I can’t escape Fortnite. I was on an airplane half an hour ago and through my headphones I heard some guy ask, “Do you play Fortnite?”. At first I couldn’t process the words, but I understood after he reiterated. “Dude, do you play Fortnite?” Then I heard someone respond behind me. “Fortnite?” Then another. “Yeah, that game.” I couldn’t shut them out before the cabin erupted into a chorus of Fortnite conversations. I felt like I was being suffocated. The man previously sleeping beside me woke up suddenly and contributed with “where we droppin' boys?”. The crying kid across the aisle stopped kicking and screaming just to say “Tilted Towers!”. It took all of my strength to resist unbuckling myself and announcing that I had a weapon and was going to take over this plane. I would resort to terrorism to stop Fortnite. I would show them EXACTLY where we were dropping. Fortunately, the flight attendants got involved after about half an hour of Fortnite talk. Much to my dismay, instead of stopping the chaos, they only joined the discussion. The only authorities left on the airplane were the pilots. My last hope of maintaining order was extinguished when the captain chimed in from the cockpit comm, “That’s not the best drop, noob.” Some first class passenger retorted back and eventually it devolved into a face to face argument. Who was flying the plane? Auto-pilot, I’m guessing. At that point I just wanted to crash into the ocean and let the waves welcome me with their icy embrace. Maybe God would reserve a place for me in heaven if I took everyone down with me. It wasn’t possible I would be sent to hell, anyway. I was already living in it. As I slowly dissuaded myself from committing mass murder, I endured the rest of the 6 hour flight. I can only share my story with you today because I had a will as unbreakable as steel beams. Let this be a lesson to all of you who support Epic Games. There is nothing “epic” about the PTSD I currently suffer from.