20+ grenades ruins the end-game/final circle dynamics. Doesn't matter if its solo/duos/whatever, I've had numerous epic cat/mouse gun duels just turn into raining grenades on each other until someone gets lucky. Boring.

submitted by /u/doofwagon88
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Your designated driver TigOlBitties

Posted: 03 Nov 2017 10:11 AM PDT

Here is my PUBG fan-fiction that no one asked for. Enjoy

Posted: 03 Nov 2017 10:10 AM PDT

 88

She had been sitting still for some time now. Long enough for the blood that leaked from her thigh to have slowed, forming into a thick, coagulated goo. She kept one hand over the wound, pressing hard. The other gripped the colt-manufactured hand cannon.

When she had first fired the weapon the sound had just about deafened her. Even now her ears rang out in high-frequency tones, heard between the low, metered thuds of her heart. It reverberated inside the silly looking motorcycle helmet she wore. She reasoned it had been made for a child, red with black lightning bolts racing along the sides. So be it.

There hadn't been gunshots for at least ten minutes now. The wretched moaning of the casualties had died down, and no footsteps fell outside of the small double story farmhouse where she took refuge. This relative silence was no guarantee of safety. But maybe, just maybe her pursuer had lost track of her. She doubted it.

The man in black leathers had haunted her for the better part of the day. Like a ghastly visage he was at times completely out of sight, only to appear suddenly and almost within reach. Ten minutes ago the psychopath had shot her with a crossbow at less than ten meters. A fucking crossbow. The bolt, crudely broken as she made good her escape, still protruded out the back of her thigh. Luckily for her it had not struck bone, passing instead through the fatty tissue along the side of her leg. From somewhere in the past she remembered being self-conscious of her size, a natural athlete with a little extra padding here and there put her at odds with the ultra thin girls pasted upon magazines, pinned to websites. That bolt would have cut one of them in half. She grinned a little at this and then winced as the goo-forming scab cracked a bit.

Sitting with her back to the wall in a corner of the downstairs living room, she was able to keep both entrances in view while keeping out of sight through the windows lining the walls. Next to her was the narrow stairway leading up to the top floor. As she looked it over, nine steps total, she could not find the motivation to ascend. She had lost a significant amount of blood, the pain and fatigue of that wound weighing upon her psyche. Even though she knew she could make it, she remained still.

Another memory rose up like smoke into her head, hazy at first, becoming clearer as she closed her eyes; sitting in a horribly twisted, contorted steel frame of what was once a sedan, her Volkswagen, bright lights shining in through the broken glass of the windows that shimmered like diamonds, reaching to unbuckle her seat belt, realizing her arm was all twisted, all wrong. People gathering around her like dancing black silhouettes, trying unsuccessfully to move her hips, her legs, realizing that she was a wreck…

She pulled herself away from the past, cursing the distractions that kept her drifting away from the present danger. Pushing the vintage sidearm against her torso for leverage, she released the magazine and slid it into her lap. She set the pistol down beside her and pulled a box of .45 caliber ammunition from the backpack that sat between her legs. Reloaded, she tucked the 1911 into her waistband and slid her arms through the backpack loops so the bag rested against her chest.

Taking two deep breaths she braced herself, then pushed her body up and onto the first step. Searing pain erupted from the splintered carbon fiber bolt that jostled inside her leg. The agony shot through her entire body, like a lame-ass lightning bolt painted artlessly on a kid's helmet, making her sick from her crotch to her stomach. Blue spots danced before her eyes. The caked blood cracked apart and a new flow of warm red blood began tracing rivulets in the slick, gelatinous stuff that had flowed earlier. The leg of her pant was wet anew, warm and stiff. She was not sure she could make it another eight steps.

Breath, dammit, she told herself, trying to staunch the chemical dump of adrenaline and fear her primal brain was releasing. Riding the high she pushed herself up onto the next stair. White, molten fire screamed inside of her thigh. Tendrils of pain lashed through her nervous system, striking at every conceivable piece of her with electric misery. She leaned over and wretched. There was nothing produced but a few pathetic drops of bile. Her eyes started to roll in her head but she straightened her body and prepared for another push.

…………….

When she came to consciousness the daylight had faded to an amber dusk, falling peacefully through the windows. Dreamy hues of the late day illuminated the furniture and the picture frames on the rustic wooden walls in a calm, nostalgic light. She had made it halfway up the staircase before slumping against the banister in a heap. As her wits began to take hold she could not ignore her throat crying for water nor her head pounding. Reaching back into her bag she produced a canteen and drained the remaining few sips. She controlled her breathing, felt the reassuring weight of the pistol pressed against her belly, and then zipped her bag up.

