Chapter 5: The Human-Bot Makes Its Debut
February 5th. The festive atmosphere of the holidays was fading, and Jake officially switched from "chill mode" to "grind mode."
Over the last few days, he had spent every spare minute catching up on the meta of this era. He watched countless pro replays and tactical breakdowns. After finishing his research, he had only one thing to say: It's so primitive!
To his eyes, 2022 tactical CS was basically "Muscle CS." Tactics evolve constantly. From the perspective of someone who had seen the end of the CS:GO era and the launch of CS2, the current strategies felt raw.
Of course, a lot of the future's complexity came from CS2 updates—grenades clearing smokes, map geometry changes, and skybox adjustments. Many of the "galaxy brain" plays Jake had in his head wouldn't even work in this version of the game. He'd have to wait for the 2023 update to truly exploit his knowledge of the future meta.
For now, he filled a notebook with classic strategies, written in a personal shorthand so he wouldn't forget them. Thankfully, after years of watching pro matches, he could decipher a team's setup with just a glance. All he needed now was practice.
In terms of playstyle, he had found his calling: Entry Fragger. He was the spearhead. The guy who seeks out duels and charges in first. It required insane reaction speed, pixel-perfect aim, and elite pre-aiming. And with the Eye of Death, Jake was basically a walking aim-bot.
Speaking of pre-aiming, one couldn't ignore the "Greek God of Pre-aiming"—NiKo. Jake spent hours studying NiKo's POV. As a die-hard fan, watching NiKo in his 2022 prime made Jake feel sentimental. He remembered how "Old Ni" looked a decade later—haggard and worn down by time. If the spring breeze has compassion for flowers, may it grant me youth again. Even the greatest legends can't outrun time. Jake wondered if he'd ever get the chance to stand on a team alongside the Bosnian superstar in this new life.
But first, he needed a plan. His path was clear: join a top domestic club to build a reputation. If he just stayed on FACEIT dominating randoms, the best he'd get was an invite to some Tier-3 "mix" or an academy team. And at 21, an academy team was a death sentence.
Statistically, a CS pro's peak is between 20 and 23. By 24, your reflexes start to dip. 27 is the "wall"—if you don't transition into a high-IQ role by then, you're finished. I'm looking at you, donk! Jake thought, thinking of the future prodigies.
He didn't have time to waste. Starting at 21 made him an "old rookie." Most rising stars were already competing in Tier-2 events by age 16. If he didn't move fast, he'd be outshone by the kids.
Tier-2 overseas teams weren't an option either. The funding was unstable, and "match-fixing" was rampant. Small teams would throw games just to pay their bills. For someone who craved the trophy and the glory, that was unacceptable.
In his region, only a few teams looked promising: Tyloo, Rare Atom (RA), and Lynn Vision (LVG). And there was a ticking clock: the Antwerp Major in the first half of the year. The RMR (Major qualifiers) would start in April, but the open qualifiers were at the end of this month. If he missed this window, he'd lose a massive amount of exposure and potential sticker money.
Time to grind.
[Match found! Please accept (9/10)] [Accept]
The map was Dust II. The most iconic map of the "Old Three" (Dust II, Inferno, Mirage). Its simple layout was a favorite for those who just wanted to click heads. The tactics were basic: Long A push, Catwalk, B-split, or a B-rush. Simple, clear, and perfect for a gun-slinger.
Jake had climbed the ranks quickly; he was now in the S-tier (the highest rank on the platform). He started on the CT side. He remembered what a pro once said: Communication is everything in high-tier play. As soon as he spawned, he opened his mic. "Hello? Mic check?"
The usual robotic "hellos" came back from the veterans. But one voice sounded strangely familiar to Jake. It was flat, a bit monotone... it sounded like the "Human-Bot." He checked the scoreboard. The player's name was 'Wen Zhong'. Wait... that name. Is that a pro?
Rare Atom (RA) Training Base.
"Oh? Lao Jiu, you're hitting ranked right after practice? That's dedicated," a young man with round glasses said, standing behind 259 (the team's IGL). "Just warming up my aim," 259 replied with a forced, awkward smile.
It was only the fifth day of the new year, but all five members of RA were already back in the lab, prepping for the RMR qualifiers. Because of their regional ranking, they had to fight through the brutal Asian qualifiers—sixteen teams fighting for one spot at the Major. Their biggest threats were Wings Up and the Mongolian powerhouse, IHC (formerly Checkmate).
They had just finished a scrim against the Mongolians. It was a disaster. They got stomped in both maps. 259, as the leader, finished with a miserable 0.51 rating. It was demoralizing. To put it bluntly, they looked like they had zero hope of qualifying.
His teammate, Ju (Moseyuh), could tell 259 was hurting. He didn't say anything; he just sat down next to him and pulled up a demo to study. "Not hungry?" "I'll eat later," 259 muttered. "I need to watch this demo first."
Looking at his talented young teammate, 259 felt a wave of guilt. He had at least been to a Major and gotten his own sticker, but these kids he had discovered might never get that chance if he didn't step up. Am I holding them back? he wondered. His spirit wasn't broken, but his aim was failing him. How can you lead a shooter team if you can't hit your shots?
259 sighed and turned back to his screen just as a confident voice rang out in his headset: "Hello? Mic check?"