Ok, she thought, we can take a little time before...

There was a sound outside. The faint, measured, unmistakable sound of footsteps. Her eyes dilated, breath caught in her throat as she tensed up uncontrollably. The pain returned in her leg. She almost didn't notice. Sliding up the stairs, she pushed with her good leg while raising her body with her arms. She knew she had to get to the second story and out of this exposed position, pain be damned. Nearing the top she heard the door in the kitchen creak open, spurring her to move even quicker. Darkness fought its way in from the corners of her vision. Her stomach wrenched into a twisted knot. Then, as she set herself down upon the penultimate step, the man appeared. He wore black leather pants, black designer boots, a form fitting leather racing jacket... and a heavy steel helmet with a black face plate drawn shut. She watched as he moved in slow-motion, through the door from the kitchen, clocking her, taking his time to cross the living room floor and over to the staircase. He turned his body to her, in no particular rush, and raised the pump action shotgun he held at his side up to his waist. The barrel pointed straight at her, but she didn't believe she had the strength to raise her own weapon. She reached for it anyway. Without a single word of explanation from her assailant, not so much as a minute gesture, the man who had hunted her relentlessly for hours squeezed the trigger. Shot exploded from out the end of the barrel.

Being blasted by a 12 gauge shell at near point-blank range hit with the force of a truck, and she should know. The pellets struck her in the stomach and chest and forehead, smashing her into the stairs. Her head was thrown backward where it slammed, then bounced off the wooden lip of the floor behind her.

…………….

The man pumped the spent shell from out of the weapon, watching his helpless prey for a moment. He ascended the stairs slowly, deliberately. He pulled a single cartridge from the leather bullet loop affixed to the rifle butt and chambered it, stepping over to stand straddling the woman, her eyes closed and her mouth hanging open. The helmet she wore was split from front to back, revealing thin blonde hair caked to her face with sweat and speckled blood. He raised the shotgun once more and CRACKCRACK*CRACK he was thrown off his feet, backward through the air, clearing half the set of stairs before tumbling to the floor with wet slaps. His rifle clattered down after him as if trying to return to its previous owner.

She opened her eyes. If she wasn't deaf now it would be a miracle to hear again this decade. The colt 1911 .45 caliber doomsday device concealed behind her backpack had made sure of that. It had also made certain that her tormenter was no longer among the living. She watched him for a few moments, a pile of wrent leather and flesh lying awkwardly in death. He didn't even look human anymore, peculiar and ghastly, and eventually she tore her gaze away.

Running her hand along the flesh of her torso she felt scraps of steel embedded from her navel to chest, little lumps that bled, hiding inside her skin though none too deep to kill. The police vest she wore was shredded, though it surely had saved her life. If she was lucky only a couple of her ribs were broken, and the silly helmet had kept the top of her skull from being removed, as well as reducing the blunt force concussion from the floor. She had been one hair's breadth away from being entirely knocked out, or worse.

……………

After a while she braced her body once more, tamed her mind and then pushed herself up to the next floor and its relative safety. She was not sure how she had ended up in this warzone, nor who the combatants were or what they aimed to gain. The only thing she was certain of was that she was not going to die here. Not today, not tomorrow, not here. Anyone who stood in her way would find this out, sure as shit. Oh, she remembered, gingerly picking a loose pellet from her flesh, I'm also the proud owner of a new shotgun.

submitted by /u/Oldsoulclub
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Why is this happening so often?!

Posted: 03 Nov 2017 02:18 AM PDT

4in1 Shroud plays with Summit1g + DrDisrespect+ Chad BEST SQUAD GAME 5 (Play...

Posted: 03 Nov 2017 09:41 AM PDT

Streaming PUBG for Extra Life!

Posted: 03 Nov 2017 09:39 AM PDT

Hey all! My chapter of Triangle Fraternity is putting on an Extra Life event on November 4th. In the spirit of that, I will be streaming starting November 4th at 12:00 am to 12:00 pm EST to help raise money for the Children's Hospital of Richmond at VCU. I'll be playing with some friends, some single player probably, and I have a cat, so it should be a lot of fun. Come watch and donate if you can! Twitch Stream: https://go.twitch.tv/swooneytodd And for those who are going to be asleep, here's the Extra Life donation page: https://www.extra-life.org/participant/SwooneyTodd

submitted by /u/BadassDwarfBaby
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TOP 9,5 ways to get PUBG for FREE! (but not really)

Posted: 03 Nov 2017 09:29 AM PDT

DrDisrespect Deletes PUBG Again

Posted: 03 Nov 2017 09:11 AM PDT

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